Han Joon-seok stood near the exit of Gangnam Station.
The night air carried the smell of old rain clinging to the asphalt, mixed with takeaway coffee and the expensive perfume of people just getting off work.
Across the main road, vehicle lights reflected off the wet pavement like thin moving lines that never stopped shifting. People walked quickly. Long coats. Leather shoes. White earphones. Tired faces are still carefully maintained.
Han Joon-seok stepped slightly aside near a subway map pillar before making a call. The ringing tone sounded twice.
"Yeah, Dad?"
Seo-jun's voice came immediately. No hello. As if the child had already been waiting.
"Are you home already?" Han Joon-seok asked.
"Yeah."
"The door?"
"Locked."
"The stove?"
"I didn't touch the stove."
"Electricity?"
Seo-jun let out a small sigh on the other end.
"Dad," Seo-jun said flatly,
"I already know how to make milk by myself."
From the other side came the sound of a small spoon hitting a stainless-steel cup. Han Joon-seok froze for half a second. Nearby, two office workers laughed while carrying convenience-store bags. Someone accidentally brushed his shoulder. Han Joon-seok automatically stepped back so he wouldn't block the path. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder.
"…Right," he answered softly.
On the other end, the sound of plastic being carefully opened.
"Dad, don't stay on the phone too long outside."
"Why?"
"There are a lot of people near the station."
Han Joon-seok instinctively glanced around. Seo-jun continued,
"If Dad keeps focusing on his phone, someone could easily take what's in your bag."
Han Joon-seok looked down at the black work bag in his hand.
"That rarely happens here."
"It still can," Seo-jun replied quickly.
"The teacher said adults often let their guard down because they feel safe."
Han Joon-seok reflexively pulled the strap of his bag closer to his body. A man jogged past holding an Americano that nearly spilled.
"…You worry too much," he said quietly.
From the other end came the sound of a small chair scraping.
"Just focus on the interview," Seo-jun said.
"Don't worry about me."
The crossing signal beeped from the end of the sidewalk. People started crossing without really looking at the light.
That sentence sounded far too calm for a third grader.
Han Joon-seok stared at the convenience store across the street. Its white light flickered faintly against the bus stop glass.
"Did you eat the bread Dad left in the microwave?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because Eomma Min-woo gave me onigiri earlier."
Han Joon-seok closed his eyes briefly.
"…Oh."
On the other end came the sound of a chair shifting again.
"But I'll still eat Dad's bread later."
"You don't have to force yourself."
"It's not forcing myself," Seo-jun replied quickly.
"Dad bought it early this morning."
Han Joon-seok fell silent. His phone vibrated. A photo arrived. Their small apartment table.
- Milk bread cut neatly in half.
- Onigiri.
- A small chocolate milk.
- Premium apple juice.
At the corner of the table was a small sticky note:
서준아, 천천히 먹어 😊
(For Seo-jun. Eat slowly.)
Underneath was another line in different handwriting, smaller:
아빠한텐 비밀
(Keep it a secret from Dad.)
A bus passed slowly behind him. The light from inside briefly crossed Han Joon-seok's face before disappearing again.
Han Joon-seok read the last sentence twice. One corner of his eyebrow moved almost imperceptibly.
Then his eyes dropped to the bottom of the photo. Seo-jun's small hand was there, holding a pen. Beside the milk carton was another memo:
감사합니다. 잘 먹겠습니다.
— 한서준
(Thank you. I will eat well. — Han Seo-jun)
Children's handwriting. Slightly slanted. But very neat. Han Joon-seok stared at the photo longer than necessary.
"Dad?"
"Yeah."
"I used Dad's memo paper. The one near the fridge."
"That's fine."
"Tomorrow I'll give it to Eomma Min-woo."
Han Joon-seok looked again at his son's small handwriting in the photo.
"…We should give something back later," he said softly.
On the other end came the sound of bread packaging being folded neatly.
"If you get accepted," Seo-jun said again,
"don't choose a scary job."
"This isn't a scary job."
"What's it called?"
Han Joon-seok reopened the interview email on his screen.
"Premium Valet & Customer Care."
Seo-jun was silent for a moment.
"That's parking cars?"
"Partly."
"Hm."
Seo-jun sounded deeply serious on the other end.
