The Perfect Vol. 5 Chapter 1

I haven’t experienced sleep paralysis often, but there were moments—especially when waking—when my body froze and my heart dropped so sharply that I wondered if this was what it felt like. It usually happened on the battlefield, and whenever it did, the chill that spread through me as I woke made every hair on my body stand on end. That feeling could only be described as murderous intent.

But this time, before I could even gather my senses, someone forcefully pinned me down as I tried to sit up. My foggy mind shattered like glass. Shit, who—? Every cell in my body bristled like a blade, but the moment I saw the face in front of me, I sank back down. A face hovered about 30 centimeters above mine, staring down at me.

“…Director Kook.”

Of course. It had to be him. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself.

“What are you… What are you doing?”

There was no answer. I opened my eyes. Our gazes didn’t meet—his eyes were fixed on my lips. He sometimes looked at me like this, and every time, I felt like I was standing naked in front of thousands. It wasn’t even a lustful gaze. If it had been, I could’ve brushed it off as perverted. But he was the opposite.

Expressionless, yet exuding a sharp, almost threatening aura that could be mistaken for bloodlust. And still, it wasn’t devoid of desire. Kneeling over me, he lowered his hips. I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh.

“I watched you.”

He answered slowly, then raised his eyes. When our gazes met, I had to swallow hard. My skin tingled with a different kind of tension now.

“You really have nothing better to do.”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked. Everyone sounds like this when they’ve just woken up, right? I tried to excuse myself, hiding my nerves. I didn’t want Director Kook to know my heart was racing. But then, his hand landed on my chest.

“Your heart’s fast.”

“…It’s always fast. Healthy blood vessels, rapid heartbeat. Now move, unless you want to be nicknamed ‘Hypertension Kook.’”

Thankfully, it worked. He scowled. He’d recently tried to legally change his name to “Kook Ppo-jji,” and ever since the lawyer filed the paperwork, he’d been sensitive about it. He’d thrown such a fit in court that the petition was ultimately withdrawn.

“Move.”

I pushed his shoulder, but he didn’t budge, grumbling instead.

“Why? You like it.”

I did. But showing it felt awkward. My body, trained to hide emotion, instinctively masked my expression. I pushed harder.

“Not really.”

He finally backed off, and I slipped out from under him and off the bed. I left the room and headed to the kitchen, but my ears were tuned to the sound of footsteps behind me. I didn’t realize it, but I was hoping he’d follow. When I heard nothing, I felt a twinge of disappointment. I tried to suppress it, but couldn’t resist turning back at the kitchen entrance—and screamed.

Ack!

Thankfully, the scream stayed internal, but I jumped back like a startled frog. I hadn’t heard a thing, yet he was right behind me. Very close.

“When did you start following me?”

“From the beginning.”

No way. I hadn’t sensed anything. Even if I’d been living a normal life for years, how could I not notice someone right behind me? My pride was wounded. But something else stung more—he was smiling. His eyes sparkled like they held gems, filled with laughter, as if he found my startled reaction unbearably cute.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What?”

“That.”

He said one word, then slowly let his gaze travel up my body.

“Moving like that. It turns me on.”

It was a crude word, one I’d never use in my writing. But I blushed like a romance heroine. My face burned, though I kept my expression neutral. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“You said this body was clumsy and always falling over at home.”

I muttered, but he didn’t respond. Why not? I turned and saw him staring—at my lips.

“Director Kook?”

“Do you know how sexy your lips are when they move?”

I couldn’t speak. Moving my lips would only make it worse.

“I want to kiss you.”

“…”

“Can I?”

His eyes were no longer smiling. When I’m with him, there are moments like this—when time freezes. The problem is, that frozen time is filled with unbearable heat. It’s like a trap he sets, pulling me in with desire. But I wasn’t ready to dive into that heat. My lifelong self-restraint held me back. Because it was morning. And I had work.

“We’ll be late. So no.”

I stepped back firmly.

Thud!

Ack!

Pain shot through me. Damn it. I’d backed into the sink. I nearly cried, but held it in. Director Kook looked down at my foot.

“Can you even go to work with that body? Might as well have sex with me.”

He always sets traps like this, but thankfully ruins the mood himself. That’s how I’ve managed to keep my routine. Damn it, I hurt my precious heel dodging you.

“This body’s gotten me to work just fine. So don’t worry—go have sex with yourself.”

“You don’t have to go in today. The office is closed.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. I’m the CEO.”

Right. You are. His confidence in running the company like it’s his personal playground was almost impressive—if only it weren’t a five-person startup.

“I have to report to the Special Measures Bureau today. I’m going there.”

“Don’t go. I’ll shut that place down too.”

“…It’s a public institution.”

“Public or private, you think I can’t shut it down?”

“No bombs, please.”

Damn it. He cursed under his breath and turned away. His sulking was kind of cute, and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“Go get ready for work.”

I said sternly, but he didn’t give up.

“Then let’s shower together.”

“Shall we?”

I smiled and pointed.

“You in the guest bathroom, me in the master. Same time, different places. That works, right?”

He frowned, clearly displeased. I walked past him to the master bath. He followed, deliberately making noise, and asked in a sulky voice:

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What?”

“Driving me crazy with want.”

I couldn’t help turning around. That drives him crazy? I blinked in confusion. He reached for my face and muttered:

“That expression too. It’s insane.”

His hand brushed my cheek, and I flinched like I’d been burned. Then I remembered what he’d said earlier—“moving like that”—and froze, legs apart.

I looked up, startled, and saw him scanning me again. He didn’t speak, but his gaze said it all. I swallowed hard and forced a casual tone.

“You’re just not fully awake yet. A cold shower will fix that.”

