The finance floor stayed pretty subdued, like it always did. Just that steady hum from the computers, you know, mixed with the clack clack of keyboards across the whole wide open space. It turned into this rhythm that never quit, basically blending right into the background noise. Unless somebody went and drew attention to it, I mean.
Today, Yuri couldn't look away.
Across the room, near the window, Yoo Minjae sat in his usual corner. The faint blue light of his screen reflected against his sharp features. He was still, focused, absorbed in his work. It was typical for him—he didn't look up unless spoken to, as if the world existed only in the numbers on his screen.
Yuri fiddled with the sleeve of her blouse before finally rising. The report folder felt heavier than it should as she crossed the floor. Her steps were careful, steady, but her heartbeat quickened.
"Minjae," she said lightly, resting the folder on his desk.
His eyes shifted up, blinking away from the screen. "Yes?"
"I wanted you to check this before I turn it in," she explained. "The projections feel off. Thought you'd notice it faster than anyone else."
He opened the folder without another word. His gaze swept over the pages, brow tightening for just a second—the only sign he had caught what she had.
Finally, he tapped a section. "Here. You adjusted for Q2 but not for the next quarter. That's where the drift comes from."
Relief washed through her. "I knew something was wrong. You always see what no one else does."
He kept his eyes on the report, as if praise unsettled him. "I just did what was needed."
Yuri smiled faintly. "That's exactly why people depend on you."
He looked up right then. Their eyes met up. Silence stretched out between them for a moment. It felt more comfortable than awkward, you know. She left her words hanging there. On purpose, unfinished.
"Well," she added softly, "some of us more than others."
Minjae didn't answer, but something flickered in his expression.
---
The memory of him first stepping out of the background returned to her unbidden.
It was months ago, just before one of Seojin Capital's biggest investor summits. The finance team had spent weeks preparing the presentation, only for disaster to strike hours before showtime: a sudden government policy change that ruined their key projections.
The office exploded into panic. Phones rang nonstop. Analysts yelled across desks. Executives demanded fixes. Every model the team tested broke under the new rules.
Yuri had been at her desk, helpless, listening to senior staff argue numbers that didn't add up. Then Minjae moved.
He didn't shout. He didn't panic. He walked straight to the whiteboard, erased the broken equations, and began rewriting the framework from scratch.
At first, the room resisted—too much was at stake. But one by one, heads turned as his marker filled the board. He redrew the asset plan in simpler terms, found a workaround in the new tax rules, and reframed the company's message in a way that made their flexibility sound like strategy, not weakness.
By the time he was done, even the CFO had fallen silent.
"Can you deliver that in an hour?" someone asked.
"Yes," Minjae said simply.
And he did. That presentation became one of Seojin's most successful investor talks of the year.
Yuri watched the whole thing. With this stunned kind of clarity, you know. That day she really saw him. Not just the quiet analyst hanging out in the corner. But someone who spots those cracks way before anybody else does. And then he moves, before the whole wall comes down.
Something shifted in her that day, and it never shifted back.
---
The memory faded, leaving Yuri at her desk again. She stared out the window at the skyline of Yeouido, towers glowing as daylight thinned into dusk.
She whispered to herself, "I won't be foolish. But I won't sit idle either."
She didn't need to say it aloud—Seori and Yura already knew. The unspoken rivalry between them had been growing for weeks, each of them orbiting Minjae in quiet competition.
That truth sharpened when Yuri stepped into the break room later that afternoon. Seori and Yura were there, cups of tea in hand. The air tightened as soon as Yuri entered.
Yura's gaze flicked up with a raised brow. Seori's smile was polite, careful.
"Busy day?" Yuri asked, her tone casual but edged.
"Not too bad," Seori replied quickly. "You?"
Yuri filled her glass with water, letting the silence stretch before answering. "Just trying to keep up with our favorite analyst."
The remark landed exactly where she wanted. Seori looked down at her tea, cheeks warming. Yura smirked faintly, not hiding her awareness.
"As long as it's a fair contest," Yura murmured.
Yuri didn't reply. She simply sipped her water and walked out, leaving the weight of her words behind her.
---
Back at his desk, Minjae had no idea of the storm quietly brewing. He worked steadily, his desk already clear of Yuri's updated report. Efficient. Exact.
But her words echoed in his mind.
*Some of us more than others.*
He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling where the fluorescent lights hummed.
This kind of attention unsettled him. He had lived his life keeping doors closed, guarding secrets too heavy to share. Opening them—even a little—risked letting out truths he wasn't ready for anyone to see.
So he said nothing.
But in the silence, his thoughts drifted back to that chaotic day in the conference room. He remembered the crowd, the noise, the crisis—and then her eyes, steady on him, even as everyone else had been scrambling.
Not the board's. Not the CFO's.
Hers.
And now, he wondered—had she been watching him all along?