Jihye's lips twitched despite herself, looking like she was fighting off a sneeze. A woman sitting across the aisle frowned at her, clearly wondering if she was okay.
Inside, her head was a full-blown ahjumma street battle: two voices shrieking, despite being the same person, at least as a body.
Jihye ground her teeth, counting the stops. One down. Eight to go.
Every bump in the road rattled her skull, voices bickering in the background, but she locked her eyes on the little green LED board ticking away the stops and repeated the only mantra that mattered:
Don't snap, hold it in Jun Jihye. She thought, taking deep breaths.
By the time she arrived at Han Group Tower, she was an hour behind. Striding into the thirty-floor glass building, Jihye was grateful for the cool air that wrapped around her like relief itself. She paused, clipped on her employee badge around her neck, then smoothed out her clothes.
She had long since learned to push past the noise of the vast lobby, the ceiling soaring high above her head. Light spilled down from chandeliers the size of small cars, scattering across the pale marble tiles. A row of manicured trees softened the sleek contours of the lobby, their leaves stirring faintly in the air-conditioning. The soundscape was a blend of clipped footsteps, brisk conversations, and the muted chime of phones. People streamed in and out through not one but six security gates, each scanning badges before releasing a soft beep and opening with a quiet hiss.
Jihye pressed her ID to the scanner, waited for the green light, then slipped through.
She rushed toward the elevator bank, offering quick bows and polite nods to several team leaders and supervisors. One manager was stepping out just as she entered, and she dipped low in greeting.
Two colleagues who knew her—a man and a woman—returned her gesture with small smiles.
"Miss Jihye-ssi, good morning," the woman said warmly.
"It seems you're running a bit late today," the man added.
"Ah, yes," Jihye admitted with a sheepish smile. "I had to rush to get my mom's medication at dawn and drop it off with her, Mrs. Jang."
"Oh, I hope she's doing well?"
"Yes, she's feeling better. Thank you for asking."
The small talk ended as they got off on their floors. Finally, the elevator stopped at the twenty-ninth floor, home to the executive offices and secretarial staff.
Thank God her other alters had gone silent, leaving her some peace. They would always come back as long as she didn't take her medication—which, of course, she had forgotten to bring today.
Jihye sighed, bracing herself. She wasn't looking forward to the day.
As soon as she stepped out of the elevator onto the floor, she was met with chaos.
Normally, at this hour, almost everyone would be tucked neatly into their cubicles—catching up on emails, preparing schedules, or quietly typing away. The atmosphere was usually hushed, broken only by the occasional footsteps, muffled conversations, and the hum of office machines.
But now? The place looked like a fish market.
Almost half the secretary staff were up and moving, voices overlapping in urgent tones. One person was practically camping at the printer, trying to wrestle fifty copies out of a jammed tray. Two others were locked in a heated debate across four cubicles, each waving a different draft of a contract. A cluster of staff hovered anxiously by the phone bay, red-faced as they argued over whose call to the CEO had been cut off mid-sentence. Someone else darted past, clutching a stack of blue folders like her life depended on it, muttering, "He said blue cover only! Who brought green?!"
Jihye stood frozen at the elevator for a heartbeat, alarmed by the sight. But more than that, she was relieved—no one had noticed her lateness. Quietly, she slipped toward her cubicle, placed her bag down, and powered on her computer.
A glance at the corner of her screen.
9:47 a.m.
Her stomach dropped.
Shit. The finalized draft!
The one she was supposed to submit to the chief secretary by 8:30.
She cursed under her breath, snatched the file, and strode quickly down the aisle. She had just passed a few cubicles when a male colleague called out to her.
"Jihye-ssi! Are you going to Mrs. Cha's office?"
She turned, clutching the report tighter. "Yes, I need to see her. Why?"
He gave her a look of surprise. "Don't you know? She's not here. Took emergency leave this morning."
Jihye blinked. "What? She's not around?"
"Yeah. Something urgent came up. Why? Do you have business with her?"
"Yes," Jihye said, showing him the report. "I was supposed to submit this to her."
"Ahhh." He nodded, distractedly flipping through a folder in his hands. "Well, just hold onto it until she gets back."
"But I was told that the CEO—" she started, but he had already turned away to answer someone else calling his name.
Jihye closed her mouth, frustration biting her tongue, and trudged back to her desk. She dropped into her chair with a sigh. Mrs. Cha had stressed how important it was to deliver the report in time. The CEO was supposed to see it today—yet here it was, stuck in her hands like a ticking bomb.
She tried to focus on her screen, fingers flying over the keyboard, but her eyes kept flicking back to the report.
Almost ten minutes later, a sharp voice cut through the chatter.
"Does anyone have the finalized press release draft for the Neura-X1 launch?"
The entire floor stilled for a moment. Heads turned toward the front, where one of the executive assistants stood, clipboard in hand, looking harried.
Jihye's heart seized. That was her document.
The assistant's eyes swept the floor. "It was supposed to be submitted to Mrs. Cha, but since she's on leave, the CEO wants it directly. Right now."
Murmurs rippled through the staff, everyone glancing around.
Jihye swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the report.
Slowly, she pushed back her chair and stood.
"I… I have it."
Every head turned toward her.