6

I was the Titanic of all romantic ships. Sinking with the people—I am the people.

Jong Suk ended up ruining my Friday morning by appearing last night. It wasn't the fact that he wanted his stupid novels back. I didn't even care about them anymore. It was because he almost kissed me. And I fucking did it back too. But something divine happened, and I was pushed away. Like a boulder rolling off a hill. The entire thing made me feel like my arm had been sawed off.

I did send him reeling back with my karate chop—but this was fucking nuts.

A part of me still loved him. He still loved me, too. And I hated that. If he didn't hate me enough, I would be getting conditioned to think that we were in a place that had a U-Turn ready. Fuck no. I didn't want to be one of those people who spiralled back and forth in love. I didn't have the energy for that.

My morning. My poor morning was destroyed with a capital D. Now all I could hear was the simmering of my ears.

My eyes were puffy when I left home that morning. I had slapped on make-up like painting my grief with war paint. I even held my urge to cry again in the office cab.

And when I walked into the office building, the glass windows reflected the light too fiercely. Suddenly, all I knew was that I didn't want to sit through that godamned training. It was Friday. Assessment. That weekly report would lay my dignity before Jeon Jungkook like a salad dish.

I could see it coming—coming like a bull charged at me.

I arrived at my desk, already focusing on making sure my things were not cluttered, when Mr Han stopped by my desk.

Mr Han was the assistant manager of another team. He often stopped by people's desks but rarely mine. Hence, my hand froze, and I raised a brow to see if it was me he was looking at. Yes, it was me.

So I gave him a curt smile, "Pleasant morning, Mr Han."

He smiled at me a little too long. Then said, "That Jeon's getting a good view in those morning sessions, huh?"

Oh my god.

My eyes deadpanned to him, because—what the fuckity fuck?

Office creeps were a thing in South Korea. Not just Korea, I think. These people had an embassy all around the world. There was always an older man, married and a father of two or more, sniffing up young women as if he didn't have his own share when he was younger. And here he was—in the words of D.J. Khalid—another one.

The best way to keep away from this nuisance was to neglect it.

And it might sound foolish coming from my mouth, but men were preferred more in my job. Sexist, I know. Every time I remembered this crap, my blood boiled.

I sighed and pretended that I hadn't just heard that.

"Yo, Mr Han." Jimin stepped next to me, "How's it going? Join me for a smoke?"

Mr Han was diffused like a flat bomb. He looked at Jimin, alarmed by the sudden, casual speech. But he was as helpless as he made women be.

"No, kid. I'm alright today." He muttered something under his breath and walked away.

I smirked at Jimin.

"Wouldn't expect you to be the one to help me out on this."

"Assistant Manager Kang, you seriously think that that twink and I are the same?" He scowled, folding his arms on his chest.

"I mean, the base is the same." I shrugged, continuing to tease.

"Nah." He whined. "I flirt. I detect a positive reaction, too. I don't pass lewd comments like he did right now."

"Define lewd comments, Mr Park." I turned to face him, tilting my head.

Jimin cleared his throat, "Vulgar ones?"

"You're asking me?" I raised a brow.

"Comments about people's bodies, in a sexual way, I think. HR-worthy activity." He scratched his head.

I turned to my desk again, "Observation is on point. But your participation is not."

"This is healthy flirting." He groaned. "I make sure I keep the boundaries, Miss Kang."

I fixed my hair with rushed fingers. Jong Suk and I had this exact conversation. He had said that his flirting with me was 'healthy'.

My spine nearly jerked straight—because what dumb fucking memory—why now?

Unfortunately, I didn't have time for anything anymore. I had tasks to allocate for the day. My hand was heavy, and I was supposed to one-up that jerk. The important tasks were clogged in.

I ran through them as fast as I could and cleared the meeting on time.

By the time I made it downstairs, it was 8:58 AM on the clock. I darted to the glass meeting room, relishing my final day with it. Next week, this time, I was supposed to be in that haunted house cabin of his.

I slapped my laptop on the desk and sank into my seat.

All I had to do was modules. Park Bo Gum would be here to give me the assessment anytime.

I was about to search for the module when a notification from Cirq popped up in a small dialogue box.

Training location change request: Approved.

What?

I blinked and then clicked on it. It redirected me to the calendar on Cirq. He got an HR approval to change the meeting room to his cabin.

What the heck?

I stared, partially impressed by his sharpness and efficiency, and the rest of me was on a stove.

I punched the table and spewed a curse.

"Miss Kang." Bo Gum entered, but he was the least of my concerns now. "I'm sending you a link. Use that to clear your assessment by the end of the training. You can go through your notes today. I won't teach you anything else."

"Okay..." I mumbled, tapping my pen relentlessly on the surface.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

I raised my head, nodding once. He adhered and brought me a cup from the coffee machine.

I spent my time on the modules before diving into the assessment. It wasn't difficult. Very standard. Majorly included scenarios and perceptions, but very easily relatable to whatever Bo Gum had taken me through.