“Not at all. I’ll just end up jerking off thinking about your naked body.”

I could vividly imagine what he meant by “jerking off,” and my mind went blank. It wasn’t even romantic—just crude. So why was it so stimulating? I tried to hide my reaction, but he stared straight into my eyes.

“Let’s shower together. I’ll show you.”

“I-I’m fine.”

“The shower? Or watching me get turned on?”

If I had to choose… I realized I didn’t need to. I answered firmly.

“Neither. We’re late. Go get ready.”

I turned to head back to the bedroom, but he followed again. I gave him a look that said “not happening.”

“Then at least let me hold your hand.”

“What for?”

“Because I want to.”

He tilted his head like a sulky child. I nearly laughed—but held it in. If I cracked, I’d never make it to work. But he really was cute. After all the touching, licking, and biting last night, now he just wanted to hold hands. He urged me to give him my hand, so I did.

“Holding hands isn’t a big deal, right?”

His large hand swallowed mine. Warmth spread through me. But his next words stopped me from melting.

“It is here. Outside the bed, you don’t let me do anything.”

What are you talking about? I was about to ask, but then realized—he was right. But I had an excuse. Outside the bed is just… life. The bed is for touching and kissing. I knew how flimsy that sounded, so I didn’t say it aloud. He stared at me and voiced what I couldn’t admit.

“Are you embarrassed?”

My hand twitched. He gripped it tighter, like he was catching me trying to run. His gaze sharpened.

“No way. I’ve had, uh, tons of relationships.”

My voice trembled with the lie. But it worked. He sounded bitter.

“I bet you were super popular.”

“…Me?”

“Having lots of relationships means lots of people chased after you.”

Like they say—liars lie well. I coughed awkwardly.

“Well, not that many…”

“Just watching you breathe drives me crazy. I can’t imagine how others felt. They must’ve been obsessed.”

Some were, annoyed by my jokes and driven mad. Even though I was the one who started the lie, hearing Director Kook react like that made me feel a little guilty.

“Um, actually, no one really went that crazy over me…”

“Shit. I should’ve met you first.”

He muttered through clenched teeth. I gave him an awkward smile, knowing full well we had met years ago.

“Even if we’d met earlier, I doubt much would’ve changed.”

“No. It would’ve. I could’ve chased off all those bastards drooling around you. Damn it, I should’ve met you before you could even walk.”

Before I could walk? What, like we’d be nursery mates or something? I was speechless, but he couldn’t calm his anger. He gripped my hand even tighter.

“What pisses me off the most is thinking about how many of those bastards saw you like this—blushing, embarrassed.”

Only I should see that. Fuck. He added under his breath. I heard the curse, but it didn’t bother me. So even though my hand hurt a little, and time was ticking toward work, I just stood there. A little embarrassed.

Seungjae still couldn’t believe Director Kook was in a relationship.

“Maybe Han Jemyung’s just pretending to date him out of fear. I mean, if you reject him, he’d totally get revenge.”

At Seungjae’s comment, Deputy Chief Seo nodded.

“Sounds plausible. Director Kook seems like the type who’d lock someone in a 130-floor basement and only let them up one floor for every ‘I love you’ they say. Look at Han Jemyung’s face. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘madly in love.’”

Manager Bae shook his head at their theory.

“No way. I bet in bed, he’s totally into it.”

His face flushed red from last night’s heavy drinking, and he blushed even more at his own words. The other two grimaced at the thought of Director Kook’s sex life.

“Manager Bae, please. That’s disgusting. Ugh, I need to cleanse my brain with some wholesome fiction.”

Seungjae quickly opened a web novel site and clicked on the latest chapter from author Sasoonjeong.

“Ooh—‘My Love, Ppojji’ / Episode 3.”

As the screen filled with text, all three of them let out a collective groan.

“Wow, even the title is cringey.”

“Still, compared to Sasoonjeong’s usual stuff, this is pretty tame.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of disappointed it’s not more nauseating.”

Their critique began with just the title. It was a ritual. Like most office workers, they didn’t start work the moment they arrived. They needed coffee, a glance at the news, and a bit of mental prep for whatever chaos the day might bring.

Reading this novel was part of that warm-up. The absurdity, the over-the-top cheesiness—it woke them up and gave them something to complain about. Even if the title lacked punch, the content was still ripe for mockery.

“The main character’s name changed, but the personality and speech are exactly like Sasoonjeong’s other leads.”

“But the eye color’s different. Look—it says their eyes are like ‘mugwort-colored pearls, as clear as deep-sea water.’ But isn’t deep-sea water blue? Mugwort is green. And pearls are white, right? Ugh, this author’s metaphors are still garbage. Just like Sasoonjeong.”

Deputy Chief Seo shook his head in disbelief, and Manager Bae chimed in with another similarity.

“This one’s about finding a mysterious prince named ‘Ppojji’ who secretly helps the protagonist. And there’s a constant stream of new love interests. Just like the last one.”

Despite their complaints, they read the entire chapter. Reading this ridiculous, sometimes shockingly cheesy novel had become part of their morning routine. They claimed it was bad, but they never missed an update and always left comments.

And someone was watching their peaceful routine with disbelief.

“What the hell are you all doing, just sitting around in the office? If you’re hunters, go catch some mosquitoes or something. Don’t just leech off your salaries like parasites.”

Director Kook had arrived. Everyone scrambled back to their desks, but their expressions remained relaxed despite his scolding.

“We were just reading Sasoonjeong’s new novel, ‘My Love, Ppojji.’”

Manager Bae answered, and Director Kook paused.

“Episode 3 is out?”

