The routine was seamless. Yixing's efficiency, now re-labeled as Recovery Logistics, extended beyond the confines of Jisoo's apartment.

Following the end of her sick leave, Yixing’s sporadic presence on campus had become a noticeable pattern. Sometimes he would drop off her elaborate lunch in her office; other times he would appear precisely at the end of the workday to ensure she had safe passage home. This eventually drew the inevitable attention of the university staff.

The speculation reached a fever pitch one afternoon when the Dean—a polite, older man whom Jisoo respected—unexpectedly visited her office, only to find Yixing seated comfortably on her small guest sofa, going over an appointment schedule on hbis tablet.

Jisoo introduced Yixing simply as a "family friend." This was meant to answer the Dean's curiosity, especially since the Dean was already aware that Yixing had contacted him regarding her injury.

The Dean’s reaction, however, was anything but casual. He immediately offered a respectful, deep bow. "President Zhang! It is an honor. I wasn't aware you were so personally acquainted with Professor Kim." The added emphasis personally hinted at a deeper interest in their relationship than mere professional courtesy.

The exchange was revealing. Jisoo learned, through the Dean's slightly over-the-top politeness, that Yixing was far more than just the CEO of a petrochemical company. It turned out that his company was not just major; Yixing himself was huge donor and alumni suporter of their university's prestigious Asian Studies and Economic Research Department. He wasn't just invited to their recent conference where Jisoo was a keynote speaker; he was essentially an honorary VIP whose presence guaranteed the whole event's prestige. This immediately explained why Yixing had been able to reach the Dean so easily when informing him of Jisoo's injury.

The next day, the story circulating the faculty lounge wasn't about "Professor Kim's higher-up acquaintance." It was that Professor Kim was dating a hugely influential Chinese oil executive in Seoul.

The rumor mill's output immediately drew the attention of someone Jisoo hadn't expected to confront: Jo Yeongwoo.

Not many people knew the full history of Yeongwoo and Jisoo—perhaps only two or three faculty members in their department were aware they had dated seriously before Jisoo left for her Ph.D. in the States.

One late afternoon, as Jisoo returned to her office after class, packing up her desk to head home, Yeongwoo entered without knocking. He closed the door behind him, his expression tight with a mixture of possessiveness and confusion.

"Is the rumor true?" he asked, skipping any pretense of politeness. "The one about that Chinese executive?"

Jisoo sighed, sliding her laptop into her bag. "And if it is, how is that your business?"

"It is my business," he insisted, his voice low and accusatory. "You shouldn't be seeing anyone like that. Not now."

"And why exactly 'not now'?" Jisoo asked, her own voice dangerously level.

Yeongwoo ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture she remembered all too well. "Because... because things between us aren't finished, Jisoo. I told you I'm divorcing my wife."

A sharp, disappointing ache—a remnant of the affection she once felt—pierced her chest, quickly replaced by cold finality. She felt a wave of renewed contempt, not just for his betrayal years ago, but for his sheer, staggering lack of regret. He spoke of his divorce as if it were a starting gun for them.

"You listen to me, Jo Yeongwoo," Jisoo said, pushing herself away from the desk. "What I do, who I see, and what kind of relationship I have with anyone is completely irrelevant to you. We did have a history before I left for my studies, yes. I genuinely believed we could handle the distance, but I never expected you to cheat on me with someone else. And that's it from me. All of my feelings are gone the second you proved I wasn't worth fighting for."

She looked at him with clinical distaste. "This conversation is unprofessional, irrelevant, and frankly, quite pathetic. Get out of my office."

Yeongwoo flinched, opening his mouth to protest. But Jisoo simply gestured toward the door, her expression hard and final, clearly indicating that her patience was gone. Defeated, Yeongwoo turned to leave. He reached for the handle, pulling the door inward, and instantly recoiled.

Yixing was standing directly on the threshold, his silhouette framed against the hallway light, his business suit immaculate. He must have just arrived, waiting to walk her out.

The three of them froze. Yeongwoo, mid-exit, and Jisoo, burning with residual anger, were both startled by his sudden appearance.

