Monday morning I arrived at Hansung Electronics headquarters at 8:45 AM, fifteen minutes early.
The building was massive—glass and steel, thirty floors, the kind of corporate monument that screamed money and power. I checked in at the front desk with my internship paperwork, and a security guard issued me a temporary ID badge.
"Legal department is on the fourteenth floor," he said. "Take the elevator on the left."
The fourteenth floor was all polished wood and muted colors. Professional. Intimidating. I found the environmental compliance team's office and knocked.
Director Shin looked up from her desk and smiled. "Ms. Han. Right on time. Come in."
Her office was neat and organized—law books on shelves, case files stacked precisely, a window overlooking Seoul. She gestured to a chair.
"Welcome to Hansung. Let me give you an overview of what we do here."
For the next thirty minutes, she explained the environmental compliance team's work. They monitored regulations, prepared reports for government agencies, advised other departments on environmental impact, and handled any violations or citations.
"Your role will be research-focused," she said. "We have three major projects this summer. First, we're reviewing new emissions regulations that take effect in September. Second, we're preparing a compliance audit report. Third, we're developing recommendations for reducing our environmental impact."
"That sounds exactly like what I'm interested in."
"Good. You'll be working primarily with Kim Min-Soo, our senior compliance officer. He'll show you around and get you started." She pressed a button on her phone. "Min-Soo, can you come to my office?"
A man in his early thirties appeared a moment later. Tall, professional, friendly expression.
"Ms. Han, this is Kim Min-Soo. Min-Soo, this is our summer intern, Han Ji-Mang. She's a third-year law student at SNU with a focus on environmental law."
"Welcome," Min-Soo said, shaking my hand. "Good to have you. We can use the help."
He showed me to my workspace—a small desk in a shared office with two other junior staff members. Computer, phone, access to the legal database, stack of regulatory documents.
"Your first assignment," Min-Soo said, handing me a thick folder, "is to review these new emissions regulations and summarize the key changes that affect our manufacturing division. The regulations are dense, so take your time. I need a memo by Friday with your analysis and recommendations."
"I can do that."
"Great. If you have questions, just ask. We're a small team, so everyone helps everyone."
He left, and I opened the folder. Two hundred pages of government regulations written in dense legal language. Perfect.
I dove in.
The morning flew by. The regulations were complex but fascinating—new standards for industrial emissions, stricter reporting requirements, penalties for violations. I made notes, cross-referenced with current Hansung practices, started drafting an outline for my memo.
Around noon, one of my office-mates—a woman in her late twenties named Park Ji-Won—poked her head over the cubicle divider.
"Lunch break. Want to join us? We usually go to the cafeteria."
"Sure, thanks."
The cafeteria was on the second floor—massive, busy, filled with employees from every department. Ji-Won introduced me to the other junior legal staff—three people around my age, all friendly and welcoming.
"How's your first day?" asked Lee Sung-Min, a guy who'd started last month as a contract analyst.
"Good. Overwhelming but good. The regulations are dense."
"Everything here is dense. You'll get used to it."
"How long have you been here?"
"Four weeks. Still figuring things out. But the work is interesting and Director Shin is a good boss."
We ate and talked about work, and I relaxed slightly. This was manageable. Professional. I could do this.
Walking back from lunch, I turned a corner and nearly ran directly into someone.
"Sorry, I—"
I looked up and froze.
Choi Jae-Hyun. Bok-Jin's father.
He looked at me with polite but distant recognition. "Do I know you?"
My brain scrambled. Play it cool. Professional.
"We met briefly at a networking event earlier this year. Han Ji-Mang. I'm a summer intern in the legal department."
"Ah. Yes. I remember. Law student at SNU, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Welcome to Hansung. I hope you find the work educational." His tone was pleasant but dismissive—the way executives talked to interns they'd forget in five minutes.
"Thank you, sir. I'm sure I will."
He nodded and walked past, already focused on his phone.
I stood there for a moment processing. He didn't remember I was dating his son. Or if he did remember, he hadn't connected the intern Han Ji-Mang with the girlfriend he'd asked about.
That was good. That was what I wanted.
So why did I feel vaguely insulted?
That evening I texted Bok-Jin: Ran into your father today.
Bok-Jin: What?? Where??
Me: Hallway outside the cafeteria. He didn't recognize me. Or he pretended not to.
Bok-Jin: Probably didn't recognize you. He meets hundreds of people. Unless you're directly important to business, he forgets you.