“What? You didn’t know? It was uploaded around 8 p.m. last night. What were you doing that you missed the update?”

Manager Hong teased, and Director Kook replied flatly.

“I was busy having sex with Han Jemyung.”

Everyone froze—Manager Hong, Deputy Chief Seo, even the tipsy Manager Bae. They were reminded that nothing was more horrifying than unsolicited details about a coworker’s sex life. All eyes turned to Hong with silent blame: You asked a crazy man a question. This is on you.

“Anyway, Director, Sasoonjeong’s new novel is basically a copy of her old ones. Just different names, same everything. Isn’t that self-plagiarism?”

Hong tried to change the subject, and Director Kook frowned slightly.

“She’s not copying someone else’s work. What’s the problem?”

“Well, from a reader’s perspective…”

“I love it.”

That was the end of the discussion. When a madman says he loves something, there’s no room for debate. They all realized that as long as “My Love, Ppojji” was being serialized, they couldn’t criticize it in front of him. And sure enough, he made it official.

“From now on, everyone has to write a 3,500-character review after reading each chapter. No lazy one-liners.”

“…But each chapter is only 3,000 characters.”

“You’ll be summarizing the chapter in your review, right? So write 500 more.”

Thus began Director Kook’s new time-wasting initiative: the handwritten review method. Within 42 minutes of clocking in, the staff were already fantasizing about quitting. Manager Bae, who had the highest salary, asked seriously:

“Do we get paid extra for this?”

“Of course.”

Everyone turned on their monitors and began furiously typing reviews. They didn’t have much else to do anyway. But because they were openly browsing the novel site, all the 4K employees noticed something.

“Hey, did you see the banner on the site? There’s going to be a web novel expo.”

Manager Hong announced loudly, then added excitedly:

“There’s even going to be a signing event!”

“Huh? An expo?”

I had just finished a routine report at the Special Measures Bureau and stopped by the publishing house since I had time. That’s when my editor told me why she’d called me in.

“You haven’t seen the banner yet? It’s hosted by the site where you serialize, and the banner’s huge.”

“Are expos even allowed now?”

Large-scale events had been banned for years due to safety concerns.

“The world’s stabilizing.”

She smiled and showed me the announcement on her screen.

“The 5th Adult Web Novel Expo.”

“Of course, there’s a limit on the number of attendees. But it looks like it got approved as an adults-only event.”

Ah, so that’s why they boldly labeled it “adult.” I skimmed the announcement. Publishers could apply for booths, and each would host events related to their web novels—readings, merchandise sales, and most notably, author signings.

“We’re compiling a list of authors who can attend. Will you be able to come?”

I blinked slowly.

“I don’t really have any authors I want to get a signature from…”

She burst out laughing.

“Haha, no—I meant, would you be willing to give out signatures?”

I still didn’t quite understand what she meant, so I just stared blankly.

“Me? Sign autographs?”

“Yes, you, the author.”

“How much is the participation fee?”

She chuckled softly and waved her hand.

“Oh, of course it’s free. If you come, we should be paying you to participate.”

“You’re paying me?!”

“No, just a small gift.”

“…Ah.”

“So, will you come?”

Ah. I hesitated, unable to answer right away. She grinned playfully and asked,

“You don’t have a signature?”

“I have one for contracts, but… wait, you mean I’m supposed to give autographs to people?”

My voice rose as the reality hit me, and she laughed again. But I didn’t have time to be embarrassed. Me? Giving autographs? My chest swelled with excitement, but before I could float even ten centimeters off the ground, reality yanked me back down.

“I’d be lucky not to get pelted with rocks.”

“Oh, come on. No one would do that.”

“But still… my stories don’t get many views, and barely anyone pays to read them.”

Then why invite me? There must be more popular authors. I looked at her, puzzled, and she gave a knowing smile.

“Your work stirred up quite a bit of buzz. After your novel ended, it became a hot topic in a major fiction community.”

“Probably not in a good way.”

“Still better than being ignored. Do you know how many stories never get mentioned at all?”

She offered gentle reassurance, then added,

“I checked it out myself. There were even some long-form reviews. They were so entertaining that they became a topic of discussion too.”

That was news to me. I looked at her, surprised, and she smiled with confidence.

“Your fans are incredibly passionate. Especially SDE.”

The moment she mentioned Director Kook’s username, I snapped to attention. Right—if anyone could stir up a storm, it was him.

“Come to think of it, if you attend the signing, you might see SDE there too.”

Flinch.

“Will you come? Should I add your name to the list?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

I firmly rejected the idea of attending the signing, but after leaving the publishing house, I wandered around the area for a while. They’d said they were handing out a booklet of famous quotes from various web novels at the booth. Mine was included too.

The thought of signing next to one of my own quotes made my heart swell. I wanted to participate. But there was a massive obstacle: if I did, Director Kook might finally find out. Even if he hadn’t figured out what I did yet, sitting there at the author’s table would be the end of it.

And what if no one came to my table? I’d be completely exposed. Honestly, the publishing house was out of their minds for even suggesting it. But then I remembered what the editor said—my novel had caused a stir in a major community. I turned on my phone, which barely had any battery left, and quickly searched online.

Connecting to the internet outdoors was expensive, and with every second, my heart pounded thinking about the data charges. But I couldn’t resist. I searched for “Love, Purity, Passion: The Name Is the Burning White Rose.” Nothing came up. Disappointed, I turned off my phone—then had a thought. I changed the search term to “Sasoonjeong.”

Over a page of results appeared.

“Damn it.”

I cursed aloud. Why did everyone call it “Sasoonjeong” instead of using the proper title? I skimmed the list and found three posts with lots of comments. I checked the first one.

