Junho
The third knock echoed under my knuckles, deep and deliberate. For a moment, nothing. Silence. Then the faintest shuffle on the other side of the door, like someone holding their breath.
I smirked. She was there.
Kang Hana. The girl who had marched into my office like a lost intern, touched my pen like it was treasure, and then thrown me the single most reckless question I'd ever received at a press conference.
I should have been furious. She'd risked humiliating me in front of every camera in Busan. But instead? I couldn't stop thinking about the look in her eyes—half terrified, half defiant.
She was different.
And when something is different, it's either a threat… or an opportunity.
I leaned casually against the doorframe, adjusting my cufflinks. My driver had argued against this visit, called it reckless. But reckless was the point. I didn't get to where I was by playing safe.
Besides, curiosity was a luxury I could afford.
I knocked again, softer this time. "Open the door, Miss Kang," I called, my voice smooth enough to carry through the wood. "Unless you'd prefer I let your neighbors keep guessing."
Another shuffle. A soft gasp.
Ah. Got her.
I pictured her standing there, debating whether to face me or pray I disappeared. Most people opened doors for me immediately. But Hana? She made me wait. That alone was enough to keep me standing here.
The lock clicked. Slowly but hesitant. The door opened just enough for one wide brown eye to peek out.
"Mr. Seo," she breathed, her voice caught between disbelief and panic.
I smiled faintly. "Good evening, Miss Kang. May I come in?"
The door didn't move. Neither did she.
Her hair was messy, falling out of a cheap claw clip. She wore an oversized T-shirt with cracked lettering something about ramen, if I read it right. No makeup. No careful image. Just raw, unpolished… her.
And yet, for reasons I couldn't quite place, I found myself staring longer than I should.
"Um… it's late," she stammered. "And this is my home. And you're—you're you. People don't just—CEOs don't just knock on people's doors."
I leaned one shoulder against the frame, lowering my voice. "If I only did what people expected, I'd be very bored by now."
Her lips parted, like she wanted to retort but couldn't find the words. Finally, she pushed the door wider with a resigned sigh.
The apartment smelled faintly of instant coffee and laundry detergent. The couch was buried under mismatched cushions, the walls plastered with posters—BabyMonster, if I wasn't mistaken. A stark contrast to the glass-and-steel world I lived in.
I stepped inside without waiting for permission, letting my eyes wander. Small, cluttered, chaotic. But it felt alive. Human.
"Don't touch anything," she snapped, darting past me to snatch a notebook off the table like it was classified material. "And don't just—walk in like that!"
I glanced at the notebook in her hands. She hugged it to her chest like a shield. My curiosity spiked.
"Relax," I murmured, lowering myself onto her couch. It sagged under my weight, springs squeaking. "I didn't come to steal your secrets."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then why are you here?"
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make her fidget, then leaned back casually, folding one leg over the other.
"Because, Miss Kang," I said softly, "you interest me."
Her jaw dropped. She blinked at me like I'd just confessed to murder. Good. Let her wonder.
Her silence was delicious. She stood there clutching that notebook, eyes wide, lips parted, as if I'd just upended her entire worldview with three simple words.
"You—what?" she finally sputtered.
"You interest me," I repeated, letting my tone stay calm, casual. "Most people spend years trying to impress me. You, on the other hand, storm into my office, insult my pen, humiliate me in front of the press, and then—" I gestured vaguely toward her tiny apartment, "—hide here like a fugitive."
"I did not insult your pen," she muttered, cheeks heating.
I smiled. A real one, not the polished curve I reserved for boardrooms and cameras. "You nearly stole it."
"That's… different."
Her indignation only made me lean in further, elbows resting on my knees. "Tell me, Miss Kang. Do you usually break into CEOs' offices and interrogate them about their loneliness, or am I just special?"
She groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "Why are you like this?!"
I tilted my head. "Like what?"
"Smug. Infuriating. You just—you walk around like the world owes you its firstborn child."
I chuckled softly, enjoying the fire in her eyes. Most people wilted under my gaze. She burned.
But beneath her bravado, I noticed the tremble in her hands, the way her notebook pressed tighter against her chest. She was scared—but not enough to back down. That was rare. And rare things always caught my attention.
"You don't like me," I said simply, leaning back again.
Her laugh was short, sharp. "Congratulations. Smartest man in Busan finally figured it out."
I smirked. "Good. If you liked me already, this would be boring."
Her mouth opened to retort, then shut again. She blinked, completely thrown. That reaction—confusion wrapped in irritation—was exactly what I wanted.
The game was just beginning.
I let the silence stretch, savoring the way her lips pressed into a stubborn line. She wanted me gone, that much was obvious. But she didn't understand—I didn't show up at doors without a reason.
I rose slowly from her sagging couch, brushing invisible dust from my suit. The movement made her flinch, like she half-expected me to suddenly announce she was under arrest.
Instead, I adjusted my cufflinks, glanced around her cluttered little apartment one last time, and said, "You should be careful, Miss Kang."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat?"
I smiled faintly. "Advice."
She scoffed, but I could see the flicker of unease in her gaze.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice just enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet my eyes. "The world is watching you now. Half of them want to crown you, the other half want to tear you apart. Which side wins…" I let the pause hang, "…depends on how you play."
Her breath caught, just barely. I leaned back, heading for the door. My hand rested on the knob before I turned to look at her one last time.
"Consider this an invitation," I said smoothly. "To my world."
Her mouth opened. No words came out. Good I thought. Let her stew in it.
With that, I stepped out into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind me. For the first time in a very long while, I caught myself smiling—not the mask I wore for cameras, but something real, sharp, and dangerous.
This little journalist had no idea what she'd stumbled into.
But soon… she would.