Sunlight filters in through tall, sheer curtains. The room is a minimalist dream — black marble floors, silent motion-sensor lights, built-in sound system playing soft instrumental jazz.
Everything in here whispers power and control.
A sleek, king-sized bed. Custom-made wardrobe lining an entire wall — suits color-coordinated, watches placed like art. Nothing is out of place.
In the center of this perfection stands KANG JUNGHO.
He adjusts the cuff of his dress shirt in front of a three-panel mirror. His jawline is sharp, his glasses polished, and not a single strand of hair is out of line.
Every man dreams of a life like this.
But perfection… has a price.
RING RING.
His phone vibrates.
Jungho calmly taps to answer — not even looking at the screen.
the call goes to loudspeaker. He doesn't stop what he's doing.
He stands in front of his mirror, tightening a sleek black tie with practiced precision. Calm. Mechanical. Like everything else about him.
On the vanity beside him lies a single, unusual object:
custom black-rimmed glasses, resting on a folded black cloth.
Jungho picks them up carefully.
He doesn't wear them yet.
Instead, he takes a moment to wipe them — slowly — with a clean microfiber cloth from a drawer beneath his watch tray.
DAEJIN (ON SPEAKER, CASUAL)
"By the way, the media's eating up last night's gala photos. They called you the 'Ice Prince of Seoul' again. Congrats."
Jungho gives a small, dry smirk — barely there.
JUNGHO
"That's lazy writing."
DAEJIN
"Not their fault you don't smile. Ever. Just try not to scare the investors this morning, okay?"
Jungho holds up the glasses, inspecting them for dust — more like a ritual than a necessity.
DAEJIN (CONT'D)
"And don't forget your 11AM with the forensic audit team. You said you wanted them grilled—"
JUNGHO (cutting in, calm)
"They lied. I'll handle it."
He finally puts the glasses on. The moment he does —
everything goes still.
Like the world gets quieter around him.
INT. KANG CORPORATION – 47TH FLOOR, PRIVATE MEETING ROOM – 11:05AM
The room is made of cold glass and darker intentions. Everything gleams, but it's not warm. It's silent except for the occasional click of a pen.
Three members of the forensic audit division sit on one side of the long table, stiff-backed. Nervous. Files open in front of them.
Jungho enters last, suit flawless, expression unreadable behind his glasses. He doesn't sit immediately — just stands at the head of the table.
The air shifts.
JUNGHO
"So. Let's begin."
AUDITOR #1 (clears throat)
"CEO Kang, the flagged inconsistencies were traced back to an outdated purchase log—"
JUNGHO (calmly)
"—That never existed."
He finally sits, slowly removing a single folder from his portfolio. Sets it down.
JUNGHO
"You reported the same expenses across three subsidiaries with no vendor receipt, no timestamp, and no accountability."
The three auditors glance at each other.
Jungho leans back in his chair, laces his fingers together.
JUNGHO
"One of you forged the signatures."
SILENCE.
A quiet pressure fills the room. One auditor shifts in his seat. Another adjusts his sleeve. The third — a woman — keeps her eyes forward but her fingers tremble on the pen.
Jungho doesn't raise his voice.
JUNGHO (to no one in particular)
"It's fascinating how people still choose to lie in front of me."
A flick of his hand. His assistant, Daejin, steps forward and places three black pens on the table. One in front of each auditor.
DAEJIN
"These are pressure-sensitive pens. You'll sign the statement confirming your personal audit trail. Right now."
No one moves.
Jungho calmly removes his glasses — just slightly. Lets them hang from one hand.
CLOSE-UP: His eyes, exposed. Sharp. Quietly glowing with something unseen. The air seems to press harder into the room.
JUNGHO
"I won't ask twice."
FLASH (only visible to him):
— A storage locker.
— Hands shaking.
— A printed invoice with altered digits.
— A whisper: "It's just numbers. He'll never know."
Jungho turns his gaze directly to Auditor #2.
JUNGHO (flatly)
"You."
The man freezes.
JUNGHO (to Daejin)
"Notify legal."
AUDITOR #2 (cracking)
"I—I didn't take anything for myself, I swear—!"
JUNGHO (cold)
"That's not the part I care about.
You lied. In my company.
That means you're out."
Daejin steps forward. The guards outside are already moving.
Jungho calmly places his glasses back on. The pressure disappears. The room exhales — but no one feels safe.
JUNGHO (to the rest)
"Fix the rest of it.
Or the next time… I won't use a pen."
He stands and walks out.
The auditors remain frozen.
⸻
INT. JUNGHO'S OFFICE – 11:45AM
The room is still. Only the distant hum of the city and the slow tick of a hidden clock echo in the background.
Jungho returns to his desk after the audit. His expression remains cold — but his hand hesitates before reaching for a pen.
A corner of a small velvet pouch peeks out from under his monitor riser — misaligned just slightly from earlier.
Jungho pauses.
He pulls it out slowly — carefully — as though it might break if touched too roughly.
Inside:
A vintage silver chain watch, simple and understated. The glass slightly scratched.
It doesn't match his usual taste.
He flips it open with his thumb.
Inside the cover, faintly engraved:
"To the boy who forgets everything but time – H.H."
For the first time all morning, Jungho blinks slowly.
His cold exterior softens — only for a beat.
JUNGHO (V.O.)
You said I'd stop looking at time like an enemy.
You were wrong, Hanna. I just learned how to control it.
