Jungkook stood in front of the sleek glass building, his breath catching for a moment as he looked up at the towering headquarters of ValenCorps Global. The name alone echoed through every business magazine he'd flipped through in his college library. It was a giant—dominant in every industry from finance to tech, and somehow, he'd landed an interview here.
He tightened his grip on the worn file folder he clutched in his hands. Inside were his documents—every certificate, every letter of recommendation, every ounce of his hard work stuffed into one manila envelope. His reflection on the glass showed a boyish face trying to act like a man, wide eyes slightly red from a sleepless night, and a button-up shirt just a bit too big for him.
He couldn't afford a new one. Hell, the bus fare itself had taken what little cash he had left after last week's disaster. His ribs still ached from where he'd hit the pavement, and the memory of the eggs he'd cradled shattering into yolky ruin hit him again.
But this wasn't the time to dwell.
Straightening up, he exhaled slowly and took a step forward. The sliding doors opened with a low whisper, cool air sweeping past him as he entered the marble-floored lobby. It smelled of wealth—clean linen, leather briefcases, expensive perfume.
He tried not to gawk, but the grandeur was impossible to ignore. Polished chrome fixtures, an enormous chandelier that sparkled like something out of a drama, and at least three receptionists all dressed in matching suits.
Jungkook approached the front desk, offering a respectful bow. "Jeon Jungkook. I have an interview for the secretary position."
The woman smiled, her gaze polite but impersonal. "Of course. Please take a seat, Mr. Jeon. You'll be called shortly."
He sat in the waiting area, surrounded by people in luxury suits and shiny shoes. One woman scrolled through her tablet, another man checked the time on his Rolex. Jungkook tugged at the sleeves of his too-long shirt and silently rehearsed answers in his head.
He didn't know who he'd be working under. The ad had been vague—"Immediate hire for a personal secretary at ValenCorps HQ. Must be flexible, discreet, and adaptable to a fast-paced environment." He assumed it'd be for some overworked executive with zero time to train a newbie.
He could handle that. He had to handle that.
Outside, the sky had turned a smoky gray. Rain began to patter against the glass, soft at first, then heavier. Jungkook glanced at his scuffed sneakers, feeling every bit like the odd one out. But that only hardened his resolve.
He didn't come to Seoul to feel sorry for himself. He came to prove something.
Minutes ticked by. The receptionist finally called his name. "Mr. Jeon? You may head to Room 47B. Third floor."
Jungkook stood, gave another quick bow, and made his way to the elevators.
He had no idea that beyond those polished doors and clean hallways, his fate was already tangled with someone he thought he'd left behind on the pavement.
But that meeting wasn't now.
For now, it was just him, his ambition, and the hunger to survive.
ValenCorps would either make him—or break him.
Meanwhile, The atmosphere in the uppermost floor of the towering glass building—ValenCorps Global—had turned suffocating.
The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, echoing through the wide, glass-lined hallway of ValenCorps Global—Seoul's leading fashion empire. Jeon Jungkook stood in front of its towering doors, his fingers tightly clutching a flimsy folder containing his resume, a few certificates, and a heart full of determination. The bold gold letters above the entrance gleamed beneath the morning sun: ValenCorps Global.
His heart pounded In his chest—not because of fear, but anticipation. He hadn't slept much last night. His cramped apartment had felt colder than usual, especially after reliving the accident that had left a crack in his already-fragile confidence. He tugged at his slightly wrinkled shirt, one of the few decent ones he had managed to bring from Busan.
"This is it," he whispered to himself, his voice more hopeful than assured. "Come on, Jeon. You've got this."
The receptionist led him to the waiting room after he checked in. With polite thanks, Jungkook sat on a leather seat far too posh for someone like him. He glanced at the other candidates—sharply dressed, well-groomed, dripping confidence. All he had were clean shoes and an ironed collar, but he sat up straighter anyway.
Meanwhile, several floors above him, the tension was razor-sharp.
Kim Taehyung stood at the center of his office like a brewing storm. His fingers were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. Papers were scattered across his desk—mock-ups, half-baked designs, ridiculous pitches. He barely spared them a glance.
"You call this fashion? My intern could've sketched better at twelve!" he thundered. The entire room flinched, the design team trembling as his voice echoed off marble and glass.
"We lost the Nakamura account. Do you know what that means? Months of pitching. A global client. And you handed them this mess."
He slammed a hand down onto the table, causing one of the designers to yelp.
"Sir, we thought—"
"You thought wrong," Taehyung snapped, his voice dangerously quiet now. "This company didn't become number one because of thoughts. It thrives on results. Now get out. All of you."
They didn't wait to be told twice. Chairs scraped as they all practically ran out.
Once the door slammed shut, silence filled the room again. Taehyung's chest rose and fell heavily. His fury was only partially directed at the failed designs. The other half—perhaps more than half—still simmered from him.
That boy.
That boy with defiant eyes and a bike that dented his car.
That nobody who had looked at him like an equal. Who had spoken with that maddening blend of fear and bravery—as if he wasn't facing someone who could ruin his life with a flick of a pen.
The phone on Taehyung's polished mahogany desk rang sharply, piercing through the heavy silence of his office. He exhaled, jaw tense, as he leaned back in his chair, loosening the grip on the pen he'd just snapped in half out of frustration.
"This better be important," he muttered coldly, picking up the receiver.
"Sir, I just wanted to inform you," came the receptionist's voice, a bit shaky, "The candidate for the personal secretary position is here. He's early. Should I have him wait or—?"
Taehyung pinched the bridge of his nose. His schedule was already a mess and this was not the day to deal with fresh faces who couldn't possibly handle his pace. Still, he needed to replace his last secretary after their dramatic exit.
