The hallway felt unusually hollow, its long stretch of polished floor amplifying every sound that passes through it. The low hum of the air-conditioning and the distant murmur of offices faded into the background as Jiwoo's voice cut through the emptiness.
"I still can't believe it," he said, his tone heavy with disappointment. "For a while... I really thought everything was going well for the both of them."
Kiyonari walked beside him, his steps measured, a paper cup of coffee clasped loosely in one hand. He didn't interrupt. He simply listened, letting Jiwoo's words spill freely.
"Yet this happened." Jiwoo turned his head toward him, brows knitting together. "Y'know, when I found out about the drug thing involving Taehan, I was honestly speechless. Everyone was shocked."
Kiyonari kept walking, gaze fixed ahead. The coffee in his hand had already gone lukewarm, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Even Eunji," Jiwoo continued, his voice dropping slightly, "she didn't say anything. Up until now, she hasn't talked to anyone here since the article dropped."
"..."
"Kind of reminds me of that time when every lady at the sales department made a fuss when they found out about what Kwon Jisung did."
A brief of silence between them stretched for a moment.
"Guess it really had a huge impact on her, huh?" Jiwoo mumbled, more to himself than to Kiyonari.
Kiyonari pursed his lips, then finally spoke. "Can't blame her." His voice was calm, steady. "She was a huge fan of Taehan. Hearing something like that about someone you looked up to... it would hit hard."
Jiwoo slipped his hands into his pockets, nodding slowly as they continued down the hallway.
"What's strange, though—" He began, then paused mid-step. Kiyonari turned his head slightly, acknowledging him.
"... is the Director." Jiwoo frowned. "I still can't believe he still hasn't released a statement yet."
Kiyonari's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"So now," Jiwoo continued, voice uneasy, "people are starting to think... maybe it was all true after all.'
Kiyonari suddenly quickened his pace, shoes clicking sharply against the floor as he moved ahead without another word.
"Ah—wait!" Jiwoo called out, startled. "Kihyun-sshi, where are you going?! Wait up!"
Jiwoo hurried after him, while Kiyonari pressed forward, his expression dark and unreadable. His thoughts already racing far ahead of the quiet hallway they'd just left behind.
Kiyonari carefully opened the office door, making sure not to disturb the quiet that lingered inside. He stepped in and closed it behind him, coming to a respectful stop a few steps from the desk. Soo-hyun lifted his gaze from the documents spread out before him and immediately noticed his secretary standing there.
"There you are," he said bluntly, tone efficient and to the point. "You came at the right timing. Get to the car ready."
"Yes, sir." Kiyonari bowed instinctively. Still, a flicker of curiosity crossed his expression. "But... are you going somewhere, sir?"
Soo-hyun stood from his chair, a thin stack of paperwork still in hand. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, posture relaxed but commanding.
"I'm sure you're already aware," he said, voice even, "but my sister is getting married soon."
Kiyonari's eyes flickered in brief surprise before he nodded. Without another word, Soo-hyun reached for something on the desk and tossed it forward. The object slid across the smooth surface and stopped jut in front of Kiyonari.
An invitation card.
"And I'm invited, unfortunately." Soo-hyun continued flatly.
Kiyonari picked it up carefully, scanning the elegant lettering.
"Contact the store," Soo-hyun added. I'll need something suitable for the event tonight."
"Of course, sir." Kiyonari straightened immediately. "I'll prepare the car and make the arrangements."
Soo-hyun let the remaining papers fall back onto the desk, no longer bothering with them, then walked around it—casual, unhurried until he stopped right in front of Kiyonari.
"Sir?" Kiyonari asked, uncertain.
Soo-hyun didn't answer right away. Instead, his gaze slowly traveled over Kiyonari—from the neat line of his hair to the fit of his suit, down to his shoes. It wasn't cold, nor was it hostile. It was sharp, observant as though he were appraising something. Kiyonari stiffened under the scrutiny.
Then Soo-hyun finally spoke, his tone casual almost offhand.
"What's your type?"
"My type?..." Kiyonari echoed, genuinely caught off guard.
"Yes," Soo-hyun replied bluntly, as if it were the most natural question in the world.
"Um..." Kiyonari hesitated, his mind scrambling. "I-I haven't really thought about any type, sir. But if I were to think—"
"American tuxedo?" Soo-hyun suddenly cut in. "Or maybe Italian suits you more."