Yeongwoo, recovering fastest, forced a smile and extended a hand toward the newcomer. "Ah, Mr. Zhang. We were just finishing up. I'm Jo Yeongwoo."

Yixing’s gaze settled on Yeongwoo, cool and utterly unreadable. He simply nodded—a very slight inclination of the head—but made no move to return the greeting. His hands remained clasped professionally behind his back.

"Good day," Yixing replied, his voice a low, formal baritone, devoid of any warmth.

Jisoo’s heart thumped a nervous rhythm against her ribs. The lack of a handshake, the way Yixing’s eyes seemed to register the anger on her face before acknowledging Yeongwoo—it made her stomach clench. Yixing’s silence was heavy with implication.

Yixing stepped past the frozen Yeongwoo, entered the office, and closed the door firmly behind him, leaving Yeongwoo standing alone in the quiet hallway.

He didn't speak a word to Jisoo, simply walked to the small guest sofa and sat down in silence. Jisoo quickly spun back around, pretending to organize the spotless clutter on her desk, trying desperately to rearrange her enraged facial expression back into something remotely normal.

Her anger, however, had quickly curdled into anxiety and guilt—her default emotion around Yixing. Keeping her back firmly toward him, she spoke, her voice strained but deliberate.

"You really didn't need to come, Yixing."

He made a soft, noncommittal sound from the sofa.

"I mean it," she insisted, gripping the edge of her desk. "We have an agreement. Picking me up from here this often is becoming a personal errand, and you know that's outside our scope. The lines are blurring, and your initiative is basically turning this thing into a full-time chauffeur service. Plus, your frequent stops are starting to create unnecessary rumors on campus; it's troublesome."

Yixing finally spoke, his tone measured but easy, devoid of defensiveness.

"Well, I apologize if I overstepped. I was actually nearby meeting with some researchers about the endowment—it just made sense to swing by." He paused, his voice turning slightly more serious. "But I get your point. If picking you up from the office is a clear breach of your boundary, I won't do it again."

Jisoo suddenly felt exhausted. Her injured ankle had been throbbing the entire afternoon, and the venomous conversation with Yeongwoo had spiked her temper to a frustrating degree. It was deeply unfair to dump all that residual exasperation onto Yixing, who had only ever been helpful.

She slowly turned to face him. Yixing was watching her, his expression neutral but attentive.

"I'm sorry," she admitted, her tone softening immediately. "I didn't mean to take that out on you. You're not overstepping any meaningful boundary." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It's just that people talk. I don't want this whole situation to impact your reputation, especially since... well, since we don't have any kind of relationship at all."

Yixing remained silent for a beat too long. He slowly interlocked his fingers over his knee. There was something in his eyes—a slight flicker of frustration or perhaps quiet intent—that he carefully suppressed. He looked as if he was about to say something significant, something that challenged her assertion about their "lack of relationship," but he chose to keep it to himself.

He gave a slight shrug, a gesture of remarkable ease. "My reputation is pretty sturdy, Professor Kim. As for campus gossip? It last about forty-eight hours, maximum. It's nothing to worry about."

He stood up, grabbing her bag from the tabletop. "How about we bail on this place tonight? I think you need a solid break from this office and staring at your own kitchen. I know a new, quiet place downtown that serves excellent Korean-French fusion. Will you allow me to provide that for our functional evening meal?"

Jisoo stared at him. Was he asking her on a date, but framing it as "functional evening meal" in an attempt to respect her terms?

"A Korean-French fusion... functional meal?" she echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "Are you sure this isn't just... a date, cleverly disguised as an 'Optimal Recovery Logistics' meeting?"

Yixing gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. He didn't confirm or deny it, simply choosing the path of least resistance. "Call it whatever helps you accept the invitation. For the optimal recovery of your mental state, think of it as a necessary off-site assessment."

Jisoo rolled her eyes—a flicker of exasperated amusement she rarely showed. But she didn't argue further. "Fine. Let's go assess my mental state."

They left the university grounds and drove to a new, quiet establishment downtown. The restaurant was sleek and modern, a place Jisoo would have ordinarily avoided due to the price and pretense, but the atmosphere was undeniably soothing.

