YEAR 2014
The streetlight flickered softly above the bus stop, its pale glow pooling over the quiet pavement. Ga-young sat hunched forward, her school uniform still neatly pressed, earphones tucked in as if they were her shield from the world. Music drowned her thoughts, pulling her somewhere far away, her gaze fixed on the fading stretch of sky above.
She was so lost in her song that she didn't notice someone slip onto the bench beside her—until one earbud was gently plucked from her ear and replaced into another's.
Startled, Ga-young turned, her breath catching.
Min-jae.
He sat casually beside her, eyes closed as he listened, his expression unreadable, like he'd done this a thousand times before. Her heart thudded once, twice. She couldn't stop staring until he finally tilted his head, his gaze locking onto hers. The world quieted, even the music seemed to fade.
His face was close—too close. Close enough for her to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Then came his smile—slow, warm, disarming. The kind of smile that slipped past every defense.
"I never knew you liked this band," he murmured, the softness of his voice pulling her deeper into the moment.
She fumbled, her throat tight. "I-I… the vibe just felt right."
Without warning, Min-jae reached forward, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The motion was gentle, natural, as if it had always been his right to do so.
"If you want," he said lightly, "we can go to their concert."
Her breath caught. A nervous cough slipped out before she could help it, and she looked away, flustered. "I don't like them that much," she managed, her voice barely steady.
His smirk deepened. "Are you okay? You don't seem like the type to get shy easily."
Ga-young snapped her gaze back at him, cheeks flushed but her expression sharp. "I'm not shy. I just… wasn't expecting you."
Min-jae laughed softly, the sound warm and infuriating at the same time. He reached out and ruffled her hair like she was a child. "It's okay to be shy. And you can't turn it down—I already got the tickets."
Her jaw dropped. "Oppa! I have so many assignments this weekend."
"Then we'll do them together," he said smoothly, as if it was the simplest solution in the world.
Ga-young nudged his arm with a laugh. "You used to avoid me, but now you can't do anything without me."
"Was I dumb back then? Probably," he teased.
Before she could stop herself, Ga-young leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Min-jae froze.
Her bus screeched to a halt beside them, and Ga-young rose quickly, her face hot. "Bye… my bus is here."
She dashed off, leaving him sitting there—stone still, hand pressed against his cheek, his expression stuck between shock and something deeper.
---
Present Day – The Airport
The crowd stirred as if a storm had walked in. Min-jae's arrival pulled every gaze, every whisper. Dark shades hid his sharp eyes, but his aura was undeniable—power wrapped in restraint, presence so heavy it bent the air around him. His sleek black suit caught the light, every detail polished, deliberate.
Near the glass doors, Ga-young straightened and bowed politely. "Good morning, Mr. Min-jae."
His lips quirked faintly as he slid off his shades. "Good morning, Ms. Choi. You're early."
Behind him, his butler carried a gleaming suitcase, silent but efficient.
"I made a reservation," Ga-young said, voice steady. "Even visitors need an appointment to see the children."
"Shall we then?" His tone was cool, but his faint smile lingered.
A short flight later, Daegu's morning sun washed over them. Almost on cue, a Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut purred to a stop at the curb. Its silver frame glittered dangerously, like a blade waiting to cut through the air.
Ga-young's lips tightened. "Sir, as you instructed, I got the car. But honestly—330+ mph? Shouldn't this be left to a professional?"
The driver stepped out, uniform crisp, bowing as he handed the key. "She's all yours, sir."
"You may leave," Min-jae dismissed him without a glance.
Before he could move, Ga-young stepped in front of him. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't let you drive this."
He tilted his head, smirking. "Do you doubt my skills?"
Her voice trembled despite her resolve. "Cars like this aren't for casual drivers. They demand precision. Certification. Experience."
"Ms. Choi," Min-jae said flatly, the key glinting between his fingers, "I am all of those."
"Then I'll drive."
For the first time that day, his composure cracked. Laughter burst out of him—rich, unrestrained, startling in its warmth. People even turned their heads.
"You?" he chuckled, wiping his eye. "Forgive me, but I've never even seen you behind the wheel of an ordinary car."
Her pride bristled. She yanked open the passenger door. "Suite yourself, We'll be late."
Still smirking, he slid into the driver's seat. The Jesko roared alive, the sound sharp enough to rattle her bones. The city blurred past in a rush of steel and light, every second tightening the knot in her chest.
By the time they arrived at the café, Ga-young looked pale but collected. Min-jae sipped his coffee leisurely, as though nothing had happened.
"How many hours more?" he asked lazily.
"Five, sir," she muttered without looking up.
"Too long," he clicked his tongue. "Let's do something productive."
When he stood, she grabbed his sleeve instinctively. Realizing, she withdrew fast, her face tight. "I'm sorry, sir. But I can't… I can't let you risk my life along with yours. My mother depends on me. If anything happened, she wouldn't be able to survive."
For a long moment, his gaze lingered on her. Then, to her relief, he smirked faintly. "If you insist. Call the professional."
She waved discreetly, and Jun—quiet, sharp-eyed, waiting in the corner—stood immediately.
"You planned this?" Min-jae asked, amused.
"I had a feeling I'd need backup," Ga-young admitted.
"Not even a little trust, hm?" he murmured.
"Not even a little, sir," she said, passing Jun the keys.
The ride to K&H Mall was mercifully smooth. But Min-jae sat in silence, his jaw tight, a sulk that he couldn't ignore.
When they arrived, the mall was buzzing. Shoppers swirled, cameras flashed, and then the air shifted—every head turned as Min-jae stepped out. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Even the marble floor seemed to echo sharper under his stride.
"CEO Min-jae!" a group of young employees bowed deeply, voices trembling.
He acknowledged them with only a nod, yet his presence burned hot enough to make them scatter.
Inside, whispers rippled through the crowd. Ga-young kept her chin high, her steps aligned with his.
"We should've planned a quieter route," she whispered, frustrated.
"Let them look," he replied smoothly. "A leader unseen is a leader forgotten."
Before she could retort, a sharp voice called out.
"CEO Min-jae."
A man in his late forties descended the escalator, two assistants trailing him. Director Han. His smile was polite, but the stiffness in it betrayed him.
"You should've informed us, sir. We would've—"
"Hidden the flaws before I arrived," Min-jae cut in, his tone soft but merciless. His gaze slid across the boutiques, landing on one dimly lit shop. "I prefer the truth."
Han faltered, bowing deeply.
But then Min-jae's tone shifted, startlingly casual. "For today, I'll shop. Clothes. Then gifts for the children." He paused, glancing briefly at Ga-young.
The director blinked. "Shall I close the mall for your privacy?"
"No," Min-jae said without hesitation. "Don't you understand normal?"
His steps echoed as he strode off, Ga-young walking behind him.
Director Han exhaled a shaky sigh, watching them go. "He's… so damn cool."