Me: That's weirdly comforting.
Bok-Jin: How was the rest of your first day?
Me: Good! The work is interesting. The people are nice. I have a memo due Friday.
Bok-Jin: Look at you, being professional and employed.
Me: I'm very professional. Very employed.
Bok-Jin: I'm proud of you. Want to celebrate surviving your first day? Dinner?
Me: Can't tonight. Need to keep working on the memo. Tomorrow?
Bok-Jin: Tomorrow works. I'll pick you up at 6.
When I got home, both roommates were already there looking exhausted.
"First day?" I asked.
"Nightmare," Yoo-Na said, still in her work clothes. "My father introduced me to everyone as 'my daughter who's learning the business.' Like I'm twelve."
"That's rough."
"And Min-Woo cornered me at lunch asking if I wanted to 'discuss our project over coffee.' I said I prefer to keep work relationships professional. He said 'we can be professional and friendly.' I said 'we can be professional and distant.'"
"How'd he take that?"
"Poorly. But I don't care. I have nine weeks to survive. I can be professionally distant for nine weeks."
Min-Ji emerged from her room looking traumatized. "A dog ate a sock. An entire sock. I had to help retrieve it surgically. That was my day."
"That's horrible," I said.
"The dog was fine. But I'm scarred. Emotionally and metaphorically."
"Want me to make dinner?" I offered. "Seems like we all need comfort food."
"Yes please. Make something with cheese. Cheese fixes everything."
I made carbonara while they changed into comfortable clothes, and we ate on the couch watching terrible television.
"How was your first day really?" Yoo-Na asked. "The internship?"
"Good. The work is interesting. I ran into Bok-Jin's father in the hallway."
Both roommates' heads snapped toward me.
"What?" Min-Ji asked. "What happened?"
"He didn't recognize me. Or pretended not to. Just treated me like a random intern."
"That's good, right?" Yoo-Na said. "Less complicated."
"Yeah. It's good. Just weird. I'm dating his son, and he looked at me like I was nobody."
"That's because to him, you are nobody. You're not important to his business interests, so you don't register."
"That's kind of depressing."
"Welcome to the chaebol world. People are only important if they're useful."
"Your world sounds exhausting."
"It is. That's why I'm escaping it as soon as I graduate."
The rest of the week passed quickly.
I spent Tuesday and Wednesday deep in the emissions regulations, building my analysis. The work was challenging but engaging—exactly what I'd wanted from a legal internship.
Wednesday morning running club was good. Bok-Jin and I ran together, and everything felt normal despite the weirdness of working at his family's company.
"How's the memo coming?" he asked.
"Almost done. I'll finish it Thursday, review it Friday morning, submit it Friday afternoon."
"Very organized."
"I'm very nervous about messing up."
"You won't mess up. You're brilliant. Stop doubting yourself."
"That's not how anxiety works."
"Fair point."
After the run, Ji-Yeon mentioned she might visit her dad for lunch next week.
"Maybe I'll see you there!" she said excitedly.
"Maybe. I'm usually in the cafeteria around noon."
"Perfect! We can have lunch together!"
After she left, Bok-Jin looked amused. "You're making friends."
"Ji-Yeon is impossible not to be friends with. She's too enthusiastic."
"You're good with her. The mentoring thing."
"She reminds me of me three years ago. Eager, slightly lost, trying to figure everything out."
"And now you're the wise senior giving advice."
"I'm not wise. I'm just less lost."
"Same thing."
Thursday I finished my memo—ten pages analyzing the new regulations, their impact on Hansung's operations, and specific recommendations for compliance. I'd cited relevant case law, referenced environmental studies, and provided cost-benefit analysis for each recommendation.
It was good work. I knew it was good work.
But I still spent all of Thursday evening second-guessing every word.
"You're spiraling," Min-Ji observed, finding me at midnight still staring at my laptop.
"What if it's wrong? What if I missed something important?"
"Then they'll tell you and you'll fix it. That's how internships work. Nobody expects perfection from a summer intern."
"Director Shin expects excellence."
"Director Shin expects effort and learning. There's a difference."
"How are you so wise about work? You're emotionally devastated by sock-eating dogs."
"That's different. Dogs are pure creatures who deserve better. Work is just work."
Friday morning I arrived early, reviewed my memo one final time, and emailed it to Min-Soo and Director Shin at 9 AM.
Then I waited.
And waited.
At 2 PM, Director Shin called me into her office.