"Dad can drive expensive cars?"
"A car is still a car."
Han Joon-seok looked at his reflection in the convenience-store glass. He really was preparing himself for a parking attendant job.
"But rich people get angry easily," Seo-jun replied quickly.
"That's how it is in YouTube dramas."
Han Joon-seok stopped breathing for half a second. Behind him, someone laughed loudly while slamming a taxi door shut.
"And during the interview," Seo-jun continued,
"don't say 'a car is still a car.'"
Han Joon-seok lowered his head slightly. The corner of his mouth moved just a little.
"…I thought that sounded normal."
"For normal people, maybe."
"And interview people?"
"Hm." Seo-jun bit into something small on the other end.
"They probably aren't normal."
A small silence.
The billboard at the end of the street changed advertisements again.
"Dad."
"Yeah?"
"And don't say 'Okay' too often. Just say, 'I understand.'"
Joon-seok froze.
"Why?"
"It makes you sound like a convenience-store robot."
This time Han Joon-seok truly fell silent. On the other end, Seo-jun could be heard biting into a small piece of bread.
"Dad?"
"Yeah."
"Good luck."
The child's voice was small.
"…Dad will try."
A short pause.
"If you get scared, call me."
Han Joon-seok slowly lowered the phone. On the screen, the food photo was still open.
Gangnam's sidewalk continued moving around him. Store lights. Crossing signals. Bus engines. People hurrying home.
Then he locked the screen and slipped the phone into a jacket pocket whose stitching had begun to loosen.
He adjusted his tie in the reflection of a luxury watch store window. This time, his posture was straighter as he walked forward through the increasingly blurred crowd of Gangnam.
***
In front of the building, the lounge sign glowed in only one color.
Warm white.
No animation.
No discounts.
No oversized "premium" forced into the design.
The granite sidewalk in front of it was so clean it reflected the streetlights. No cigarette butts. No drunken voices. Even the night air felt filtered.
A black Mercedes-Maybach rolled slowly into the valet area. The engine was almost silent. A valet staff member in a black suit moved immediately.
Quick steps. Straight shoulders. Left hand placed in front of his stomach.
He opened the rear door with the kind of precision that looked like military training redesigned for a five-star hotel.
An elderly silver-haired man stepped out wearing a long cashmere coat. His shoes were polished black. His skin looked too refined for ordinary sidewalks.
Han Joon-seok noticed two things at once:
the price of those shoes,
and the way the valet protected the edge of the door so it wouldn't touch the guest's coat.
Not a single wasted movement.
A dark gray Porsche Panamera entered next. Large wheels. A more aggressive engine sound. The driver was a young woman in thin heels carrying a black Chanel mini bag.
Another valet bowed slightly deeper immediately. Not out of respect. Because customers like that were quicker to anger.
Without realizing it, Han Joon-seok observed everything.
The way they stood.
The way they accepted car keys.
The way they never touched a steering wheel with damp hands.
Near the automatic doors, he stopped briefly. His reflection appeared in the dark glass.
Neatly pressed white shirt. An old suit carefully ironed until the sleeves held sharp lines. Black leather shoes with soles beginning to thin near the right heel. The thin folder in his hand looked far too morning office for a place like this.
Han Joon-seok stepped toward the entrance. A male staff member immediately moved to intercept him gently.
Not aggressive.
But clear enough to say:
not everyone was allowed to walk in freely.
"Good evening," he said politely.
"Reservation?"
"Interview."
The staff member gave a small nod.
"Name?"
"Han Joon-seok."
The staff member lowered his gaze to the tablet in his hand. His fingers moved quickly.
"Ah."
The staff member lifted his head again. His gaze lingered a fraction too long.
Behind Han Joon-seok, a BMW 7 Series stopped too close to the valet line. Another staff member immediately stepped out to move a parking cone a few centimeters.
"Valet interview?"
"Yes."
"Please check in first."
He shifted slightly, revealing a matte black podium near the automatic doors. A digital tablet stood on top.
[Interview Applicants]
✔ Name
✔ Phone Number
✔ Position
✔ Driver's License Type
✔ Vehicle Experience
Han Joon-seok stared at the last category a little longer.
Vehicle Experience.
Behind him, two other candidates spoke quietly.
