Do-Hyun finished the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.
Nisa stood beside him, shoulders tense, eyes sharp with worry.
The living room felt strangely hollow, like the sound had been drained out of it.
Ha-Joon sat on the couch, legs planted firmly, hands resting on his knees.
Ji-Ah stood a few steps away, fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.
She couldn't explain it, but the air felt wrong.
Too still.
Do-Hyun cleared his throat. "Do-Yoon is moving. Tonight or tomorrow."
Ji-Ah looked up. "Moving how?"
"She's going to frame you," he said plainly. "Get you fired."
Nisa cursed under her breath.
Do-Hyun turned to Ha-Joon. "The only way to trap her is to let her think she's won. You have to act angry at Ji-Ah. In front of people."
Ji-Ah froze. "Angry… like what kind of angry?"
"Shouting," Do-Hyun said. "Throwing her out. Just for show."
Her breath caught. "Throw me out?"
"It's acting," Do-Hyun added quickly. "Once Do-Yoon reports it to Do-Hea, he'll step in. Then we end this."
Ji-Ah hugged her arms around herself. "I don't like shouting."
The room shifted.
Ha-Joon stood up.
The sudden scrape of the couch startled her.
He took one step toward her, not close enough to corner her, but close enough that she had to look at him.
"Why?" he asked, voice calm, controlled. "Why don't you like being shouted at?"
Ji-Ah hesitated.
Everyone was watching now.
She forced a small, awkward smile. "It's stupid."
"Say it," Ha-Joon said.
She looked down at the floor. "When people shout, I… get confused. I start forgetting what I was supposed to do. My head goes blank. Then I mess up more."
She laughed softly, trying to brush it off. "So it's inefficient. Bad for productivity."
Do-Hyun blinked.
Nisa frowned.
Ha-Joon didn't smile.
"Is that all?" he asked.
Ji-Ah nodded quickly. "Yes. Just that."
There was a pause. Too long.
"Ji-Ah," Do-Hyun said gently, "it really is just acting."
"I know," she replied, already stepping back. "I'll do it."
She turned toward the hallway, then stopped, her voice dropping as she spoke to no one in particular.
"But with him… it Will never feels like acting."
She walked away.
Ha-Joon didn't follow.
But his eyes stayed on the empty space she left behind, his jaw tightening as something unspoken settled deep in his chest.
-----
The next day, Ji-Ah was vibrating at her desk like a phone left on silent.
Her pen clicked.
Stopped.
Clicked again. Her foot bounced.
Stopped.
Bounced harder.
She stared at her screen without seeing a single word.
Soo-Min leaned over the partition, chewing gum thoughtfully. "Ji-Ah… are you sick?"
Ji-Ah jolted. "No! Why would I be sick?"
"Because you've rearranged your mouse five times and you're breathing like you ran a marathon."
Ji-Ah froze, then laughed a little too loudly. "Wow, really? That's crazy."
Beat.
"I'll make coffee."
She stood before Soo-Min could say anything else.
The walk to the pantry felt longer than usual. Every step echoed too much.
Every glance felt like it lingered.
Her shoulders were tense, her hair tied neatly to the side like armor she hoped would hold.
She poured the coffee carefully.
Too carefully. Don't spill.
Don't shake. Don't think.
It's just acting, she told herself. Just acting.
With the cup steady in both hands, she headed toward Ha-Joon's office.
The door was already open.
He sat behind his desk, posture perfect, expression carved from something cold and distant.
No warmth.
No softness.
No hint of the man who played guitar with her.
Just the boss.
Her stomach dipped.
She stepped in quietly and placed the coffee on his desk. "Your coffee, sir."
"Leave it," he said without looking up.
That was all.
Ji-Ah nodded quickly, eyes glued to the floor.
She didn't dare meet his gaze.
If she did, she was sure she'd crack.
His presence felt sharp today.
Empty.
Like he'd put on a different face and locked the real one away.
She turned and walked out, back straight, hands clenched.
Behind her, his eyes lifted for just a second.
Then—
Slow.
Deliberate.
Echoing.
Heels.
Ji-Ah stopped.
The sound cut through the floor like a countdown.
She turned slightly and saw her.
Hye-Rin.
Every step was measured.
Calm.
Furious.
Her expression was tight, lips pressed thin, eyes locked forward like a blade aiming for its target.
Ji-Ah swallowed.
Hye-Rin stopped in front of her.
They stared at each other.
