Jiwoon pushed open the door to Kang Mirae's small office, script clutched tightly in one hand. The smell of brewed coffee mingled with the faint scent of ink and paper, and the sunlight streaming through the blinds cut narrow stripes across the cluttered desks.
He didn't greet anyone. He didn't pause to admire the organized chaos of the room or the hurried movement of Mirae's assistants. His eyes went straight to the woman behind the desk.
Without hesitation, he placed the script down on the table, the thud loud enough to make a few pens jump in their holders. His tone was calm but sharp.
"This," he said, tapping the stack of pages, "was handed to me as your work. Tell me… did someone else write this?"
Mirae's eyebrows shot up. "What? No! I wrote it. Every single word," she said, her voice steady but tinged with surprise.
Jiwoon didn't appear convinced. He flipped open the script, scanning through paragraphs as if hunting for a telltale sign. "I've read it. The writing style… it doesn't match your previous works. The tone, the humor, even the structure—it's different. I need to know if this really came from you, or if someone else contributed."
Mirae's eyes widened. Her jaw tightened, and she slammed her hands on the desk, rattling papers in her path. "Are you serious?!" she shouted, rising to her feet. "You're accusing me of not writing my own script? Do you even know who you're speaking to?!"
Jiwoon's gaze remained steady, unflinching. "I'm not questioning your skill. I'm questioning the authorship. This story… it feels unfamiliar. Too distinct. I need the truth before I agree to direct it."
Mirae's nostrils flared, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. "Unfamiliar? How dare you! I've been in this industry for years! I have hits, awards, recognition! And you—some young director—have the audacity to accuse me of stealing?"
The assistants froze, unsure whether to intervene or quietly retreat to their desks. A charged silence filled the room. Even the faint hum of the air conditioner seemed to pause under the tension. Mirae's face burned red with fury, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Jiwoon leaned slightly on the desk, crossing his arms, his expression calm but unwavering. "I don't doubt your skill. I doubt the authorship. The story… it has a rhythm I don't recognize from your previous works. I need clarity before I proceed."
Mirae's mouth opened to retort, but at that exact moment, Seori stepped into the office, carrying a small cup of coffee. She balanced it carefully, walking quickly but silently, focused entirely on her task.
Her eyes froze the instant they fell on him. The air seemed to crackle around her as recognition hit like a lightning bolt. Her heart pounded in her chest. Memories, once neatly tucked away, erupted—the rivalry, the arguments, the teasing, the frustration from their university days. Every word, every glance, every subtle challenge came rushing back.
Jiwoon's gaze shifted just as sharply. Recognition sparked immediately. That laugh, that sharp wit, that undeniable presence—he hadn't expected to see her here, not after all these years. Yet here she was, standing in the doorway, carrying coffee with the same meticulous care she always had.
Time seemed to slow. The papers on Mirae's desk, the scattered pens, the hum of the air conditioner—all faded into the background. Only the two of them existed in that suspended moment.
Seori's chest tightened. Her hands gripped the coffee cup unconsciously. It can't be… Jiwoon? The thought barely formed before her lips moved, almost of their own accord.
Jiwoon's composure faltered for the briefest instant. His sharp gaze softened slightly, the recognition undeniable. That voice, that presence—it was her. Seori.
And then, almost instinctively, their voices overlapped, spilling out simultaneously:
"Jiwoon?""Seori?"
The names echoed in the small office, charged with shock, disbelief, and the weight of years of unspoken rivalry. Mirae's furious glare remained fixed on him, her hands still clenched on the desk, but for Jiwoon and Seori, everything else faded.
Time collapsed. The past and present collided. Memories of endless bickering, of rivalry in classrooms, of arguments over trivial things—all of it returned in a heartbeat.
The assistants exchanged uncertain glances, whispering quietly, sensing that something monumental had just occurred. Mirae waved her hands angrily, demanding attention, but her fury seemed distant, almost muted in comparison to the silent storm brewing between the two young professionals.
Seori lowered her gaze slightly, gripping the coffee cup tighter, as if holding onto it anchored her to reality. Jiwoon's calm eyes never left hers, a faint flicker of something unspoken passing between them—a recognition that neither words nor time could erase.