"If it's a Genesis G90, that's still easy."
"The stressful ones are Bentleys. Their parking sensors are sensitive."
"They say some customers here even bring Ferraris."
"One scratch and our lives are over."
They laughed softly. The laugh of people half joking, half serious.
One candidate wore a light gray slim-fit suit that was too tight around the shoulders. His hair was styled like an idol trainee. His cologne was too strong for this distance. The other stood watching a YouTube valet video.
"How to enter a Rolls-Royce without touching the door frame."
Outside, the sound of a car engine lowering into idle echoed softly. Han Joon-seok began typing.
Name: Han Joon-seok
Position: Premium Valet & Customer Care
The Vehicle Experience field stayed empty for a few seconds. He thought seriously. Then typed:
Parallel parking in narrow apartment areas during rush hour.
The tablet chimed softly.
✔ Submitted.
The candidate behind him glanced at the screen.
"…Narrow apartments?"
Han Joon-seok turned slightly.
"If you can park in spaces barely wider than two fingers in crowded residential areas," he said calmly,
"then cars with 360-degree sensors should be much easier."
The man in the tight suit blinked twice. The valet video on his phone continued silently.
Silence.
He opened his mouth. Then closed it again.
The automatic doors opened. Warm air immediately touched Han Joon-seok's face. The smell of cedar wood. Newly opened expensive wine. Faint perfume from guests who didn't even need to turn around to be served.
The lounge lobby wasn't large. But everything was too calm to be cheap. Soft yellow lighting embedded low into matte black ceilings. Dark marble floors reflecting shoes more clearly than faces.
No loud music.
Only the soft sound of piano from hidden speakers.
A young man in a navy suit stood near the elevator speaking rapid English:
"No, tell Director Choi the investors have already arrived."
On a corner sofa, a woman in a white fur coat briefly removed her Louboutin heels to massage her feet.
On the right side of the lobby, four candidates sat in a row. One practiced bowing while checking his reflection in his phone screen.
Another was busy reading an article:
"Luxury Customer Psychology."
One man was even practicing a professional smile alone.
Han Joon-seok sat at the far end. The folder on his lap perfectly straight. He observed the valets outside through the reflection in the glass.
Timing when to open the door.
Angle of the bow.
The way they held car keys with only two fingers instead of gripping them fully.
A senior valet had just accepted a matte black Aston Martin DBX. He checked the driver's seat for a fraction of a second before entering. His hand touched the seatback first. Adjusting position.
Han Joon-seok watched for quite a while. Then murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else.
"If the seat position changes too much, customers usually notice."
The candidate in the tight suit glanced over. Han Joon-seok still looked outside through the reflection.
"Especially expensive cars," he continued calmly.
"The owners memorize small details."
Silence.
The candidate stared at him for a few seconds.
"…You drive Aston Martins often?"
Han Joon-seok finally turned.
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
Han Joon-seok thought briefly.
"Apartment residents get angry too when their seat positions change."
Another silence. The candidate laughed softly, assuming it was a joke. Han Joon-seok did not laugh. Han Joon-seok followed the receptionist staff through a side hallway of the lounge.
The carpet was too thick to produce footsteps. On the left, matte black doors lined up neatly with small golden numbers.
VIP Room 1.
VIP Room 2.
Private Hall.
A hostess hurried past carrying a reservation tablet. She stopped for half a second when she saw Han Joon-seok. Then automatically bowed.
"안녕하십니까."
( Good evening )
Han Joon-seok reflexively bowed back.
"네, 안녕하십니까."
( Yes, Good evening )
The hostess continued walking. Two steps later she slowed down. Turned toward the receptionist.
"…He's a candidate?"
The receptionist answered quietly:
"That's what they say."
"Strange. He has the posture of someone who usually hands over keys, not receives them."
The piano music changed songs. Very softly. More like the room breathing than actual music. They kept walking. At the end of the hallway, a heavyset man in a navy suit was scolding a young valet.
"Do you know how many millions that wheel costs?!"
The young valet immediately bowed nearly ninety degrees.
"Sorry, Manager-nim!"
The valet was still bowing when the man in the navy suit lifted his head. Then stopped talking. His eyes slowly traveled from Han Joon-seok's shoes, to the line of his suit, to his face.
