Chapter 9
“What do you think of Branch Manager Moon Gyo-hyun?”
At his question, Eun-woo inhaled sharply. Known for his uncanny business sense, he seemed to possess a similarly sharp eye.
To catch, in that brief instant, that it was Branch Manager Moon who had sent the draft—remarkable.
“Branch Manager Moon’s instruction to create the draft for your banner was not ill-intentioned. I believe it stemmed from a sincere wish to celebrate the accomplishments you achieved in London.”
“So that was Branch Manager Moon’s directive.”
“You already knew… wasn’t that why you asked the question?”
“Of course not. I’m not a mind reader.”
Eun-woo had tried to excuse Moon as a form of defense, but his question had never been about that.
Like a thief caught in his own trap, Eun-woo found herself blurting out unintended details and hurriedly added:
“Branch Manager Moon is a good person. He respects employees’ opinions and values communication. Beyond that, professionally… I don’t think it’s for me to evaluate.”
“That evaluation is my responsibility.”
His gaze suggested she should stick to answering what was asked. Eun-woo paused, then carefully considered how to answer with a little more honesty.
Moon had arrived in London three months ahead of Eun-woo. She had heard he was originally an executive at Seomgwang Logistics, headquartered near Gunsan Port.
Some had called his transfer to the London branch an unexpected move, yet no one disparaged his character. True to the reputation of being a good person, he had taken care of Eun-woo, who had arrived around the same time.
“From the perspective of a subordinate, honestly, Branch Manager Moon can be a bit eccentric, but perhaps that’s why employees feel comfortable communicating with him. He values diversity and collaboration, so the atmosphere in the London office is quite positive. I think he’s a very inclusive person…”
At that moment, a streak of light rose above Big Ben behind the square.
The light soon exploded into a spectacular firework display, painting the London sky with brilliant colors.
As if on cue, both their gazes shifted simultaneously to the night sky. Feeling uneasy speaking about Branch Manager Moon, Eun-woo took this as an opportunity to change the subject.
“It’s a fireworks display in commemoration of Memorial Day week. There will be several more displays around London leading up to Memorial Day.”
“Is that because they were a victorious nation? They celebrate Memorial Day with such grandeur. It seems paradoxical, in a way.”
“Pardon?”
For a moment, Eun-woo turned toward Kang Hee-jae. He remained standing, still watching Big Ben as he spoke:
“Ultimately, World War I was ignited by imperial greed, yet they prioritized honoring soldiers’ noble sacrifices over reflection and remorse.”
The colored fireworks flickered in his dark eyes.
Though they stood in the same place, looking at the same view, Kang Hee-jae was thinking something entirely different from Eun-woo.
“Still… we must remember, lest we repeat the same mistakes, right?”
“Does that answer resonate with the frustration felt by Kim Eun-woo, who has lost her memory?”
“Excuse me?”
“Memory loss.”
The question struck sharply.
Her attempt to divert the conversation with fireworks seemed meaningless in the face of his inquiry.
The condition Eun-woo had developed from the accident was psychogenic amnesia—the very kind often depicted in dramas and films.
She retained all her learned knowledge, including professional skills, but memories from specific periods had vanished entirely.
She barely recalled HJ’s appointment as Chief Secretary, so it was unclear whether her impression of him disliking his secretaries came from experience or from inferring it based on the fact that he restructured the office and dismissed everyone.
Nor could she determine if her sense of familiarity in Kang Hee-jae’s gaze came from having spent time with him in the past, or simply because he was strikingly handsome and unforgettable.
Memory disorders come with numerous symptoms, such as para-amnesia and retrospective falsification. One confuses externally acquired information as one’s own memory, or misattributes events as personal experiences.
Back in Korea, Eun-woo had encountered numerous difficulties due to this memory disorder.
A street that felt familiar might be one she had seen carefully on TV, and a familiar person in front of her might not be an acquaintance but a friend’s junior.
Being assigned to London a year and a half ago had been a relief. She could no longer endure living in the limbo of uncertainty, unable to distinguish real memories from false ones.
