Chapter 41
Flap.
A sheet of paper turned in Yoonjae’s hand.
His emotionless, dull eyes scanned each line meticulously, and every time a page flipped, Eunse twitched nervously across from him.
Gulp.
She pretended to relax, leaning against the sofa and even crossing her legs, but her fingers fidgeted restlessly, betraying her tension.
Flap.
Another page turned.
Finally, as he continued to examine every detail far too closely, Eunse, offended, snapped at him.
“Would you stop already? What are you looking at so seriously? It’s all going to be—”
“Throw it away.”
Of course.
He interrupted her and dropped the file onto the table with a thud.
It was the project proposal she had stubbornly pushed through to final approval.
Throb.
Her face flushed red—familiar, yet something she could never get used to.
Normally, the papers should’ve been finalized with her signature, but in this office, they always required Ha Yoonjae’s unofficial approval.
Quiver.
Her fists trembled visibly as she glared at him.
“You’re doing this on purpose. You think everything I do is wrong—you’re just looking down on me, trying to keep me in check, aren’t you?”
Looking between the “keep” and “discard” piles of project proposals, she lashed out.
Still holding the last sheet, Yoonjae replied without even glancing at her.
“Train your eyes.”
Thud.
“Learn the difference between creativity and imagination.”
The moment the last sheet was dropped into the “discard” pile, fire flared in Eunse’s eyes.
It was something she heard from him all the time—yet she never moved forward.
No matter how hard she tried, how much she studied, the result was the same.
She didn’t have talent.
But Ha Yoonjae—who had never studied abroad or even taken a formal business course—was perfect.
Knowing that no amount of arguing would shake him, she barely managed to swallow her anger.
“Transfer me to the finance team.”
It was her usual demand whenever things came to this. And, as always, Yoonjae’s response was identical.
“I told you—meet the qualifications first.”
The qualifications.
Everything from basic finance certifications to other key requirements—Eunse knew well that Yeongdo Group’s finance department was notorious for its strict hiring conditions.
She usually gave up halfway, but today was different.
“So what you’re saying is, the PR Planning Department doesn’t need any qualifications?”
At that jab, his gaze finally lifted to her.
The sight of his whites showing made her flinch, but she puffed up like an angry chipmunk and sneered.
“Funny. Someone as thorough as you—why give me the manager’s seat if I’m so unqualified?”
“There is a qualification.”
“…What?”
“Being the daughter of Yeongdo Group is qualification enough for PR.”
A few short words, but utterly devastating.
That “trophy face” remark crushed her last shred of pride, and she shot up from her seat.
“You’re so damn annoying!”
She spun around to leave the sofa area—almost storming out of the office—when Yoonjae’s voice stopped her.
“Ha Eunse.”
“What!”
“Your bag.”
Her shout froze midair. She rushed back to grab the bag resting on the sofa like a sacred relic—and froze again.
Oh no.
[‘Yoonjae said he’d gift it to me. Please accept it.’]
Of all days, she’d brought that bag—the one he had forced her to accept as a gift.
Catching his steady gaze, Eunse hurriedly blurted out excuses.
“I—I was going to return it, but they said it was the last one in Korea, impossible to get again! And besides, people would notice if I didn’t use it…”
She could easily have stopped using it—but the more she looked at it, the prettier it seemed. Lately, it had become her favorite bag.
Yoonjae seemed to understand now. He tilted his head slightly and said,
“Oh right, I bought that for you.”
Her face, already flushed with anger, turned even redder, but he went on as if nothing happened.
“Looks better than the rags you usually carry.”
“I don’t use rags!”
“It suits you.”
For a moment, Eunse’s mouth hung open.
It was the first time she’d ever heard a positive word from his mouth.
She blinked rapidly, a little too flustered, while he checked the time and rose from his seat.
As he put on his jacket, she asked,
“Uh… where are you going?”
He had never once been the one to leave first in a situation like this.
“The hospital.”
The simple answer made her lower her guard. And before she could stop herself, she blurted out what came to mind.
“Didn’t she move to Busan?”