“Understanding Genre Fiction’s Hegemony and Human Desire Through Sasoonjeong.”

I forgot all about the data charges and reread the title several times. What? I clicked on the post.

“The hegemony created in an unreal world is the clearest reflection of the author’s unconscious desires.”

I didn’t understand a word. Like any seasoned web novel reader, I skipped the body and went straight to the comments.

• “What are you even talking about?”
• “Is this really worth analyzing like this?”
• “The readers are just as crazy as the author.”

Most of the comments were like that. No wonder it had so many. Even I, the author, didn’t get it. Who writes this kind of review? I checked the username.

“Gadarama-ba.”

Missing only the “na.” And suddenly, someone came to mind. No way… could it be Director Na? He might actually write something like this. But I shook my head. Even if he did write such a serious review, he’d never use such a childish username. People are wild, I thought, and moved on to the next post. The title already annoyed me:

“Sasoonjeong’s Comedy Is True Comedy.”

Who the hell wrote this? There’s no comedy in my story! Furious, I opened the post.

“Sasoonjeong is a comedy. Disguised as romance, every word and particle is meticulously crafted for laughs. If it’s not comedy, there’s no other way to explain the absurdity. Still, there are about 187 flaws. First, the exaggeration is weak. Second, the character names are too plain…”

I couldn’t read any more. I checked the username.

“BoonguhPsycho.”

Even an elementary schooler wouldn’t pick something that childish. And I knew someone with that exact brand of crude humor. Shit—was it someone from the Restoration Bureau? As I trembled with rage, I saw the top comment:

“Agreed. Sasoonjeong’s writing is a mess, but their passion for comedy is at least on par with the Chunhyang era.”

The moment I saw “Chunhyang era,” I knew who wrote it. Of course—the username was “Lovely Pension.” Deputy Director Yoo from the Population Control Bureau. My hands shook. I wanted to call them both right then, but the looming data charges stopped me. Plus, my battery was almost dead. I clicked on one last post that looked normal.

“Sasoonjeong Is Worth Reading.”

It seemed like a standard review. Why so many comments? I read the first line.

“Sasoonjeong is worth reading. After a bottle of wine, it starts to make sense. The problem is the fans who praise it while sober. One in particular picks fights and seeks revenge on anyone who criticizes it. Are they sane? Were they raised properly?”

That “problematic fan” was clearly Director Kook. I worried for the writer’s safety—and wondered how they knew about his upbringing. Then I saw the username: “Family.” If they were really family, would they use such an honest name?

But this wasn’t the time to dwell on that. Sure, my novel had become a hot topic—but not for the right reasons. I started to suspect the editor had sent me here just to mess with me. And I felt embarrassed for even imagining fans lining up for my autograph.

The only person who probably wanted my autograph was Director Kook. He was the only one who genuinely liked my writing. Maybe the only one who ever would. That thought left me with a strange feeling. And just then, as if he could sense it, my phone rang. I stared at the name for a long time before answering.

“Yes, Director Kook.”

[Something wrong?]

Had my voice betrayed my emotions? I quickly cleared my throat.

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

[Don’t lie. Something feels off.]

Anyone else might dismiss a “feeling,” but this was Director Kook—the human lie detector. I tried to brush it off.

“Maybe it’s because I didn’t work with you this morning. I had to report to the Special Measures Bureau.”

[…]

“Hello? Director Kook?”

[…hyo.]

“Sorry?”

He mumbled something I couldn’t hear. Then he took a deep breath and said clearly, with a hint of excitement in his voice:

[Okay. Let’s do it.]

Do what? I frowned, trying to recall what I’d said.

“Do what?”

[What you said earlier. You were seducing me—asking to have sex.]

“W-what?!”

My voice cracked in shock.

[So, are you somewhere right now, touching yourself while thinking about me?]

What the hell is wrong with this lunatic?! Whatever warm feelings I’d had for him thirty seconds ago vanished in a puff of smoke. I could hear faint voices through the phone.

“Ugh, my ears… they’re rotting, sir.”

“Endure it! If you’re not quitting, you have to survive this madness!”

It was the 4K staff. He was saying this crap in front of them?! My plan to visit the 4K office that afternoon was immediately canceled.

“Director Kook, stop talking nonsense. That’s not what I meant. And of course I’m not—”

I glanced around and lowered my voice.

“—not doing anything like that. Obviously.”

[Then what are you touching while thinking about me? Ah, your left nipple’s the sensitive one, right?]

A scream echoed in the background. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Shut up. Please.”

[You really are shy, Han Jemyung.]

Should I kill him? But he was too strong for a crime of passion. I pulled out my cheat code.

“Director Kook, I’m hungry.”

[Wait for me.]

He hung up immediately. Strangely, he always made sure I ate. A few days ago, after a long night of clinging to me until dawn, I’d muttered “I’m hungry” without much thought. He’d jumped up, raided the fridge, and cooked me a full meal. I hadn’t even been that hungry, but I’d been touched and ended up eating quite a bit.

Now, staring at my phone, I knew he’d be rushing over again to feed me. When was the last time someone worried about whether I’d eaten? My memory drifted back like wind through time. White hair, wrinkled hands, and tightly permed curls came to mind.

“Food’s ready—come eat.”

The voice was fuzzy, but I remembered clearly that it was my grandmother. She always made sure I ate. After she passed, I thought no one ever would again. No one to care about my meals.

I stood there, phone in hand, lost in that memory. Then, like an alarm, the soft ring of a bicycle bell snapped me out of it. I turned and walked away as Han Jemyung, but the voice from my memory followed me like a shadow:

“Run. Grandma’s okay, just go. Jiwoo, hurry, go!”