"... Eh?" Kiyonari froze, utterly dumbfounded.
Soo-hyun shrugged lightly. "Whatever." A faint grin curved his lips. "We'll find out eventually which suits you best."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked past him, already heading toward the door. Kiyonari remained rooted in place, eyes wide. A second later, he lifted a hand and covered is face.
That was so embarrassing!! What was I even about to say?! Kiyonari screamed internally.
My type?! There's no way he was asking about my type of person, right?!
His thoughts tangled as heat crept up his neck.
"Seriously..." He muttered under his breath, voice shaky. "What was that all about?!"
******
"No. Not this one."
Soo-hyun's voice was blunt and steady, devoid of hesitation. He stood before a set of tall double mirrors, the soft lighting above casting a clean glow over the fitting room. His posture was straight, shoulders relaxed, as he examined his reflection with sharp, meticulous eyes. The tuxedo he wore was impeccably tailored—every line precise, every seam flawless—yet his expression remained unmoved.
He turned slightly to the side, fingers brushing the lapel as though weighing its worth.
"Too bright."
His brows knitted faintly as he glanced at the deep red suit draped over his frame. The color was bold, striking—something that would surely draw attention the moment he stepped into the room.
And that was precisely the problem. Without another word, he slipped out of it.
The next suit followed.
He adjusted the cuffs of a black ensemble adorned with subtle white frills along the sleeves, elegant in a way that spoke of luxury and careful craftsmanship. He studied it for a second longer than the others before shaking his head.
"Not looking good."
The attendant, a woman dresses in a crisp uniform, immediately bowed her head. "Understood, sir."
She stepped forward smoothly, removing the rejected suit with practiced efficiency before ushering it away. Moments later, another rack of garments was wheeled in—each one encased in protective covers, the faint rustle of fabric filling the room as they swayed gently. One after another, expensive tailored suits were presented, each more refined than the last. Yet Soo-hyun's expression never changed.
At the corner of the room, Kiyonari stood quietly, hands clasped behind his back. He watched as his boss dismissed outfit after outfit with the same calm indifference. Each suit probably cost more than his annual salary. And yet, none of them seemed good enough. Kiyonari swallowed, eyes following Soo-hyun's reflection in the mirror. For someone who wore perfection so effortlessly, it was unsettling to see him unable to find something that fit—not his body, but whatever standard he was measuring himself against.
Soon, Soo-hyun stepped away from the mirror, his expression finally settled—as though he had already made his decision among the neatly arranged clothes on the rack. He snapped his fingers lightly, a quiet but authoritative sound that immediately drew the saleslady's attention. "Bring me something dark," he said coolly. "Something that would suit a tall figure."
As he spoke, his gaze veered—unmistakably to Kiyonari. The moment their eyes met, Kiyonari felt his breath hitch. His eyes flickered in reflex, unsure whether to look away or stand his ground.
Soo-hyun shifted his weight, crossing one arm loosely over his chest. "You really think I'm going to let you accompany me to a party," he added, voice laced with fry sarcasm, "looking like that?"
Kiyonari stiffened.
He glanced down at himself—simple sleeve shirt, neatly pressed, slacks, practical shoes. Clean black blazer.
But not party-appropriate.
He opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to refuse. After all, he was only secretary. There was no reason for him dress up. Yet the words never came out.
Turning down his boss outright would be rude—and more than that, Soo-hyun was right. This wasn't just any gathering. It was a grand event, filled with elites, eyes trained to notice every detail. Standing beside the Executive Director while looking underdressed would reflect poorly on Soo-hyun himself.
And that was something Kiyonari couldn't allow.
"... Of course, sir," he said finally, bowing his head slightly.
The saleslady smiled politely and gestured for him to follow. "This way, please."
Kiyonari complied, walking after her toward the dressing room. As the curtain closed behind him, his heart beat faster than he expected. He couldn't help but wonder—
What kind of dark suit Soo-hyun thought would suit him best.
Not long after, the curtain slid open.
Kiyonari stood before the full-length mirrors, momentarily frozen in place. The black tuxedo fit him as though it had been tailored with his body in mind alone—sharp lines tracing his tall frame, the fabric hugging his toned torso without restraint. The jacket rested cleanly at his waist, while the crisp shirt beneath accentuated the subtle definition of muscle earned through discipline rather than show. Long legs stretched effortlessly beneath the polished trousers, giving him an imposing yet refined presence.