The words left her mouth before she could think.
And the moment they touched his back, she covered her mouth in shock.
In this household, that person didn’t exist. That was the condition under which Yoonjae had been accepted into Yeongdo.
But he didn’t react—no anger, no expression.
He merely gave her a simple instruction without turning around.
“Turn off the lights before you go.”
“Over here.”
When Yoonjae arrived at the hospital, Juho was waiting for him.
Having just finished his shift, Juho led him aside and got straight to the point.
“The surgery went well. It was a light procedure anyway.”
“How is she?”
That question wasn’t about the LASIK surgery, which had only taken fifteen minutes.
“Come here a sec.”
They moved to a quieter corner of the lobby.
Yoonjae had specifically chosen this hospital to give Juho and Aejeong a chance to cross paths naturally.
He wanted them to at least talk once—without forcing anything.
After a brief pause, Juho spoke.
“I get what you meant.”
“In what way?”
“She’s… solid. It’s not forced, or something she’s trying to fake. She’s really different. No—wrong, even.”
Not different—wrong.
Meaning it couldn’t just be explained away as “she seems like a different person.”
The premise itself was wrong.
It wasn’t “she seems like someone else”—it was “she’s not the same person.”
“She doesn’t seem like Joo Aejeong at all.”
Yoonjae murmured softly, half to himself,
“Like someone else’s soul entered her body.”
“…What?”
Juho blinked, wondering if he’d heard wrong, then burst out laughing.
“You been reading weird stuff lately? Astral projection? Shamanism?”
“…”
“Man, you must be getting old. Didn’t think you of all people would say something like that.”
The thought that the robotic, emotionless Ha Yoonjae could utter such mystical nonsense amused him.
Yoonjae, displeased by his tone, turned away.
“Which room?”
“Annex VIP ward, room 3. You’re probably the first person ever to book a VIP suite for LASIK.”
Not even staying overnight.
But Yoonjae wasn’t the type to care about such details.
As he walked away, Juho murmured quietly to himself,
“One opens up, the other shuts down…”
A sigh heavy with quiet pity followed.
Click.
The door to the hospital room opened with a smooth, quiet sound.
The hinges were so well-oiled that there was almost no noise—but the patient’s head turned instantly.
“Someone’s here?”
Woori’s pale face peeked out from the hospital gown.
Her eyes were still closed; perhaps because her vision hadn’t fully stabilized yet, her hearing was sharper.
“I heard it… someone came in.”
Her face was slightly puffy from the recent surgery, but her complexion looked good.
Though her vision was still blurry, she kept her eyes shut for comfort.
“…”
Yoonjae stepped closer as she brushed her hair aside.
“Ah.”
After only a few steps, Woori raised her hand and pointed straight at him.
“Ha Yoonjae.”
She said it flat out—in casual speech, no less—with a bright little smile on her lips.
He hadn’t bothered to hide himself, hadn’t even made a sound beyond walking. Yet somehow, she knew immediately.
As he approached the bed, he asked,
“How did you know?”
She tilted her head, eyes still closed.
“Of course I know.”
“…”
“Who else would come to me besides you?”
Thud.
Like an unexpected pebble striking a frog, the words hit him squarely.
He stood there silently, gazing at her—this delicate woman sitting with her eyes gently shut.
He was used to seeing her behind thick glasses, but without them, she looked soft, almost ethereal.
Thump, thump, thump.
His heart responded before he even realized it.
Unaware of the reaction she caused, Woori scrunched her nose.
“Ugh, keeping my eyes closed is uncomfortable.”
Then, slowly, carefully, she lifted her eyelids.
Little by little, her eyes came into view.
“…”
Her sight wasn’t perfect yet, but clear enough to make out his face without glasses.
Her dark eyes—clear, deep, and unguarded—focused directly on him.
Blink, blink.
After a few blinks, her vision sharpened even more, and finally, Yoonjae came into focus.
Her big eyes widened further in surprise.
“Are you sick? Why’s your face so red?”
Innocent. Blunt. Completely unaware.
