If the Seo Group headquarters felt like another world, the press event was another universe.
Cameras flashed from every direction, reporters swarmed like sharks in designer suits, and I—Kang Hana, impostor extraordinaire was wedged between them with my notebook flipped open to a blank page. I scribbled nonsense anyway, like "blah blah rich blah jawline sharp enough to cut glass."
On stage, under the blinding spotlights, stood him.
Seo Junho.
Not the smug man who caught me fumbling with his pen yesterday. Not the man whose cologne still haunted my jacket. This Junho was dazzling, polished to perfection. A custom suit that probably cost more than my entire life, a tie the exact shade of midnight, hair glinting under the lights.
And that smile.
God, that smile. Smooth, charming, calculated—like it had been engineered in a lab to make people trust him.
I watched the crowd lean in as he spoke, his voice warm, his answers flawless. Reporters nodded, charmed, scribbling notes like he was handing them wisdom instead of PR soundbites. I swear I even saw one woman's knees buckle.
I tapped my pen against the paper, muttering under my breath. "Robots. All of them. How does nobody see it?"
"Because he's perfect."
The voice came from my left. I glanced over to see a middle-aged reporter, her eyes starry, clutching her recorder like it was holy scripture.
"Perfect?" I scoffed. "He's just a guy in a suit."
She gasped, scandalized. "Just a guy? That man's the pride of Busan! His company employs thousands, his charity donations are legendary, and do you know how many scholarships he's personally funded?" She leaned closer, whispering reverently, "He even saved a dog from drowning once."
I blinked. "...Was the dog holding a press pass?"
She gasped again, clutching her pearls—or, okay, her lanyard as if I'd just blasphemed. I quickly ducked my head and scribbled more fake notes.
When I looked up again, Junho's eyes were scanning the crowd. Calm. Controlled. Then like fate his gaze locked on me. I froze.
For a second, it was like we were back in his office. The same sharp intensity, the same almost-smirk curling his lips. Except now, there were cameras everywhere. Reporters everywhere.
And Seo Junho, Busan's Golden Boy, pointed directly at me.
"Why don't we hear from the young lady in the back?"
Every head turned toward me.
Oh. Crap.
A hundred pairs of eyes burned into me. The cameras swung my way, lenses gleaming like sniper scopes.
I forced a laugh that came out three octaves too high. "Oh, me? Uh sure. Yes. Hello."
Junho's smile didn't falter. That perfect, glossy smile that made everyone around him swoon. But I saw it. The glint in his eyes. The mischief.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
"Go on," he said smoothly. "You must have a question for me."
Did I? Absolutely not. My notebook contained exactly three words: "jawline, evil, dog??" Not helpful.
My brain screamed ask something safe. Instead, my mouth decided to go rogue.
"Uh, Mr. Seo, sir…" I licked my lips, pen shaking in my hand. "As Busan's… uh… most eligible bachelor, how do you handle the… crushing loneliness of wealth?"
The silence that followed could have killed me.
Then, the reporters erupted in a frenzy, pens scratching, cameras flashing. The woman beside me gasped so hard I thought she might faint.
Junho didn't miss a beat. That smile widened just enough to feel dangerous. "An excellent question," he said smoothly. "Though I'm surprised you're concerned about my loneliness."
Heat flooded my face. "I—I wasn't—It was just… aagh"
"Because," he continued, his eyes locked on mine, "loneliness is only a problem if you don't know who to share with. Don't you agree, Miss…?" He paused deliberately. "Kang Hana."
My stomach dropped. My heart forgot how to beat.
The reporters murmured, jotting down my name like I was suddenly part of the story.
I forced a shaky laugh. "H-how do you…? I never told you my name."
Junho tilted his head, eyes glinting under the lights. "Didn't you?"
The crowd erupted with more questions, the press host tried to regain order, but I barely heard them. My pen hovered uselessly over my paper as I realized one terrifying truth: Seo Junho had just painted a target on me in front of the entire city.
By the time I stumbled out of the Seo Group building, my phone was already buzzing nonstop.
At first, I ignored it… probably my editor wondering why I hadn't sent anything in. But then a stranger brushed past me, whispering, "Isn't that her?"
My stomach flipped. I ducked into the nearest coffee shop and yanked out my phone.
And there it was.
