Prologue
The morning of your interview started with your heel snapping off as you ran through the crosswalk.
You stumbled but didn't stop. You couldn't afford to—literally. This was the fifth interview this month, and the last one you had bus fare for. Your résumé was damp at the corners, and the cardigan clinging to your shoulders was two sizes too big—borrowed from your friend because it was the only thing you owned that looked "office-friendly."
By the time you reached the lobby of Kim Group's towering headquarters, your breath was ragged, your shoes ruined, and the clock glared 8:14 AM. Fourteen minutes late.
You whispered an apology to the security guard, bowed three times, and practically flung yourself into the elevator.
That's when you saw him.
He stood at the back of the lift—tall, poised, elegant in a way you didn't think was humanly possible. His suit was pressed to perfection, collar sharp, hair pushed back with the kind of ease that said he was born to be admired. He looked like he walked out of a luxury magazine shoot—if models could frown harder than thunderclouds.
Still, he held the door open for you.
"Thank you," you said with a breathless smile, rain still dripping from your bangs.
No response. He barely looked at you.
Still, your voice came out, soft and friendly. "Big day?"
Nothing.
You tried again, smiling gently. "Are you… here for an interview too?"
That made him look.
Like a slow, measured scan. First at your wrinkled blouse, then your frizzy ponytail, your half-worn shoes and the edge of your résumé folder sticking out from your rain-soaked tote.
His stare made your stomach drop.
"No," he said finally, his voice smooth but biting. "But you are."
Ding.
The elevator opened. He walked out.
And just like that, you knew.
That was him.
Kim Seokjin. CEO. The youngest in the conglomerate's history. Known for firing employees over typos and arriving at board meetings with the elegance of a villain in a noir film.
And now, he was going to interview you.
The interview room smelled like coffee and fear.
He didn't offer you a seat. Didn't say hello. Just flipped your résumé open with a flick of his fingers, eyes scanning it silently as you sat down across from him, trying not to shrink.
"You studied psychology," he said finally.
You nodded. "I majored in psychology but minored in marketing. I've been doing freelance design and admin work to—"
"You're fresh out of university," he interrupted.
"Yes."
"No corporate experience."
"No, but I've done freelance project coordination—"
"Freelance doesn't count."
You swallowed.
He closed the folder with a thud.
"I don't understand what made you think you were qualified to work here."
Your heart thundered in your chest. But you folded your hands in your lap and answered anyway. Gently. Steadily.
"I know I don't have years of experience. But I have heart. I learn fast, I work hard, and I know how to work with people. I've handled clients who didn't know what they wanted until five minutes before a deadline, and I stayed up all night making sure they got what they needed. I don't come from much, but I make the most of every opportunity I'm given."
He leaned back in his chair, unreadable.
"I don't care about heart," he said flatly. "This is not the kind of place where soft people survive."
You hesitated. "Then maybe this company needs one."
His gaze sharpened.
You panicked. "I… I didn't mean that to sound rude. I just meant… maybe someone who believes in people could help make things better. Warmer."
He said nothing.
But you saw the flicker in his expression. Barely there. A pause. As if, for half a second, he didn't hate that answer.
Still, his tone was ice when he finally spoke. "We don't hire people who show up late looking like they crawled here from a bus stop."
You flinched, your smile faltering just slightly. "I know I'm not the ideal candidate, but if you give me one week, just one, I'll prove I can be. Please."
He stared at you for a long, painful second. His fingers tapped the table.
Then he stood.
"You have five business days. One mistake, and you're gone. Don't come here thinking you'll change anything. This place doesn't bend for anyone."
You stood too, bowing deeply. "Thank you, sir. You won't regret this."
He didn't answer. He was already turning away.
You didn't cry in the elevator.
Not until you got outside, the cold wind rushing past you like it wanted to push you down. You sniffled quietly at the bus stop, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your soaked cardigan.
Still… you smiled.
It was a sad smile. But a real one.
Because even though Kim Seokjin had looked at you like you were a stain on his schedule…
He gave you five days.
And sometimes, that's all you need.
"It's okay," you whispered to yourself, hugging your bag tighter. "It's just a challenge."
And you'd survived worse.