Jeon Jungkook sat stiffly on the edge of the cushioned bench in the gleaming lobby of ValenCorps Global, clutching a slim folder to his chest like it was the only shield he had left. His fingers were damp. The air smelled like money, leather, and polish. Even the receptionist's smile felt like it cost more than his entire wardrobe.
He knew he did not belong here.
His blazer hung a little too loosely on his shoulders because it was borrowed. His shoes had scuffs that refused to disappear no matter how hard he scrubbed them. The folder he held contained nothing impressive. A printed resume. A single reference letter from a small bookstore in Busan. No prestigious degree. No glamorous internship. Nothing but effort, long shifts, and blind hope that someone would give him a chance before he drowned.
It had been two weeks since he left Busan. Two weeks since he hugged his mother and pretended he was not scared. Two weeks since his older brother ruffled his hair and called him brave. Two weeks since he stepped into his tiny apartment in Seoul with nothing but one suitcase and the stubborn belief that he could make it on his own.
Now he sat in a marble lobby with barely enough coins for dinner and a heart pounding so loudly he wondered if everyone else could hear it too.
He shifted on the bench, palms sliding nervously over the fabric of his slacks. A tall man in an immaculate navy suit strode past him without even glancing in his direction. Everyone here looked like they were carved from ambition and certainty. ValenCorps Global was not just any company. It was a giant. Even back in Busan, the name carried weight like thunder. Getting a job here would not just be luck. It would be a miracle.
The receptionist had smiled politely when she checked his name and handed him a visitor pass.
"Please wait here. Someone will be with you shortly."
That was twenty minutes ago. He checked his watch again, because somehow that felt like control even when he had none.
He tried to remind himself not to look desperate, but desperation sat heavy on his shoulders. His pantry at home held only one half-used pack of ramen. He had walked all the way here to save bus fare. He refused to ask his parents for help after promising he could take care of himself. Pride was a stupid thing sometimes, but it was all he had.
And then, uninvited, the memory from days ago crept back into his mind. The accident.
It had happened in a blur. A sleek black car shining like liquid midnight. His bicycle clipping the side. His body hitting the ground. Groceries everywhere. Eggs exploding. Knees burning. And then him.
The man.
Impossibly well-dressed. Sharp-eyed. Cold. The kind of man who radiated power without speaking a word. He had looked at Jungkook like he was insignificant. Like he was dust on his perfect car. And when Jungkook tried to explain, he had not listened. He had simply tossed a few bills at him and walked away without a trace of remorse.
Jungkook had never felt so humiliated. So angry. So small. He should have left the money right there on the pavement. He blinked and pushed the memory away. That moment did not matter now. This interview was his chance. His future. His entire gamble.
He had practiced what to say for days. Not too formal. Not too casual. Confident, but not arrogant. Eager, but not pathetic. He wanted to show he deserved a place in a world like this, even if he had clawed his way here with nothing but stubbornness. If he messed this up, there were no other interviews lined up. No relatives in the city. No backup plan.
His phone buzzed quietly in his pocket. A message from his mother.
"Did you eat before the interview? We are praying for you. Fighting."
He locked the screen quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. She did not know he had skipped breakfast. She did not know how badly he needed this job. She certainly did not know how shaky his hands were.
The elevator chimed softly across the lobby. His breath caught for a moment, but no one said his name. He straightened his posture. No matter what waited for him, no matter how intimidating or cold the interviewer might be, he had to face it. This was more than a job. This was survival. This was dignity. This was proof that he could stand on his own.
He gripped the folder tighter and lifted his chin. Behind him, the door clicked softly as Kim Taehyung stepped into the waiting area. There was no need for anyone to announce him. He carried presence the way others carried breath.
He did not knock. He did not pause. He simply walked in as if every inch of the building belonged to him. The marble beneath his shoes, the soft hum of the lights, even the breathless air between the walls seemed to fall under his ownership. And in his mind, it always had.
Sharp navy suit. Gold cufflinks that caught the light like quiet threats. A gaze colder than winter steel. People straightened instinctively when he entered a room, like their bodies recognized his presence before their minds did. The receptionist stiffened, following him with her eyes as if gravity itself shifted around him.
But Taehyung had no interest in her. Not today.
The kid's name had been stuck in his head from the moment the receptionist mentioned it. Jeon Jungkook. He had repeated it once, in silence, and something hot and unpleasant twisted in his chest.
He had not forgotten that stare. That infuriating spark of defiance. The attitude of someone who did not care that he was standing in front of a man who could buy and sell half the city before lunch. Jungkook had crashed into his car, ruined his groceries, and had the nerve to talk back.
Taehyung had dealt with arrogant clients, greedy investors, and seasoned executives who folded under the slightest pressure. But this boy, barely in his twenties, had stood there in the street with scraped knees and messy hair and refused to bow.
It had irritated him. Not because it mattered. But because it stayed. That moment clung to him like a thorn he could not pull out. So when the receptionist said a Jeon Jungkook was waiting for an interview with one of the creative teams, his blood chilled for a heartbeat. Then it simmered. The name was too exact. The age too young. The coincidence too deliberate.
Fate had an ugly sense of humor. He rounded the corner and saw him. The boy sat hunched forward, gripping a folder like it was a life jacket. His blazer was slightly oversized. His shoes worn. His hair soft and unstyled, falling over his forehead. He looked pale, nervous, small. Something twisted unexpectedly in Taehyung's chest. Annoyance. Memory. Something darker.
It was him. The brat.
Jungkook had not noticed him yet. His shoulders were tense. His leg bounced. His lips were pressed together as if he was whispering reassurances to himself. The sight was almost pathetic. Almost amusing.
Because the universe had dragged this defiant little street rat right into the world Taehyung ruled. Into his company. Into his territory. He exhaled slowly, reining in the spark of temper. Not yet. He wanted to watch. To see if the kid would break or pretend he was strong. To see whether he recognized him and how fast the color drained from his face.
He walked forward, each step firm and deliberate, echoing across the polished floor like a slow countdown. When Jungkook finally looked up, the reaction was instant. The folder slipped in his hands. His breath caught. His face went white.
Taehyung did not smile. He did not need to.
He stopped right in front of the boy, letting his shadow stretch across Jungkook's trembling form. The air tightened. Jungkook did not know whether he should stand or bolt for the exit. Taehyung let his eyes drag over him with an icy calm before lifting one brow.
"Well, well," he said quietly. "Look who fate decided to drop at my feet again."
Jungkook blinked, shock freezing him in place. Taehyung tilted his head, arms folding casually across his chest. His voice slid out smooth and poisonous.
"Ran out of eggs and came here hoping a billionaire might replace them for you?"
Still nothing.
He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing. "You really enjoy inserting yourself into places you do not belong."
Jungkook finally forced himself to his feet. His spine straightened. His fists clenched at his sides. Taehyung noticed the trembling. He noticed everything. He stepped back once, gaze sweeping over him slowly.
"I must say," he murmured, voice colder than polished steel, "I am impressed. I did not expect someone with that level of attitude to dress like he dug through a donation bin."
That hit. The first crack.
Jungkook flinched. His jaw tightened. And Taehyung felt it. Or to be more accurate, he enjoyed it.