A split second of silence. His body language changed instantly. Straighter back. More careful tone.
"…Investor guest?"
The receptionist quickly turned.
"No, Manager Kim-nim. Interview candidate."
Manager Kim blinked.
"Candidate?"
"Yes."
Manager Kim looked at Han Joon-seok again. Long. Too long to remain polite.
Han Joon-seok gave a small bow.
"Good evening."
Manager Kim reflexively bowed deeper than necessary.
"Ah—good evening."
Another silence. Behind them, the young valet was still half-bowed in confusion. Manager Kim leaned slightly toward the receptionist and whispered quickly:
"…Why is a face like that applying for the valet track?"
"How would I know," the receptionist whispered back.
"At first I thought he was a central auditor."
Manager Kim looked at Han Joon-seok again.
"…I thought he was an investor."
"The second-floor hostess thought he was a celebrity earlier."
"Celebrities don't carry transparent plastic folders like that."
"That's exactly what makes him scarier."
Han Joon-seok stood calmly before them, still holding the transparent folder full of photocopied diplomas. Completely unaware that he had become the subject of an emergency staff briefing.
Behind the concierge desk, a female staff member quietly opened the internal employee group chat.
[VIP Lounge Staff Only]
Concierge Yuna: Who's the tall guy in the west hallway?
Hostess Mina: Not a guest?
Valet Jun: They said interview candidate.
Three dots immediately appeared at the same time.
Bartender: Interview candidate with a NATIONAL FACE like that??????
Manager Kim saw the group notification appear on one employee's smartwatch. He immediately cleared his throat loudly.
All staff instantly pretended to be busy again.
Manager Kim finally let out a small sigh. Then looked at Han Joon-seok once more.
"…If you get accepted later," he said without turning,
"don't stand too close to the entrance."
Han Joon-seok looked confused.
"Why?"
Manager Kim stared straight toward the valet area outside. A valet had just handed the wrong parking ticket to a customer because he was too distracted looking toward the hallway.
He answered without changing expression.
"Work flow slows down."
The hostess near the door held back laughter while bowing apologetically to a customer. A small silence.
"Staff lose focus."
Behind them, the receptionist pretended to cough to hide laughter. Han Joon-seok nodded slowly.
"…Ah."
Han Joon-seok thought for a moment.
"In that case, I'll just focus on the parking dashboard."
Manager Kim fell silent. Because that was the correct professional solution. And somehow, that made him even more uneasy.
***
The interview room was located behind the lounge. Not a large room. Dark walls. Warm lighting. A long black table with sharp edges and no decoration. In the upper corner, a small CCTV camera glowed red. The smell of bitter coffee lingered in the air.
Two people were already inside.
The first was a man in his early forties wearing a charcoal suit with a work tablet open before him. A small nameplate sat on the desk:
Kim Do-hyun
Operations Manager
The second was younger. Thin glasses. Navy coat. The kind of HR stare that had spent too many years reading fake CVs.
Lee Sung-min
HR Coordination
"Please, sit."
Han Joon-seok sat only after being invited. Straight back. Folder on his lap. Manager Kim opened the data on his tablet.
"Driver's license?"
"Class 1 manual."
"Accident history?"
"None."
"Ever handled European vehicles?"
Han Joon-seok thought for a moment.
"Yes."
Manager Kim slightly raised his eyes.
"Mercedes S-Class?"
"Yes."
"BMW 7 Series?"
"Yes."
"Maserati?"
"Once."
"Bentley?"
"Sat in the back. Didn't drive."
The pen stopped moving. HR Lee slowly lifted his head from the CV.
"…Sat in the back?"
Han Joon-seok gave a small nod.
"It was raining that day."
Inside Manager Kim's head: He has a private chauffeur.
Inside HR Lee's head: He's the hidden son of a shareholder.
Meanwhile, inside Han Joon-seok's head, what surfaced instead was the black vomit bucket belonging to the agency's lead celebrity that had nearly spilled onto a sponsor seat.
Manager Kim lowered the tablet slightly.
Now he reread Han Joon-seok's CV more slowly than before. The name of the entertainment agency subtly changed the atmosphere of the room.
HR Lee, who had been leaning back earlier, now sat straighter.