Sometimes I think—even if the world ends and a dystopia takes over—Korean delivery food will survive. Especially Chinese food. There’s even a legend that during the blackout three years ago, Chinese delivery riders found people hiding from the Heartless and still delivered their orders.

So eating jajangmyeon for a late lunch wasn’t anything special. The problem was the location.

“Why aren’t you eating? Do you like soggy noodles?”

I sat there, unable to touch my food, and Director Kook misunderstood my hesitation.

“No, I like them chewy.”

“Unbelievable.”

What? I blinked, confused, as he stirred his noodles and replied offhandedly:

“You and I even have the same taste in noodles. That makes us the most fated pair in the universe.”

And just like that, he declared that anyone who liked chewy noodles was his soulmate. But I didn’t argue. Who knew what nonsense he’d say next? Besides, the noodles were getting soggier by the second.

“I wasn’t sure if it was okay to eat here. This office doesn’t even have an owner.”

I glanced around seriously. Stacks of documents, boxes of case files—this was a lawyer’s office. The same one where, cluelessly, I’d once slept with him on the couch. The new couch, which I’d bought with the last of my credit limit, now had Director Kook sitting on it.

I’d paid for the entire thing. Why? Because I refused to give a single cent to someone who tried to legally change his name to something ridiculous. So, once again, I became the broke one with a conscience. I watched him like a hawk, worried he’d spill jajang sauce on the couch, but he was too busy eating.

“There’s no owner, so we eat.”

What kind of logic is that?

“4K pays a huge retainer to this law firm. We might as well use the office and get our money’s worth. So eat.”

Our ancestors were wise. They left us proverbs for moments like this. Like: “The dog with dung mocks the one with chaff.”

“And you were nearby, weren’t you?”

I froze mid-stir.

“How did you know I was nearby?”

“Just did.”

I shouldn’t have asked. I tried to focus on untangling the clumped noodles and finally took a bite. But then he asked again:

“Why were you nearby anyway? The only place you had to go this morning was the Special Measures Bureau.”

Gulp. I swallowed and mumbled through my food.

“Just… ended up walking this way.”

“Ahh.”

What was that deep, understanding sigh? I looked at him, puzzled. He had a strange smile on his face.

“Maybe you were thinking of me and instinctively wandered into my territory.”

It was a very intentional detour.

“Or maybe you’re hiding something from me.”

Gulp.

“Nope. Just instinct.”

Satisfied, he resumed eating. Watching him eat made me realize how hungry I was too. I slurped up the black-sauced noodles and asked casually:

“Why hadn’t you eaten yet?”

“I did.”

I paused and looked at him. He didn’t explain why he was eating again, but I had a feeling. It made my chest feel warm and ticklish.

“Thanks.”

I murmured. When he didn’t respond, I glanced up—and met his gaze. He was staring at me. Then he quickly looked away.

Why? He licked the sauce from the corner of his mouth and asked:

“So, wanna do it?”

“…Do what?”

“Sex.”

Whatever warm feeling I had just evaporated into the floor.

“Here? Now?”

I stammered, flustered. He answered shamelessly:

“What’s wrong with here? We’ve done it before.”

“That was because I didn’t know! And I had to pay for the couch…”

The injustice of it all hit me again, and I couldn’t even finish my sentence.

“Why’d you do something so pointless?”

Because of that “pointless” act, you’re sitting there comfortably right now, you jerk. I was about to snap and tell him to sit on the floor, but then I noticed his pout. He looked sulky. Who’s the one who should be upset here? I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He was kind of cute again. I stirred my noodles and asked lightly:

“Is sex all you think about when you see me?”

“Yes.”

Hey, that’s a bit—

Seeing my expression, he added with a slight pout:

“I could lie, but I want to be honest with you. Don’t you like that?”

“I don’t hate it, but when you say it like that, it feels like you only see me as a sex object.”

Of course, I liked sleeping with him. I liked it so much it drove me crazy.

“You enjoy it too, right?”

Don’t deny it—his tone was firm. In the past, I might’ve snapped, but now I found it kind of cute. I shrugged to hide my smile.

“Well, yeah.”

He put down his chopsticks and stared at me. I got a little nervous. Was he going to get revenge because I didn’t say I loved it? But instead, he looked down and muttered in a flat tone:

“You might be used to hiding your desires because you’ve dated a lot, but I’m not like that.”

Ah. He’s sulking. The great Director Kook, the revenge king, was sulking. I couldn’t help but smile. But when he suddenly looked up, I quickly straightened my face and replied:

“It’s not my fault I’ve dated a lot.”

It was. I shouldn’t have lied in the first place. But it was too awkward to take it back now. Besides, seeing him get jealous over my fake past was kind of adorable. I might be the only person in the world who sees him this way.

“I know. It’s not your fault. My family says I’m just too innocent.”

“…Who said that?”

“Me. My nickname’s ‘Innocent.’”

“…Right.”

“They’re all worried now that I’m dating.”

“…All of them?”

“Except my mom.”

At least his mom was sane.

“My aunt said if I ever get heartbroken, she’ll break the other person’s ribs and use them to castrate him. That was her way of comforting me.”

He said it so casually, but I went pale. Break what to cut what?

“Is your aunt… a hitman?”

“No. She has a normal job, like my uncle.”

Wait, wasn’t his uncle the one who used his sexual prowess to work in divorce mediation? If that’s “normal,” then I’m a unicorn. I braced myself.

“She’s a teacher.”

Oh. That’s actually normal. But she says things like that? Well, I guess you need to be tough to deal with kids. I laughed nervously.

“I thought she might be a Heartless hunter or something.”

