Seo-jin arrived early. Not unusually so, but early enough that it wouldn’t be mistaken for avoidance, though it was. She dropped her jacket and tote onto her desk in a single motion, practised and precise.

The kitchen beckoned, somewhere loud enough to provide cover, small enough that no one would ask why she wasn't making eye contact.

By the time she stepped inside, Do-yeon and Sang-wook were already posted near the coffee machine, cups in hand, mid-banter. Do-yeon clocked her immediately. “You look suspiciously well-rested for someone who fled a bar like it was on fire.”

Sang-wook looked up, concern wrapped in lightheartedness. “You sure we shouldn't report the guy? If he made you uncomfortable…”

Seo-jin waved the thought away with a flick of her hand and reached for a cup. “No. It wasn’t like that. It was just... a weird moment.”

Filled the cup. Took a sip. Too hot. Good.

Do-yeon leaned in, eyes narrowing. “You’re being vague,” she said, voice sing-song with mischief. “Which means it was either an ex… or worse. A near miss with your future self.”

Seo-jin exhaled, not quite a sigh. “Neither,” she said. “Just someone I used to know.”

Do-yeon's eyes widened at the statement. She was about to speak, Seo-jin saw the questions forming behind her eyes. “Come on,” Seo-jin said briskly, already turning for the hallway. “Back to our desks. Deadlines don’t move.”

And with that, she walked out, coffee in hand, expression clean, unreadable, and just slightly too composed.

Hyun-woo’s desk was, as always, unreasonably clean. A single monitor, aligned to the edge by some invisible grid. A leather notebook closed to a precise seam. A matte-black pen rested parallel to the desk’s border. The only sign of something resembling disorder was the faint trace of his last coffee cup on the coaster, already dry.

Soo-hyun entered like someone who made a career out of ignoring boundaries. “Morning,” he said casually, placing two cups down, one directly in the centre of Hyun-woo’s workspace, well off the coaster. Deliberately off.

Without a glance, Hyun-woo picked it up and settled it in its rightful place.

“Is it really too much effort to place it there?” he murmured.

Soo-hyun slumped onto the edge of the desk. “I can't see where your coasters are with all the crap cluttering your precious grid.” He took a sip, eyes drifting toward the skyline beyond the window.

“It looked awfully like her, you know,” he said, cup halfway to his lips again. “It was dim in there, but I’m sure it was her.”

Hyun-woo said nothing.

“If I were a betting man,” Soo-hyun added, glancing sideways, “and you DO know I am, I'd put money on it.”

Hyun-woo turned his head slightly. Not a reaction. A calibration. Soo-hyun broke into a grin, kicked lightly at the floor with one heel. “Alright, alright. It wasn’t her.” But he was already laughing, the kind of laugh that came from poking a bruise, to see if it still hurt.

Before Hyun-woo could respond, if he ever intended to, the door opened. Min-su leaned halfway into the room, one hand gripping the doorknob, the other still out of sight. “Don’t mean to interrupt,” he said warmly. “Need a quick catch-up later. Come by my office before you both head off.”

He offered a small nod, an anchor in a room that rarely needed one. And then he was gone.

Hyun-woo glanced back at his screen. Soo-hyun was already reaching for a pen, spinning it between his fingers like a coin waiting for a wager.

"Let's hope this isn't something about you again," said Hyun-woo. Soo-hyun tossed the pen back into the middle of the desk and sipped his coffee. "More likely about you and the scene you caused last night." Hyun-woo glared at him.

By mid-morning, Seo-jin and her team had settled into the meeting room. They were settled into their usual tempo. Laptops open, sleeves rolled, the faint buzz of caffeine beginning to taper.  The Company Director stepped in, not hurried but purposeful, hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Morning, everyone. Alright,” he began, voice level but charged. “We’ve landed a new client.” Chairs shifted. Eyes lifted.

“Mirage Urban Design,” he continued, letting the name breathe. “One of Seoul’s most respected architecture firms. But they’re evolving. Investors are on board. There’s pressure to reposition the company beyond legacy prestige.”

A pause.

“They’re aiming for something bolder. More forward-facing. Which is where we come in.”

Seo-jin straightened in her chair, fingers still against the spine of her notebook. She was grateful for the shift, something to hold that wasn’t last night’s afterimage. Her voice, when it came, was clear.

“So this is more than a facelift,” she said. “It’s a shift in identity?”

The director smiled. “Exactly. New tier of work. New scale. They want a brand that reflects not just what they’ve built, but where they are headed.” He leaned slightly forward. “The founder, Jang Min-su, is still involved. But the company’s voice has to evolve with the market.”

Sang-wook flipped through his notes. “How soon are they looking to launch?” The director didn’t wince, but it was close. “Sooner than we’d like, of course. Which is why I have set an initial strategy session for this afternoon. They’re coming to us, here.”

Seo-jin nodded slowly, already parsing timelines and deliverables. The abstract weight of last night began to dissolve beneath the concrete cadence of a project. Across the table, Do-yeon caught her glance and gave a small, quiet smile. You’ve got this.

“Seo-jin,” the director added, “I want you to lead this.” There was no buildup. No fanfare. Simply said it because it was obvious.

“Mirage needs someone who understands restraint. Precision. This isn’t noise, they’re looking for clarity.” She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just a subtle nod. Measured. Intrigued.

The rest of the meeting faded into logistics. Names. Deadlines. Bullet points. But all Seo-jin could feel was the thrum of returning control.

That afternoon, however. It shattered.