Jisoo’s appetite was dampened by the emotional turmoil of the afternoon, so she only ordered the Doenjang Cream Pasta—a rich, savory dish Yixing had recommended. Yixing, however, took the liberty of adding a small selection of sweet pastries to the order, explaining that the complex carbohydrates would stabilize her mood.

He was right. As the meal progressed and Jisoo reluctantly consumed the perfectly light pastries, the tension in her shoulders began to ease. The combination of savory comfort food, refined sugar, and the quiet, elegant ambiance worked its magic. Her temperament visibly lifted, replacing the hard edge of anger with weary calm.

Seeing the shift in her demeanor, Yixing finally set down his fork and leaned back slightly against the plush seating. It was a sign that the "assessment" phase was over, and the conversation was about to turn serious.

"Let's talk about what happened at your office," he began, his voice low and steady, ensuring no one at the neighboring tables could overhear.

Jisoo’s composure faltered slightly. She had hoped to avoid the subject entirely. "You don't need to," she murmured.

"I do," he countered gently. "When I was about to knock on the door, I wasn't deliberately eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but hear the tail end of your conversation with him."

He met her gaze, his expression open and earnest, completely lacking judgment. "I heard enough to understand that it was painful for you, and that he was out of line."

Jisoo fiddled with her pasta fork. She didn't trust the quiet sincerity in his eyes.

"Is he the reason?" Yixing continued, his tone softening to a genuine question. ".. of the way you are now?"

Jisoo tilted her head, genuinely intrigued. It was unnerving how a single overheard confrontation could lead a stranger to such a profound conclusion. "The way I am now?" she challenged, her eyebrow arching. "What do you mean by that, Zhang Yixing?"

Yixing paused, carefully choosing his words like a diplomat drafting a delicate treaty.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but you seem really cynical about romance," he stated, maintaining soft eye contact. "You put up a strong wall when it comes to relationships, and you're absolutely rigid about keeping everyone at arm's length. I have a feeling that history is the main reason why that wall is so high."

Jisoo felt her guard instantly drop—not out of submission, but sheer surprise. Yixing hadn't judged her attitude; he had analyzed her defense mechanism.

"You're not wrong about the cynicism," Jisoo admitted, a slight edge returning to her voice. "But you've misunderstood the correlation. I am happy being single. Not every woman needs romance in her life to feel fulfilled or happy. I have a career, family, friends, and the freedom to organize my life exactly the way I want. It’s an efficient system."

Yixing gave a quiet nod, accepting her premise without fighting it. "I respect efficiency. But the human mind rarely operates with optimal efficiency." 

He conceded with a slight tilt of his head. "So here's my question: Do you honestly think you can be completely happy keeping that efficient, solitary system going on forever?"

The challenge was direct, sharp, and unavoidable.

"Maybe," Jisoo shrugged, leaning back. "And maybe not. Jo Yeongwoo was my first serious relationship, and it ended terribly—with a lie, a wedding ring that wasn't mine, and a long recovery period. So yes, I have high standards for trust and commitment now. If I ever do decide to re-evaluate my stance on romance, it will only be for someone who is capable of proving that a relationship isn't necessarily a bad investment of time and emotion."

She met his gaze, turning the intellectual challenge back onto him. "Someone who can fundamentally change my view that being in a relationship isn't a high-risk, low-reward venture."

A flicker of something unreadable—intent, focus, pure challenge—ignited in Yixing's eyes. He didn't smile, but a deep sense of conviction emanated from him.

He picked up the corner of one of the remaining sweet pastries, analyzing its structure before setting it down again.

"The best solutions always require a complete change of perspective, Professor," he said, his voice low and firm. "And I've always enjoyed solving the complex, seemingly impossible ones. Especially when the end result is optimal happiness."

He didn't need to say the words challenge accepted. Jisoo heard them ringing clearly in the quiet air between them. He was telling her, in the strategic language of efficiency and problem-solving they both understood, that he intended to make her fall for him—so completely that she would never desire the "efficient, solitary system" again.