“I’m the only hunter on my dad’s side. The rest just hunt Heartless as a hobby.”

I paused, noodles halfway to my mouth. That’s a hobby? Unlike my stiff reaction, Director Kook casually explained while slurping his jajangmyeon.

“For some reason, my paternal relatives run into Heartless a lot.”

That confirmed it—spiritual possession must be hereditary.

“So everyone’s casually killed a few hundred Heartless.”

“…Casually?”

“Yeah. A few hundred is nothing for you too, right, Han Jemyung?”

If a confectionery company tried to break a Guinness record with a 3-meter-long gum, then sure, I could call it “nothing.”

“Well, I guess.”

As I gave my reluctant answer, he stuffed his cheeks with noodles like a chipmunk and grinned. Why? I asked with my eyes, and he swallowed, his smile widening.

“Because you’re cute.”

“What part of me is cute, exactly?”

I blinked in disbelief, and his eyes sparkled.

“You nodded seriously to something that wasn’t even worth answering.”

First of all, it wasn’t trivial. Second, even if it was, that’s not something to call cute. I was about to correct him, but his next murmur stopped me.

“To me, everything about you is cute.”

Unlike his earlier grin, this came out flatly—but to me, he looked a little shy. So I blurted out without thinking:

“You’re cute too, Director Kook.”

Embarrassed, I buried my face in my bowl and focused on eating. For a while, only the sound of me eating filled the room. I listened closely, and soon I heard him start eating again too. Even just the sound made it feel like he was smiling. After a while, I looked up and saw that he’d finished and was staring at me.

He always did this during meals—finished first, then stared at me uncomfortably. At first, I tried to match his pace and ended up with indigestion. That time, he grabbed my hand under the pretense of checking my pulse and said:

“Eat slowly. Your digestive system’s crap anyway, no need to match my pace.”

Normally, I’d have snapped back and offered to show him my stomach acid levels, but I couldn’t say anything. His voice had been so gentle. He really was a strange person—so annoying, sometimes selfish, yet no one was kinder to me. His affection was so clear it almost hurt.

Once I realized that, I got addicted to the warmth and didn’t want to leave it. That’s why I could eat jajangmyeon in someone else’s office without caring if sauce got on my lips. How did I know it had? Because Director Kook reached for my face.

At first, I leaned back warily, but when I saw his hand approaching slowly—so I wouldn’t be startled—I stopped. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, gently wiping away the sauce. The black smear disappeared, but a red flush spread across my face.

“Ah, I have tissues. H-here.”

I rummaged through my bag and pulled some out, but didn’t hand them to him. He was licking the sauce off his thumb—while staring at me. His eyes burned with a clear heat. The warmth on my face felt like it was spreading through the whole room. But thankfully, the world has fire extinguishers for a reason. One came in the form of a sharp voice that instantly cooled the air between us.

“What the hell kind of freak show is this in someone else’s office?!”

At the lawyer’s voice, I shot up reflexively. I’d already paid for the couch once, so I bowed deeply. My eyes darted around, checking for any sauce splatters. Unlike my cautious self, the shameless one greeted the lawyer without a care.

“There’s no tangsuyuk—how’s this a party? You’ve really hit rock bottom.”

That’s not what I meant by “party.” But this Korean-American had a gift for misunderstanding anything that upset him, no matter how fluent his Korean was otherwise. The lawyer, now labeled a beggar, twitched an eyebrow. I braced myself for talk of compensation, but instead, he clenched his jaw and slumped into a chair. I quietly began clearing the dishes.

“Hey, that.”

I flinched. He was pointing at my bowl with a scowl.

“There’s still food left, isn’t there?”

I looked. The noodles were gone—just sauce and veggies remained.

“I finished.”

“What are you talking about? There’s plenty left. Eat it.”

Do I look like a beggar to you? I wanted to ask, but his glare made me silently pick up my spoon. Meanwhile, he snapped at Director Kook.

“If you’re going to be a nuisance in someone else’s office, at least do your job properly.”

“I always do.”

“You didn’t finish the 27th case.”

Director Kook furrowed his brow, trying to recall the date.

“When’s the 27th?”

“This month.”

I paused mid-scoop and looked at the lawyer. Today was the 11th. Unless he was a time traveler, blaming him for something in the future was absurd. Even Director Kook seemed annoyed.

“No way. The 27th is the ‘5th Adult Web Novel Expo.’”

So he wasn’t mad about the lawyer’s nonsense—he was upset about his own schedule. The problem was, I had the same schedule. Damn it, he’s really going?

“Ah, so you were planning to go. But you can’t. Something important’s happening that day. Very important.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no guarantee a Heartless incident will happen on the 27th. Why panic now?”

I agreed with Director Kook. How could you predict a Heartless attack on a specific day? Even if a rare, strategic Heartless existed, that would be the Special Measures Bureau’s job. But the lawyer insisted, arguing that Director Kook had to work that day. Their voices rose, fingers pointed, and just when I thought it might explode, the lawyer shut him down with one line:

“Keep this up and I’ll tell your mom!”

“Ah, his aunt’s really strict with him.”

Director Na handed me a teacup and explained casually.

“His dad’s side spoils him, calls him their sweet boy. If not for his aunt, he’d have grown up completely wild.”

He still seemed pretty wild to me. Whatever his mom tried clearly didn’t work. But Director Na nodded, saying his aunt made him human.

“I heard his grandmother doted on him too. Even on her deathbed, she only worried about him. That’s why his relatives are so protective.”

Ah, the one who bulk-ordered glow-in-the-dark T-shirts.

“I met his aunt once when I had a small argument with him. Later, when we were alone, she smiled and said—”

Director Na sipped his tea and recalled her words.