It was a no longer the familiar image of a diligent secretary standing there. The change was immediate—and striking.
A hush fell over the room.
Salesladies who had been moving busily only moments ago slowed to a stop, their voices dropping into hushed murmurs. A few exchanged glances, whispering under their breath, their eyes lingering on him far longer than professional courtesy allowed. Their attention was glued to him alone, as if the air itself had shifted around his presence.
Even Soo-hyun, who had been sitting casually on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, froze the instant his gaze caught a glimpse of Kiyonari's broad back reflected in the mirror.
He stayed still. Didn't speak.
For a brief second, it was like the world had stalled.
Meanwhile, unaware of the effect he had caused, Kiyonari let out a small, sheepish smile. The silence made him uncomfortable. He shifted slightly, glancing toward Soo-hyun, only to find him staring. Confusion crept onto his face.
Is there something on my face? He wondered inwardly.
Without a word, Soo-hyun finally stood up.
On his way, he reached for a velvet box held carefully by one of the salesladies and lifted a silver watch from inside—sleek and expensive. He walked straight toward Kiyonari, his steps unhurried.
Stopping in front of him, Soo-hyun gently took Kiyonari's arm. The touch was firm yet careful as he slid the watch onto his wrist, fastening it with practiced ease.
"Silver looks good on you," Soo-hyun said.
And then—
He smiled. It wasn't the usual polite curve or mocking smirk Kiyonari had grown accustomed to. This one was soft. Almost genuine. Kiyonari's eyes widened slightly.
He's smiling...? He thought, stunned. Is it just me—or did he smile because of how I look right now?
His gaze drifted back to the mirror. The reflection staring back at him barely felt familiar. The black tuxedo transformed him completely, giving off an aura that was composed, confident and almost intimidating. It wasn't just the clothes; it was the way they revealed a side of him he had never paid attention to before.
Kiyonari clenched his fist softly at his side.
I see, he thought calmly.
So this is what I look like in clothes like these.
*****
That night, the long driveway leading to the mansion-like estate shimmered under rows of warm lights. One by one, luxury cars glided to a halt—sleek sedans, polished sports cars, and chauffeured limousines—each arrival announced by the soft splash of water from the grand fountain standing proudly at the entrance. Guests stepped out in gowns and tailored suits, laughter and polite conversation from afar.
Soo-hyun emerged from his back sedan with measured grace. The door closed behind him, and without a pause, he straightened his cuffs and walked forward, his posture impeccable. The red aisle stretched long before him, guiding guests toward the entrance like a ceremonial path. Kiyonari followed closely behind, half a step back, his presence steady and attentive—silent, yet unmistakebly there.
The engagement party was already in full bloom.
Tonight marked the union of the Je family's daughter and the Park family's son—a prestigious household renowned in the medical world. Two powerful families joining hands meant influence, and stability. It was a celebration designed to dazzle, and it succeeded effortlessly.
Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead as the engaged couple appeared at the top of the curved staircase. The host's voice rang out warmly, introducing them with practiced eloquence. Applause thundered through the hall was they descended hand in hand, smiles radiant eyes locked on each other as if the world around them did not exist. They looked perfect—admired. For a moment, all attention belonged to them.
Then, the doors at the entrance opened once more. A subtle hush swept across the room.
Heads turned almost instinctively.
Soo-hyun stepped inside.
The shift in attention was immediate and undeniable. Conversations faltered, champagne glasses paused mid-air, and even the musicians softened their tempo as eyes gravitated toward him. Dresses in a black tuxedo that fit him flawlessly, Soo-hyun looked striking—his dark hair neatly styled, his completion glowing softly under the lights, a faint flush painting his cheeks. There was an elegance to him that felt effortless, a quiet confidence that commanded the room without a single word.
He was breathtaking.
And then there was the man behind him.
Kiyonari's tall figure complemented Soo-hyun's presence perfectly. Broad shoulders straightened beneath his tailored suit, his sharp features composed and dignified. Wherever they walked, eyed followed. Together, they formed a striking contrast, yet an undeniable harmony as if they belonged side by side.
Whispers rippled through the hall.
Outwardly, Kiyonari remained calm, his expression unreadable, his steps measured. But inside, tension coiled tightly in his chest. The weight of so many gazes bore down on him, unfamiliar and suffocating. He resisted the urge to lower his head, keeping his face neutral. And for better or worse, the entire room had taken notice.