He winds it once — a silent ritual.
Then closes it and slides it back under the monitor.
Out of sight. Never out of reach.
INT. KANG CORPORATION – 47TH FLOOR – OPEN OFFICE AREA – LATE MORNING
Phones ringing. Heels clicking. Papers flying.
The usual Monday chaos buzzes through the company's executive floor.
Near the shared pantry, a few employees gather around a desk, whispering like kids in a classroom.
EMPLOYEE 1 (whispering)
"Did you see the way Director Noh came out of the meeting room? He looked like he aged five years in twenty minutes."
EMPLOYEE 2 (chuckling)
"He got Kang-ed."
EMPLOYEE 3
"Pfft. CEO Kang doesn't even blink. I swear he breathes once per hour just to show us we don't matter."
Everyone laughs—except KIM BORA, mid-20s, pretty, flawless blowout hair, wearing officewear a little too polished for a finance assistant.
She sighs dramatically, sipping from her pink mug that literally says "MRS. KANG".
KIM BORA
"You're all just jealous. That man is the definition of self-control."
EMPLOYEE 2 (teasing)
"You mean you wouldn't mind being grilled to ash if it means he looked at you for five seconds?"
KIM BORA (dreamy)
"Honestly… if I died by his stare, at least I'd die in luxury."
Laughter erupts again.
KIM BORA
"Besides, I think I'm close. Last time he looked in my direction, he didn't squint."
EMPLOYEE 1
"Maybe his contact lens was stuck."
Bora flips her hair with zero shame.
KIM BORA
"It's okay. He just hasn't realized I'm his type yet."
The elevator dings in the distance.
Suddenly — everyone freezes.
Whispers stop. Back straight. Coffee cups vanish.
Footsteps echo.
KANG JUNGHO enters the floor, walking past with precision — unreadable behind his glasses, suit perfect, aura terrifying.
Everyone bows. A few mumble good morning.
Jungho doesn't respond. He doesn't need to.
He disappears into his office like a shadow.
Only then does anyone dare breathe.
EMPLOYEE 3 (whispering)
"He's like a walking lie detector, I swear."
EMPLOYEE 1
"Yeah… and you just know he can smell fear."
KIM BORA (clutching her mug, smiling)
"And cologne. Expensive, heartbreaking cologne."
The hallway outside Jungho's office is like a war zone of silence. No one dares step too close to his door — except one.
KIM BORA peeks from behind her desk, clutching a random folder labeled "Q4 Paper Cup Inventory."
KIM BORA (whispering to herself)
"It's now or never. Confidence, Bora. You are the main lead in your own drama."
She reaches into her bag like a soldier arming for battle.
She sprays her neck with her signature over-sweet perfume — a cloud of floral chaos envelops her.
People nearby cough.
EMPLOYEE 2 (covering nose)
"She's going in again…"
EMPLOYEE 1
"May her soul rest in silence."
KIM BORA
"Quiet. This might be the moment I change fate."
She steps forward, folder clutched like it contains state secrets. The hallway grows eerily silent as she approaches the CEO's door.
She knocks. Once. Twice.
No answer.
She peeks in.
KIM BORA
"C–CEO Kang? Just a small document you might want to see. Totally urgent. Super top-level… paper."
She enters, ever so slowly.
Jungho is by the window, hands behind his back, eyes on the city.
The room smells like cedarwood and money. Bora freezes for a second, completely forgetting her own name.
KIM BORA (in her head)
Oh my God, he's a painting. He's an oil painting.
No— a sculpture. Cold. Deadly. Beautiful.
He turns slowly.
She straightens up like a soldier in front of a general.
JUNGHO
"What's that?"
KIM BORA (voice too high)
"Paper… cups!"
JUNGHO
"Excuse me?"
KIM BORA (correcting fast)
"Inventory. Of paper cups. For Q4. Essential for beverage morale, sir."
He blinks. Once.
She panics. Tries to fill the silence.
KIM BORA
"Also… I thought maybe… you might like a smile today."
Silence.
JUNGHO (flatly)
"Get out."
KIM BORA (hopeful)
"Do you… want coffee?"
JUNGHO (still not moving)
"No."
KIM BORA (lower)
"Water?"
JUNGHO
"Bora."
She straightens.
JUNGHO (pointing to the file)
"Leave the folder. Take the perfume with you."
She blushes bright red.
KIM BORA
"Yes, sir."
She scurries out, but just before she closes the door behind her:
KIM BORA (to herself)
He said my name. It's progress.
That's emotional contact. That's… basically flirting."
The door clicks shut behind Kim Bora's perfume-clouded exit.
Silence returns.
Jungho sits at his desk, motionless. His glasses rest beside him. The vintage chain watch lies open on the table, ticking softly.
Across the room, a muted television plays on the wall.
A woman appears on-screen.
Dressed in red. Confident. Laughing with her co-host. Her presence fills the room, even without sound.
Hanna.
Jungho lifts his head slowly. He watches her.
But his face… doesn't change.
Not even a smile.
Not even a frown.
Just eyes locked — unmoving — like he's studying a stranger and remembering someone he lost.
JUNGHO (V.O.)
She said I was impossible to read.
But she was the one who kept leaving things behind… and never told me how to let go.
He leans back in his chair.
Still watching.
Still silent.
The sound of the ticking chain watch grows louder.
JUNGHO (V.O.)
Some people stay… even when they leave.
TO BE CONTINUED.