Bo Gum tried not to, but he hinted at a few answers to make sure I didn't sink into depression, looking for the answers.

"Okay, let's assume I'm actually a Nigerian Prince who wants to marry you," I leaned back into my chair, the assessment finally completed and out of my hair. "How will you know if it's real? Because I am."

Bo Gum chuckled. "Of course. You're real. But I don't have connections to Nigeria. The Prince is suspicious."

"No, but I'm really real. You haven't seen me. But this is a genuine email." I tilted my head challengingly. "You've spent your life in cybersecurity, is that going to make you ignore the real thing too?"

"What?" He scowled, about to laugh, when another ping on my system made me shift.

Park Bo Gum stalled, too.

I clicked and was taken to my calendar on Cirq again. What the fuck—

My eyes blew open with the number of meeting tags added to my schedule.

General Threat Response – Optional, but Attendance LoggedAdvanced Email Tactics – Beginner TrackKeyword Triggers That Can Destroy a Company

My mouth opened, ready to curse, but I gauged the professional setting and stopped.

All of these meetings were placed right after and before my usual meetings, keeping my day in a chokehold. I scrolled through the timeline, assessing how much free time I would have based on this.

Two hours—excluding the break.

I barely had two functional hours left if I attended all the damned meetings.

I didn't even have to see who the culprit was. It had to be that Jeon from Dragonland. Was he randomly pushing me into the meetings, or was this a strategy?

"That's like his version of chocolates and flowers." Bo Gum said and then laughed so hard that I turned into a steam engine.

"If they're meant to kill me, yes," I muttered.

I could have let off some steam, but my laptop pinged again. A new reminder had popped up in my email inbox.

Friday Sync Dinner: RSVP closed: Table Booked. No late entries.

Fabulous.

My day has begun on the wrong foot, why not end it the same way? A full circle sounded like a good way to kill me dead. I stared at the message and tried not to bore lasers into the screen.

I don't want to grow up. Seriously. I want to have an appointment with my friend to meet by the swing set. Maybe fight over who caught the swing first—not fucking watch people eat lettuce with chopsticks to look cool.

But corporate warfare was very subtle like that. Avoiding get-togethers like this was a slow death from the social acceptance book. People start scorning your refusal to participate, no matter the reason. Mr Min was probably going to slide out of the picture sooner than the rest. Obviously, I was supposed to stay back and make sure nobody from my team made an irreversible mess there.

Well, Mr Min had always been kind enough to let me call him to drop me off once the dinner ended. But Jong Suk's entry had stopped them for the last year and a half.

The BBQ joint was steaming. Everyone was cheering to the end of Friday and the beginning of the weekend. Weekend, my foot. I hated weekends.

No I didn't like to work my ass off. I just hated the feeling of having something that was supposed to leave. What use was a weekend that was not mine anyway? Some sort of cheap trick to make us feel like we still own our life—that's what the hell this was.

It's uncomfortable, but I slide in between two other Assistant Managers. Mr Han, the mouthy piece of shit and a guy who I don't really talk to. My team sits around, mixed with the other people. It's better that way, but I had hoped they were together in a spot where I could keep a watch.

"Cheers, Miss Kang!" Someone shouted, and I barely had the chance to see who it was because the glasses clinked in my face.

The Soju lifts were done, and we roasted like a thousand times, before everyone was sure that they could drink without cheering.

"You know, Miss Haerin," I heard Mr Han begin.

My eyes closed, the bitter Soju in my mouth doing no good.

First of all—Miss Haerin? Where the fuck was this coming from?

He continued when I remained quiet, cutting up a piece of chicken from my plate and munching on it. "Stop sitting so straight and proper—relax a bit. Something making you nervous here?"

Was this old fart pickled or just naturally rancid?

I reached for the drink on my table, keeping my eyes averted. "It is only right to maintain decorum, Mr Han. My team would expect a reliable senior."

"Oh, relax!" He snickered like I was the stupid one here. "You're far too pretty to be thinking so hard! How old are you, Miss—"

I took another sip from my cup, a head rush telling me that this wasn't really going to go well.

"Miss Kang!" Seokjin propped his glass forward to cheer, and I smiled at him, obliging.

"Hey, kid." Mr Han asked Seokjin. "How old is this fierce little manager you have?"

My eyes met Seulgi's, who immediately recognised the issue. She frowned, and I flatly smiled, letting her know.

"I don't—I don't know..." Seokjin backed up, unable to finish his drink. He looked back and forth between me and Mr Han. "I always thought it was rude to ask."

I eyed Mr Han and then sighed. Men and their fucking stereotypes.

"I'm twenty-four, Mr Han," I said, deadbeat.

"Oh!" He chuckled lazily. "You're far too young to be here. Women like you shouldn't spend your pretty years doing this. You should look to get married—"

Clank!

I slammed my glass on the table.

His breath hitched. Yet, he didn't back down.

"Would you like some chicken? Your plate is empty." He said and passed some to my dish from his. No consent taken.