He was no longer looking at a valet applicant. He was looking at someone who might know the Chairman's private number—the same Chairman whose photo appeared in the building corridor every morning.
Not a small agency. The kind of company that:
owned streaming drama actors,had national idols,hotel investors,and appeared more often in stock-market news than entertainment news.
Manager Kim reread the job title displayed on the screen.
Facilities & Administrative Staff
Then his eyes rose back to Han Joon-seok's face. Far too slowly.
"…You stayed there quite a long time."
"Yes."
"So you frequently handled important guests?"
Han Joon-seok thought briefly.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes like?"
"Investors arrived at night. Artists left at dawn. Managers were usually short on staff."
HR Lee's fingers stopped tapping the desk. That sentence sounded far too familiar with backstage operations. Like someone who knew exactly which elevator was used by whom.
"When important guests arrived unexpectedly, where were you usually positioned?"
Han Joon-seok thought seriously.
"Near access points."
"Access points?"
"Sometimes the basement. Sometimes private elevators."
Manager Kim finally leaned fully back. In his mind, unhealthy theories had begun forming: the child of upper management forced to work from the bottom to stay grounded.
HR Lee still tried to sound normal.
"To assist operations?"
Han Joon-seok nodded.
"Make sure the route is clear. Don't let the wrong people enter."
"And?"
"Don't let reporters get upstairs first."
This time, even HR Lee forgot to pretend to take notes. Across the table, Manager Kim began understanding why the receptionist had looked stressed since earlier.
Han Joon-seok himself still sat calmly. Because to him, those things really had only been exhausting extra work.
Manager Kim started feeling like the interview was drifting somewhere strange. He changed the subject.
"If a VIP customer steps out of a Bentley and you notice a Richard Mille watch, what's the first thing you pay attention to?"
Han Joon-seok thought for quite a while.
"The door."
"Why?"
"If the door is heavy and expensive, I usually open it more carefully. And people like that usually don't like standing outside the car too long."
Manager Kim stopped writing.
"That's a good observation."
Han Joon-seok gave a small nod.
"Night wind makes expensive coats get cold quickly."
HR Lee slowly removed his glasses. To him, that was a rare kind of Luxury Hospitality Instinct.
"Sharp observation," Manager Kim praised.
His hand was now busy writing notes with restrained enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Han Joon-seok had only once been scolded by a stylist because a sponsor coat got caught in the rain.
Manager Kim continued.
"If a drunk customer gets angry because the car comes out late?"
"Don't argue."
"And then?"
"Car first. Pride later."
The AC hummed softly. No one wrote anything immediately. HR Lee stared straight ahead. Manager Kim rubbed his chin slowly.
"Who taught you that?"
"No one."
"Then how do you know?"
Han Joon-seok thought for a moment.
"When artists start getting angry in front of reporters, managers usually bring the car first."
Silence again. Manager Kim slowly lowered the tablet.
✔ Large entertainment agency.
✔ Night investors.
✔ Private elevators.
✔ European cars.
✔ VIP handling.
And Han Joon-seok's face was not helping the situation at all. HR Lee slowly closed the file, then asked in a tone far too casual to actually be casual.
"…Did you enter your previous agency through the normal recruitment route?"
"Yes."
"No special recommendation?"
"No."
"Direct interview?"
"Yes."
Manager Kim shot a quick glance toward HR Lee. Because in Seoul, the "normal route" into a company that large was usually the least normal route possible. HR Lee smiled faintly.
"So you were quite close to core operations."
Han Joon-seok thought for several seconds.
"If there was a problem at night, I was usually still in the building."
Silence. HR Lee stopped writing. Manager Kim slowly capped his pen. Because that answer sounded exactly like:
an internal person who could freely move in and out of important areas anytime.
Meanwhile, the reality was simply that Han Joon-seok most often fell asleep in the maintenance room because of overtime.
HR Lee tried again.
"Your work hours used to be flexible?"
"Sometimes."
"How flexible?"
Han Joon-seok thought seriously.
"If executives arrived unexpectedly, everyone usually went home later."
Complete silence.
Manager Kim closed his pen with a final click. He was now one hundred percent certain:
This man was far too important to merely park cars—
but far too dangerous to reject.
—To be Continued—