“Since you can’t answer, I’ll rephrase the question. Do you have no memory at all of working in the Chief Secretary’s office?”
Returning to Korea, she would face this question countless times.
It had already been two years since she lost her memories, yet the silver lining was that she could now calmly recount facts, despite the uncertainty.
“Memory isn’t like editing a video, where you can cut cleanly. I don’t know exactly where complete memory ends and incomplete memory begins.”
“Ambiguous… indeed, ambiguous. You haven’t forgotten everything.”
“Yes. So I worry whether I can provide accurate answers to your questions. Several months of memory are completely gone from the accident, but I retain some older memories.”
A breeze drifted past.
Caught in the faint scent emanating from him, Eun-woo felt dizzy as she sifted through her remaining memories. Unfortunately, her recollections of the Chief Secretary’s office were limited to the period before Kang Hee-jae’s appointment.
Still, as his aide, she felt an obligation to recount even fragmentary truths, and she began:
“Before your appointment, the Chief Secretary’s office operated like an automated system.”
It was, in a sense, like a conveyor belt.
Six people served the previous Chief Secretary: the secretary team leader, personal secretary, driver, and three others—a protocol secretary and two internal schedule secretaries—each supporting the Chief Secretary in designated roles.
“As you know, places with precise work manuals have pros and cons. The work was systematic and accurate, but having multiple people repeat the same tasks in the same way could be stifling. Looking back, I suppose I didn’t particularly enjoy working in the Chief Secretary’s office.”
“Yet you handled the current protocol work with remarkable enthusiasm.”
“You’re comparing the Chief Secretary I served for a long time with the one standing before me now. To be honest, serving the current Chief Secretary involves many unconventional situations, so it is nerve-wracking—but thrilling.”
Indeed, it was thrilling.
Her heart raced continuously beside Chief Secretary Kang Hee-jae.
Initially, she had felt discomfort and was flustered when told to focus solely on her tasks. But from the moment she escorted him into the banquet hall, she understood her role in London’s protocol work.
Her responsibility was not merely to guide schedules and perform tasks but to stand beside him and lend logic and rationale to his words and actions—what he called “tasks unique to Kim Eun-woo.”
Just as she had honored foreign culture with a poppy brooch, she applied local cultural sensibilities to protocol work—details impossible to grasp from Korea through brief documents or fragmented information.
This work was completely different from her prior experience in the rigidly structured Chief Secretary’s office.
The current protocol work lacked a formal manual.
Whereas conventional protocol dictated exactly where aides stood, precise angles for bows according to rank, and strict adherence, the London protocol required proactive judgment and efficient execution based on local experience.
Despite the extreme physical and mental exhaustion after two days of continuous work, she felt an unprecedented sense of accomplishment. She was satisfied even with back-to-back tasks from early morning to late at night.
It was a feeling she had never experienced before.
Did the current Chief Secretary’s office staff work in such an environment? Was Kang Hee-jae a superior who pushed human potential to its limits?
This curiosity eased her vigilance toward a boss who seemed to harbor a slightly mischievous curiosity of his own.
She was beginning to feel confused. Perhaps her initial discomfort at seeing him in London was simply a reaction to encountering this type of superior for the first time.
Perhaps admiration.
“Now, for the final question.”
Eun-woo looked at Chief Secretary Kang Hee-jae.
“Would you consider coming to Korea to work with me?”
He was known for filling positions only with carefully vetted personnel. After taking office as Chief Secretary, he had left many posts vacant until finding the right people.
Returning to the Chief Secretary’s office from which she had been abruptly removed had never crossed her mind. Even if it was just words, his question pleased her.
“Have I… passed your test?”
“No test. Don’t you feel I’ve come to bring you back?”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve come for Kim Eun-woo.”
“For me…?”
The words implicitly asked, “Why?”
Another firework burst in the distance, its red heat reflecting in his eyes.
Kang Hee-jae finally spoke:
“My heart races when I’m beside Kim Eun-woo, too.”