“‘Relax your eyes before I melt them with acid.’”

I blinked.

“She’s a teacher, right? I mean, teachers can say things like that, but that’s pretty intense.”

“Oh, she is. Technically. She teaches at a vocational school for prison inmates.”

“…Her vocabulary suits her job perfectly.”

Director Na chuckled and dropped the real reason he’d called me to his office.

“She’s coming to Korea to meet you, Han Jemyung.”

“…Is there another Han Jemyung she might know?”

He laughed loudly, then quickly apologized.

“Sorry, it just caught me off guard. But don’t worry—it’s not that serious. Since it’s Director Kook’s first relationship, the family’s curious. She’s coming as their representative.”

To destroy me? He said not to worry, but how could I not? I wasn’t brave enough to smile and greet someone who once said she’d break my ribs and castrate me. I clutched my chest and asked:

“How about a video call instead?”

“She already bought a ticket.”

“Unfortunately, there were tickets available.”

Director Na tried not to laugh again. But I wasn’t in the mood to feel proud for amusing him. Seeing my serious face, he grew solemn too.

“You might be nervous meeting her alone.”

“Alone? Director Kook won’t be there?”

“No. She’s coming secretly. Director Kook told his family not to even think about meeting you.”

I felt a little disappointed that he didn’t want to introduce me. I stayed quiet, and Director Na added gently:

“He didn’t mean it badly. He said you’re too precious to show them. He doesn’t want anyone else falling for you.”

A bittersweet smile crossed his face. But I was too busy worrying about meeting the aunt to notice. When I finally looked up, he was staring at me. Our eyes met briefly. Why is he looking at me like that? I blinked, and he smiled faintly.

“It’s not working.”

“What isn’t?”

“Moments like this.”

What kind of moment? A tense one between a rep and a counselor? I blinked again, and he smiled and got back to the point.

“Since she’s coming secretly, she asked the lawyer to keep Director Kook busy while she’s in Korea. Come on the 27th.”

Ah, so that’s why the lawyer insisted so much on being busy on the 27th.

“Director Kook’s aunt said she’d like to meet you that evening. Are you free that day?”

The signing event was already off the table, so of course I was free. I nodded, and Director Na acknowledged it.

“Then I’ll let her know you’re available.”

“Um, is there anything I should be careful about when I meet her?”

Suddenly feeling small, I fidgeted with my hands. Director Na smiled gently.

“Just be yourself, Han Jemyung.”

That’s exactly what I’m most worried about. Seeing my concern, he offered a few more words of encouragement, then added casually:

“Oh, and make sure you’re on time. She hates people who break promises.”

The biggest change in my relationship with Director Kook was how I used my phone. I used to keep it off most of the time to save battery and avoid the brutal data charges. Now, I kept it on almost all day. Thankfully, I could charge it for free at the 4K dorms, and I saved enough on food to afford the data.

Of course, saving on food didn’t mean skipping meals. I was eating better than ever. Thanks to Director Kook, who practically force-fed me delicious meals every day, I even felt like I was gaining weight around my waist. I voiced this concern this morning—and immediately regretted it.

At first, I’d said it in passing, and he didn’t respond much, so I thought it had blown over. But while I was putting the breakfast dishes in the sink, he suddenly came up behind me. He casually wrapped his arms around my waist, trapping me between the sink and his body. I flinched and tried to turn around, but his lips touched the back of my neck first. As his hand slipped under my shirt, he whispered:

“If I start liking the way you feel here too, how much more insane are you going to drive me?”

I don’t know why that line sounded so dirty. Thankfully, someone came to shatter the mood—his phone rang like crazy. It was the lawyer. Same ringtone, but somehow it always sounded more obnoxious when it was him. Anyway, the lawyer was yelling at him to come quickly, so Director Kook stormed off to get revenge.

The lawyer was the only person I didn’t worry about when it came to Director Kook’s revenge. But I did wonder how long he could keep him occupied. He’d lost track of him before, and I’d ended up seeing Director Kook at the Ant Nest. Though, to be fair, he did help resolve things that time.

That was only a month ago, but it felt like years had passed. A lot had changed in that time. I got a boyfriend, finished a novel I’d been dragging out for over a year, and now I even got texts in bed on weekend mornings from someone worrying about me. I stared at the message on my phone for a long time.

—Don’t even think about going out with that pathetic stamina. Just rest at home.

That phrase, “pathetic stamina,” had become part of my daily vocabulary. With the right filter, it even sounded sweet. I’d never been told I was weak before. But this man worried about my body, my stamina, even my brain sometimes. Like this message:

—I won’t be able to contact you today because of my schedule. If there’s anything you want to eat, text me.

Wow. That’s seriously sweet. It felt good to experience something like this for the first time, but part of me still didn’t trust it. Don’t trust too much. Everyone leaves. They either break up or die. In the end, I’m always alone. Maybe I lost hope the moment I started losing comrades one by one in battle.

I was enjoying this disgustingly sweet relationship with Director Kook, but I couldn’t imagine a happy future with him. I didn’t have the confidence. I’m Han Jemyung—not the beloved protagonist of my novels. I’m not popular with my coworkers, no one wants to talk to me, and I don’t have the kind of beauty that turns heads. If I disappeared, no one would notice. I’m just Han Jemyung.

So when I thought about meeting Director Kook’s aunt tonight, I had no confidence I’d make a good impression. I just hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed. I lay there blinking at the ceiling, then got up. She came all this way—I should at least bring a gift.

I thought about buying flowers and started getting ready. Then my phone rang loudly. Who was calling this early? I frowned when I saw the name: Manager Kim. I had a bad feeling. A call from your boss on a day off is never good. But I wasn’t brave enough to ignore it.