I watched, stuck in a way that could make me cry. I couldn't start an argument. It could cost me my career. I had to eat and get out of this place as quickly as possible.

But no way was this man going to get away with this. I was about to make sure I did something bad enough.

"That Jeon—"

Oh my fucking god! This man just would not stop!

"—I heard he liked you enough to schedule training like that. I mean, not to be rude or anything,"

Of course. This disclaimer was supposed to be for the rudest comment ever. I genuinely hunched a bit, curious to hear how far he was going to take this.

"But the way you women dress? Those skirts, those tight blouses—you keep the office exciting, Miss Kang. Makes even an old man like me look forward to work." He laughed like it was a joke. "Bet Jeon Jungkook thinks the same. Guy wouldn’t schedule those morning sessions if he didn’t like the view."

Hah?

My head finally snapped at him.

He just scored ten on ten. That was ridiculously rude. Murderous disrespect.

My hand shivered, fists closing.

I knocked my glass off the table, and it landed on his crotch, making him curse himself out in a second.

"What the—oh god, I'll need to go to the restroom to clean this..." He mumbled.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr Han." I sang dramatically as I put the glass back on the table. "Are you okay?"

"Yes—Yes I am, Miss Kang," he awkwardly chuckled. "I'll be back from the toilet."

"You know, Mr Han," I smiled at him, my tongue looser than my patience. "There's a toilet inside all of us. Yours just overflowed."

"What?" He raised his head, and I chuckled a little.

"Oh goodness, Haerin!" Sohyun chuckled from afar, impressed.

I placed a hand on my chest and bowed. "Thank you."

Mr Han had no choice but to leave for the restroom. My mind finally calmed down, although I was disgusted by what he had said. I didn't wear tight clothes. I was slender already, and I dressed well. I loved dressing up in feminine formals.

How could this bastard just bring it up like that?

I refilled my glass, about to sip, when a hand grabbed my wrist.

"That's enough, Haerin."

That voice.

That voice!

My head whipped to Jong Suk, casually leaning on the table, caging me in.

"What—what are you doing here?"

"I called him." Mr Min said from across the table. He gently cleared his throat, fixing his glasses.

"Why?" I almost cried.

Mr Min leaned back to drink from his cot, "You're drunk, Miss Kang. I assumed that calling your boyfriend and letting you leave soon was the correct thing to do."

Oh.

My face fell.

"Thanks, Mr Min." I stood up, wobbly on my feet. "But we're not dating anymore."

A sharp silence fell on Mr Min. He looked at us back and forth. Jong Suk nodded to attest to my words.

"I'll take her back for now, though. Thanks." Jong Suk bowed and gripped my arm as he led me out of that hell of a place.

For a second. For a stupid second, I thought he cared. But then he turned to me as soon as we were near his car outside.

"When are you going to learn to be responsible?"

My eyes narrowed. "Did you forget the karate chop already? I'm not a child."

"Then don't act like one!" He yelled.

My breath hitched.

But then blood came boiling in. I launched my shoe into his knee, making him stumble. He sucked his breath, not making a sound.

"Don't yell." I glared. "I was fine till you showed up. Mr Min clearly didn't know about us. That's why he called you."

"Fine? Yeah, you were!" He scoffed, looking at me up and down. "You're literally wobbling, Haerin. Stand still."

"No, I'm not? See?" I said, raising my arms and standing stiffly. "Do I look like I'll tumble and fall?"

He ran a hand down his face, amused. "You don't look like you can get home either. You should learn to take care of yourself during situations like this."

I rolled my eyes, "Look who's got a parenting degree. Wowza."

He sighed, too exhausted to continue, "Let me take you home, Haerin."

"No." I snapped. "I'm going to go do... independent woman things."

"Like what?" He tilted his head, and I almost swooned.

"Like go back alone. Don't follow me."

"Get in the car. I'll drop you home." He insisted and pulled me closer.

All that Armani perfume burned my nostrils, and I looked away. I hated this situation.

"You're drunk," he muttered as he opened the passenger door. "And your mascara's halfway down your cheek."

"Great." I climbed in the car anyway. "Now I look like a depressed raccoon. Thanks, Dr. Phil."

He shut the door with a sigh and walked around. When he slid into the driver's seat, I caught him glancing at me. Again.

"What?" I snapped.

"You used to let me take care of you."

"Yeah, well. I also used to think low-rise jeans were cool. And that you wouldn't choose your mom over me—I used to think that too."

He didn’t respond, just turned the engine on and drove in silence. I hated how nice he drove. Smooth. Unbothered. No music. Just the hum of regret and leather seats.

When we pulled up outside my apartment, he killed the engine and turned to me.

"Don’t drink that much again," he said softly. "It hurts to see you like this."

Ugh.

"Don’t worry. Next time, I’ll aim the glass at your face."

He chuckled. "At least let me give you a hug."

I sighed dramatically and leaned in.

Then—thunk.

"Oh my God—" he clutched his forehead. "Did you just head butt me?"

"Yup," I said, hopping out. "Independent women give emotional concussions."

And with that, I strutted off.