My stomach dropped. This was it. She was going to tell me the memo was terrible, I'd missed everything important, I was a disappointment.
"Ms. Han," she said, gesturing to a chair. "I read your memo."
"And?"
"It's excellent work. Thorough analysis, clear writing, practical recommendations. This is exactly what I wanted."
I blinked. "Really?"
"Really. You caught several issues that Min-Soo and I had discussed but hadn't formalized yet. Your recommendation about the phased compliance approach is particularly smart—it minimizes disruption while ensuring we meet deadlines."
"Thank you. I wasn't sure if—"
"You did well. Very well." She pulled up a document on her computer. "Your next assignment is more complex. We're preparing for a site inspection by environmental regulators in August. I need you to review our last five years of compliance reports and identify any potential red flags. Can you handle that?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
"Good. Take the weekend off. Start fresh Monday."
Walking out of her office, I felt like I was floating.
My first professional assignment. And I'd done well.
I texted Bok-Jin immediately: She loved the memo. Said it was excellent work.
Bok-Jin: Of course she did. You're brilliant. Told you.
Me: I'm so relieved I could cry.
Bok-Jin: Don't cry at work. Very unprofessional.
Me: Excellent advice. Very helpful.
Bok-Jin: I'm here to help. Still on for dinner tonight?
Me: Definitely. I need to celebrate not failing.
Bok-Jin: You need to celebrate succeeding. Different thing.
Me: Fine. Celebrate succeeding.
Bok-Jin: That's the spirit. Pick you up at 6.
That evening, Bok-Jin took me to a nice restaurant—not fancy, just good food and comfortable atmosphere.
"One week down," he said, raising his glass. "How do you feel?"
"Accomplished. Terrified. Excited about the next assignment."
"That's a lot of emotions."
"I'm a complex person."
"You really are." He took a sip of his drink. "Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"I'm jealous. Of your work. You get to do meaningful things—environmental compliance, regulations that actually matter. I spend my days in strategy meetings about quarterly profits."
"Your work matters too. Business strategy is important."
"But does it matter to me? That's the question." He played with his napkin. "I keep thinking about what I actually want to do with my life. And I don't have an answer."
"You don't need an answer right now. You're twenty-two."
"You had answers at twenty-two. You knew you wanted environmental law. You've known for years."
"That's because I didn't have the luxury of uncertainty. I needed a clear path because there was no safety net." I reached across the table and took his hand. "You have different circumstances. Use them. Explore. Figure out what makes you excited."
"What if nothing makes me excited?"
"Then you find something adequate and build a life around other things. Not everyone needs passion in their career."
"Do you believe that?"
"I don't know. I'm still figuring it out." I squeezed his hand. "We're both figuring it out."
We ate and talked about lighter things—Min-Ji's sock dog saga, Yoo-Na's ongoing battle with Min-Woo, the running club's plan for a summer 5K.
Around 9 PM, as we were leaving, someone called out.
"Bok-Jin!"
We turned. A guy around our age, well-dressed, confident expression. He looked vaguely familiar.
"Jae-Sung," Bok-Jin said, his tone carefully neutral. "What are you doing here?"
"Dinner with clients. You?" His eyes landed on me, and recognition flickered. "Wait, I remember you. The networking event. Han Ji-Mang, right?"
"Right. Nice to see you again."
"You two are together?" He looked between us with obvious interest. "That's new. Since when?"
"Since March," Bok-Jin said. "We're dating."
"Interesting. Does your father know?"
"That's not really your business, Jae-Sung."
"Just asking. You know how he is about... suitable matches." He said it lightly, but there was an edge.
"Ji-Mang is extremely suitable. She's brilliant and accomplished and none of that is your concern."
"Right, right. Sorry." He pulled out his phone. "I should get back to my table. Good to see you both."
He left, and Bok-Jin looked frustrated.
"Sorry about that. Jae-Sung is... he means well, but he's terrible at boundaries."
"It's fine. Though now I'm wondering if he's going to tell people."
"Probably. He's a gossip. But that's okay. We're not hiding our relationship."
"Just hiding it at work."
"That's different. That's professional boundaries, not secrecy."
We walked to his car, and I tried not to worry about Jae-Sung and gossip and complications.
"Hey," Bok-Jin said, stopping before we got in. "This is good. Us. Work and relationship and figuring things out. It's all good."
"I know."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm just waiting for something to go wrong."
"Stop borrowing trouble. Enjoy the moment."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
He kissed me, and I tried to believe him.
Everything was fine.
For now.