“Hello—”

[Jemyung! It’s urgent! Get out here, quick!]

Manager Kim didn’t even say hello.

“Get out where?”

[We got a request for extra manpower on a field assignment, but the person scheduled to go got injured. You’ll have to fill in.]

“…Me?”

My short reply was packed with “Why me?” Manager Kim explained.

[Since the new Special Measures Director took over, our team’s been working overtime all month—even weekends. Oh, right, you wouldn’t know. You’ve been off at 4K. How’s that going?]

Too well. I’d been slacking off every day. Normally, after GM week, all the postponed work would pile up, and we’d be stuck doing overtime. Someone was probably crying over the tasks I left behind.

[Oh, and I’m handling your mid-year report. Jeez, how did you organize it so perfectly? Huh?]

So it was you. No wonder you called so confidently.

[You just need to cover the site until 5 p.m. If you leave now, you’ll make it.]

My meeting with the aunt was at 7, so the timing worked. I felt a little guilty and considered going—but it was still annoying to work on a day off.

“But you know I’m scared of Heartless. I’m not really suited for fieldwork.”

[It’s not a Heartless site. Totally safe. That’s why they asked our department. And it’s perfect for you.]

What kind of site is “perfect” for me?

[Byunghui recommended you.]

Of course. Betrayal always comes from those closest to you. That bastard…

[It’s the ‘5th Adult Web Novel Expo.’ Totally safe.]

Oh?

Maybe writing really is my destiny. How else could I end up at the expo through such a coincidence? …Or so I thought before I arrived. I imagined fate would lead me to my publisher’s booth, where I’d unexpectedly sign autographs and be swarmed by fans until I developed wrist tendonitis.

But once I got there, I realized fate was just a series of random events. The expo hall was huge. Ridiculously huge. And packed with people. I could find my publisher’s booth if I tried, but at this rate, I wouldn’t even get within 50 meters of it until the event ended.

“Han Jemyung, we’re short on safety checkers at Gate 4. Please head over!”

I hadn’t even caught my breath after hauling supplies from the storage room when a new request came in. Where was Gate 4? I checked the big map on the wall and hurried off. Originally, Special Measures staff were just supposed to monitor safety compliance.

But the crowd was so overwhelming that even we had to help check visitors. At Gate 4, I joined another staffer and shone a blue light into each person’s eyes to check for Heartless. They’d already been screened once at the entrance, so it wasn’t dangerous. The real problem was the complaints.

“How many times are you going to check us?”

“Jeez, don’t shine that light so close! It’s bad for your eyes!”

I saw you glued to your phone earlier. Was that light a vitamin supplement?

“How long do we have to wait? My legs hurt, and I need the bathroom!”

My legs were already numb. The endless line finally eased around 4 p.m., and I got to sit down. I was so out of it that I didn’t care whether this was the “5th Adult Web Novel Expo” or the “500th Resignation Fair.”

“Good work. You haven’t eaten yet, right? Go grab something. There are restaurants nearby and food stalls inside. Just take off your staff badge—you might get complaints even while eating.”

The woman in her 40s who managed the team gave me a break. She worked in the public affairs division and was great with people, but even she looked exhausted.

“You haven’t eaten either, Manager Kim. You go first.”

“I grabbed something earlier. I’m fine.”

She patted my shoulder and ran off to help a visitor. I watched her go, then headed into the expo hall. It was my first time inside after hours outside, but I wasn’t curious—I just wanted to get food for my hungry coworker. As the team lead, she probably wouldn’t eat unless someone brought her something.

I quickly lined up at one of the central food stalls. I hadn’t eaten properly, but the hunger had passed. Normally, I’d be tired and cranky, but thinking about how Director Kook would freak out if he knew I skipped a meal made me smile. He might even try to shut down the Special Measures Bureau.

Of course, he actually could, so I’d have to stop him. But having someone so firmly on my side felt good. Come to think of it, when he’s not my enemy he’s the most reliable person in the world. Lost in that thought, grinning to myself like a fool, I happened to glance sideways—and caught sight of a booth name.

“OO Publishing”

My eyes widened. That was my publisher!

“Excuse me, please move forward.”

Only then did I realize the line had moved. I stepped aside quickly.

“Oh, you can go ahead.”

I slipped out of the line and, instead of walking confidently up to the booth, I hid behind a neighboring one about five meters away and peeked out. There was no real reason to hide, but the moment I saw the scene in front of the booth, I lost all courage.

A woman—clearly an author—was standing there with a shy smile, preparing for a signing event. And the line of fans waiting for her autograph was long. So long, in fact, that it stretched all the way to where I was standing.

I was jealous. Deeply jealous. People lining up ten minutes before the signing even started? That too. The sign at the booth said the author would write a favorite quote from the novel along with the autograph. I could do that too—write all of Wishu’s golden, sparkling lines. But my envy and petty jealousy vanished in an instant when I overheard a conversation nearby.

“Oh? Sasoonjeong came from this publisher?”

I flinched and shrank further behind the pillar, glancing sideways. A skinny guy in a hoodie, standing in line with a female friend, pointed at the booth. On the booth’s wall were printed some standout reader comments used for promotion—including one from my novel.

“Sasoonjeong” —“So damn sad” / by Soondungi

It was Director Kook’s comment. I had no complaints about it being used for promotion. My editor probably remembered how I’d teared up reading that comment. The problem was the title. Why “Sasoonjeong” again? Even the publisher used the abbreviation? That felt like betrayal. And of course, the title came up in their conversation.

“What’s ‘Sasoonjeong’ supposed to mean?”