Ji-Ah stood still, hair neat, clothes immaculate, heart racing so loud she was sure it showed on her face.
Hye-Rin's gaze dragged over her once, slow and assessing, then lifted with a faint, humorless smile.
Without a word, Hye-Rin walked past her.
Straight into Ha-Joon's office.
The door closed.
Ji-Ah exhaled shakily, her shoulders dropping just a fraction.
"…Wow," she whispered to herself.
Then, under her breath, eyes wide and nervous—
"The show must go on."
Moments later—
The office door slammed open, echoing like a gunshot.
Ha-Joon strode out first, shoulders rigid, jaw tight. Seo-Jun followed closely, papers clutched, tense.
Hye-Rin sauntered behind, arms crossed, a faint smirk on her face.
Ji-Ah straightened instinctively. Start the show, she whispered to herself.
"Park Ji-Ah," Ha-Joon's voice cut through the frozen air, sharp and controlled. "Come here."
Her stomach twisted, hands trembling slightly at her sides.
She stepped forward, face calm, eyes careful.
"Do you know what this is?" Ha-Joon held up a folder, voice flat but heavy with authority.
Ji-Ah blinked. "No, sir."
"Don't lie," he said.
Whispers stirred.
Hye-Rin leaned in, her voice low, deliberately harsh.
"Files missing, deadlines delayed… honestly, I'm shocked it took this long." Her gaze pinned Ji-Ah, sharp as a blade.
Ji-Ah's throat tightened. "I—"
"Enough," Ha-Joon snapped, cutting her off. "You don't get to explain. This isn't a negotiation."
Hye-Rin stepped closer, smirk widening. "Check her locker. If she's innocent, she won't mind."
Ji-Ah froze, glancing at Soo-Min.
Her best friend's eyes widened, trembling slightly.
She knew this would be rough.
"Do it," Ha-Joon ordered. "Soo-Min, escort her locker. Kai-Wen, observe. Take notes."
Soo-Min's jaw dropped. "M-me?"
"Yes," Ha-Joon said, voice calm but immovable. "Now."
Ji-Ah's heart pounded.
She watched as Soo-Min knelt beside her locker, trembling hands moving carefully.
She acted casual, letting her body relax slightly, hiding the folder deeper behind a stack of notebooks.
Invisible.
Gone.
Hye-Rin's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then returned, sharper than before.
"Convenient. Things don't just vanish."
Do-Yoon, called as a witness, stepped forward quietly, her eyes calculating.
"I've been asked to observe. Everything above board," she said.
Her tone was even, but her gaze lingered on Ji-Ah just long enough to make her stomach tighten.
Seo-Jun watched, confused and uneasy.
He hadn't been told of the plan, and seeing Ji-Ah's hands clench and her shoulders tense made his chest ache.
She looked… small, vulnerable.
Not pretending.
Kai-Wen stood nearby, calm, silent, taking note of every subtle movement.
Ha-Joon's eyes finally met Ji-Ah's.
Cold.
Unreadable.
He didn't flinch, didn't soften. "Park Ji-Ah."
Her head snapped up.
"You're fired."
The word slammed down like a hammer. The room fell silent.
Ji-Ah's hands went limp at her sides.
Her face paled.
She froze, chest tight, fighting back the rising panic.
Hye-Rin's smirk spread, triumphant.
Soo-Min stepped forward, voice trembling but firm. "Ji-Ah… don't…—"
Ji-Ah's lips pressed together to stop a shiver.
Her eyes flicked to Soo-Min, grateful, but she couldn't break character.
Kai-Wen's gaze lingered on her quietly, supportive but unobtrusive.
Ha-Joon turned on his heel, walking back into his office without another glance.
Door clicked shut with finality.
Ji-Ah finally let out a shaky breath.
Her eyes met Seo-Jun's. He hesitated… then gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. I see you. I trust you.
She nodded once, swallowed hard, and turned away.
Soo-Min hovered nearby, muttering softly. "You'll be fine… ."
Hye-Rin, still smirking, whispered something under her breath that made Ji-Ah grit her teeth, humiliated but steady.
Do-Yoon watched from the side, expression neutral, but the tension in the air made it clear—she had been part of the plan, and Ji-Ah's every movement was under scrutiny.
Kai-Wen scribbled in his notebook, the quiet observer, the only calm presence in the storm.
And Ji-Ah—heart pounding, hands trembling slightly, chest tight—reminded herself: This is acting. I can survive this. Breathe.