"Send his résumé to my screen," he instructed coolly, already pulling up the file on his monitor.
But it wasn't the name that caught his attention—it was the picture.
A muscle in Taehyung's jaw twitched. That face. That damn face. The guy from the street—the one who dared to glare at him after damaging his car. The same defiant, insolent eyes.
His brow arched, curiosity briefly flickering in the storm of his irritation.
"Well, well," he muttered under his breath, rising from his chair, straightening his jacket. "Seems fate has a twisted sense of humor."
Without another word, he strode out of his office, his pace measured but sharp, leaving the receptionist with a confused, nervous expression as the doors hissed shut behind him.
He wasn't going to delay this. He needed to see with his own eyes what kind of nerve that kid had—walking into his company, oblivious to the storm waiting just beyond those glass doors.
"I don't need your pity" he had said.
The words still echoed in his head even after days. And now, as fate—or misfortune—would have it, that same boy had applied to his company.
Jeon Jungkook.
The name echoed in Kim Taehyung's mind long after he left his office.
He walked briskly down the corridor, shoes clicking against the marble floor, sharp and rhythmic like a ticking time bomb. The name was ordinary enough. Typical even. But the moment he'd seen that picture flash across his screen, something inside him had clenched.
Jeon Jungkook. The kid who looked at him like he was trash. The one who stood in the middle of the street, bike twisted, groceries crushed under the weight of carelessness—and had the audacity to talk back.
Taehyung's lips twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite a scowl. That line had grated at something buried in him. Not because it was wrong. But because it stung. He didn't even realize then how young the guy was. Twenty-one? Christ.
He slowed his steps, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling. Twenty-one. A university graduate, maybe? Or perhaps one of those kids with the kind of inflated ego that comes from a few praises and not enough failure. What business did a twenty-one-year-old have standing toe-to-toe with him?
Taehyung was turning thirty-nine next month. He could see forty breathing down his neck every time he looked in the mirror—though no one dared point that out. He was aging like wine, they said. Power, money, and a strict regime made him sharper with time. But Jeon Jungkook? That boy was barely done baking.
He scoffed.
An indisciplined, messy, ungrateful kid with no understanding of structure. That much was obvious from the street encounter alone. The way he stared at him like he wasn't intimidated. Like he didn't recognize who stood in front of him. That lack of fear didn't read as bravery—it was ignorance. Blissful, foolish ignorance.
He thought of the crushed eggs, the guilt in Jungkook's eyes that he pretended not to feel, and the defiance that followed. That contradiction, that switch—Taehyung couldn't stop replaying it.
Why had he come here?
Not just to gloat. Not entirely to reject the application in person. It was something else. Something unspoken.
Jeon Jungkook.
He kept saying the name silently, like chewing it would make sense of the strange discomfort in his chest. That face, so much younger, so… raw. It stirred something. Not admiration, certainly not pity. It was closer to irritation—wrapped in a strange curiosity.
The boy probably thought he'd impressed someone by being early. Taehyung nearly laughed. Early. That was the bare minimum in his world. Showing up on time didn't get you points—it was expected. He wanted people who could anticipate, deliver, obey. Not some reckless youth with a bruised ego and a habit of riding bikes into luxury sedans.
And yet here he was—heading to see him, instead of sending security to escort him out.
Why?
He paused by the tall windows that lined the corridor, watching the cityscape stretch beyond the glass. Everything below looked so small, so controllable. So his. And yet, one twenty-one-year-old boy had disrupted his day like a pebble cracking the surface of a still lake.
His fingers tapped the window frame absentmindedly.
This kid had no idea where he'd walked into. He didn't know Kim Taehyung, didn't understand the pressure of this world. The expectations. The cost of being a man who built his empire from the ground up, clawing through wolves in suits and snakes with ties. He didn't get that. Not yet.
But maybe… maybe he would.
Taehyung adjusted his cufflinks, tightening his expression.
He was going to see him now. Just observe. Nothing more. No need to act rashly. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious to see that face pale the moment recognition hit. That moment when the poor little commoner realized he wasn't sitting in just any company's lobby. He was inside the lion's den.
And Taehyung? He was the lion. And lions didn't forget the ones who dared bare their teeth.
Jungkook's POV
Jeon Jungkook sat stiffly on the edge of the cushioned bench in the gleaming lobby of ValenCorps Global, clutching a slim folder to his chest like it was his only armor. His fingers were clammy. The air smelled like money and leather. Even the receptionist's smile felt expensive.
He didn't belong here. That much was obvious.
His blazer was a little too big—borrowed. His shoes had seen better days. The folder in his hands held a printed resume and one reference letter from a part-time job at a bookstore in Busan. Not a degree from a big-name university. Not a fancy internship. Just grit, long hours, and the hope that maybe, maybe someone would give him a chance.
It had been two week since he left Busan. Two weeks since he hugged his mother goodbye, since his older brother ruffled his hair and called him brave. Two weeks since he stepped into his tiny apartment in Seoul with all his belongings packed into one suitcase. He told them he'd figure it out. That he didn't want to rely on them anymore.
Now he sat here with nothing but a few coins in his pocket and a heart pounding so loud he was afraid someone might hear it.
Jungkook shifted on the bench, rubbing his palms on his slacks. A tall man in a sharp navy suit walked past without sparing him a glance. Everyone here moved with purpose, like they belonged—like their names were carved into this company's marble walls. ValenCorps Global wasn't just some firm; it was a titan. Its name was known even in Busan. Getting a job here would be more than luck—it'd be a miracle.
He swallowed hard.
The receptionist had been polite when she'd asked for his name and handed him a visitor pass.
"Please wait here, someone will be with you shortly," she'd said.
That was almost twenty minutes ago. He checked his watch for the third time, as if looking again would change something.