My face. Plastered across half a dozen gossip blogs, Twitter feeds, and Instagram reels. Screenshots from the press conference—me, wide-eyed and stammering into the microphone, Junho smiling at me like we were sharing an inside joke.
#SeoJunho Mystery Girl
Did THE Golden Boy just flirt during a press conference?!
Netizens are losing their minds over the "Lonely CEO" moment
Comments flooded in:
"Who is she?? Omg she's so lucky "
"That tension tho "
"Golden Boy looks like he already chose his queen "
"Her question was lowkey iconic. A journalist with guts!"
My coffee went cold in my hands. My chest felt like it was collapsing.
"No, no, no, no, no…" I whispered, scrolling faster, like maybe if I kept going, the internet would stop existing.
But it only got worse. Someone had found my old university photo on Facebook. Another had tracked my neighbor's Instagram and tagged me. Memes were already circulating, one with Junho's face saying, 'Lonely? Not anymore ' over a picture of me biting my lip nervously.
I wanted to bury myself six feet underground. The barista glanced at me as I groaned into my hands. "Bad day?"
"You have no idea," I muttered.
I barely heard her reply because another headline popped up:
"Seo Junho and Kang Hana—Is This the Start of Busan's Hottest Romance?"
I nearly spit out my coffee. Romance?! With him?!
Absolutely not.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, my tote strap was digging into my shoulder and my lungs felt like they were carrying molten lead. I slammed the door behind me, kicked off my sneakers, and collapsed face-first onto the couch.
"Why me?" I groaned into the cushions. "Of all the people he could've humiliated, why me?!"
My phone buzzed again. I ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.
I yanked it out and nearly screamed.
82 new notifications.
Friends, old classmates, even my landlord everyone had seen it. Everyone had something to say.
"Ya Hana, are you DATING Seo Junho???"
"Unnieeee, you're trending!! "
"Don't forget us peasants when you become chaebol wife "
I threw the phone onto the coffee table like it had burned me.
"Nope. Not doing this. I am not becoming anyone's chaebol wife. Especially not his."
I dragged myself to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and tried to pretend the world wasn't imploding. But then my TV screen lit up automatically with breaking news alerts.
Golden Boy's Mystery Girl: Who is Kang Hana?
A paparazzi shot of me walking out of Seo Group HQ filled the screen. I was mid-blink, my mouth slightly open, looking like I'd just swallowed a bug. I groaned so loudly my upstairs neighbor stomped twice on the floor.
"Great," I muttered. "Now even Mrs. Park thinks I'm a disgrace."
I grabbed the remote and shut off the TV, pacing my tiny living room. My safe little home, filled with my posters, secondhand books, and BabyMonster CDs, suddenly felt like a cage. No matter how hard I tried, Junho's smug face and the internet's rabid curiosity were everywhere.
Somewhere out there, the man himself was probably sipping whiskey in his glass palace, smirking at the chaos he'd unleashed. Meanwhile, I was stuck here, clutching a glass of water like it was holy protection.
I made the fatal mistake of picking up my phone again.
Big mistake.
Twitter threads. Instagram reels. YouTube clips with dramatic music. Everywhere I turned, my face was there, immortalized forever as "Seo Junho's Mystery Girl."
But the worst part? The comments.
"Omg, she's sooo lucky wish it was me!!"
"She's cute in a plain way, like approachable "
"Golden Boy deserves better. No way he's actually into an ugly peasant like her "
"Plot twist: she's a gold digger."
"Must've been staged. He'd never look twice at someone like that."
The words blurred as my vision stung. My throat tightened. I set the phone down before I threw it against the wall.
"Ugly peasant," I muttered bitterly. "Wow. Thanks, internet. Truly a service to society."
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, forcing the tears back. I wasn't going to cry over a man who probably ironed his socks. Not today. But it didn't matter what I told myself. The world had already decided I was part of his story. And once the internet picked a character, they didn't let go.
Ding-dong.
I jumped so hard I almost dropped my water glass. The doorbell echoed through my tiny apartment, sharp and insistent. My heart pounded. It could be Mrs. Park, furious about my late-night groaning. Or worse—the press, already hunting me down. I crept toward the door, each step heavy, my breath shallow.
Ding-dong.
Louder this time. I pressed my ear to the wood, holding my breath. Silence. Then three slow knocks.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering to myself. "Please don't let it be him."