By Thursday morning, Lee Min-ho had canceled fourteen meetings, reassigned eleven active campaigns, and removed the words "shared responsibility" from every project document he could find.

The phrase had appeared everywhere during his first three days as team leader. It appeared beside overdue approvals, incomplete briefs, missing budgets, and campaign schedules that had somehow acquired six supervisors without gaining a single person willing to answer for the result. Whenever Min-ho asked who owned a task, someone explained that several departments were collaborating. Whenever he asked who would be responsible if it failed, the collaboration became much less enthusiastic.

His new system gave every project one owner, one approval route, and one folder with a name that could be understood without consulting the employee who created it.

The greatest resistance came from the folders.

At nine that morning, the Brand Content Strategy team stood around the central screen while Min-ho displayed the contents of the shared drive. The Fashion Week campaign alone contained files called final.docx, final2.docx, FINAL_NEW.docx, FINAL_USE_THIS.docx, USE_THIS_FIXED.docx, and USE_THIS_FIXED_THE_LAST_REAL.docx. Someone had placed the approved retail assets inside a folder marked OLD because the OLD folder had been created after the NEW_NEW_NEW folder.

One of the designers raised her hand. "There was a reason for that."

"I'm sure there was," Min-ho said. "I'm also sure I don't wanna hear it."

The team watched as he moved the files into a structure arranged by campaign, department, asset type, date, and version number. From now on, anything labeled final would need to be final. Anyone who used the word final more than once in the same filename would lose naming privileges for a week and submit their work through another team member.

No one knew whether he had the authority to remove naming privileges, but no one wanted to become the first test case.

By the end of the demonstration, the Fashion Week folder could be opened by a person who had not participated in three months of office politics. Min-ho considered that enough progress for one morning.

His team returned to their desks while Min-ho carried the revised workflow chart upstairs to the conference room attached to Hee-won's executive office. J Core Beauty and J Core Fashion had sent department managers, production leads, account representatives, and three people whose purpose remained unclear even after Min-ho read their titles twice.

—

Joo Hee-won sat near the end of the table with Miss Kwon beside him. He had attended because the proposed changes affected approval authority across both divisions, although Min-ho suspected the CEO had volunteered before anyone finished explaining what the meeting was about.

Hee-won had visited the seventh floor only once on Tuesday and twice on Wednesday. The reduced number suggested that he had either become busier or had finally accepted that Min-ho could operate a computer without executive supervision.

The meeting began with the purchase of a font.

A designer had requested a twenty-nine-dollar commercial license on Monday. The request had gone from her team leader to a department manager, from the department manager to Finance, from Finance to Procurement, and from Procurement to Legal. Legal had returned it because the project code was missing one digit. Once corrected, the request had entered the same route again and was now waiting for executive approval.

Min-ho placed the approval chart on the screen. "Five people have spent part of their week processing a purchase that costs less than lunch for this room."

The Beauty production manager defended the process as a protection against unauthorized spending. Someone from Finance explained that exceptions created accounting risk. Procurement added that vendor consistency mattered, although the font came from a website and required no vendor meeting.

After working there for a year, Min-ho couldn't help wondering how the company had managed to stay afloat with this level of organizational dysfunction. 

—

Cha Woo-ju, J Core Beauty's senior brand partnerships manager, had spent most of the discussion watching Hee-won rather than the screen.

Woo-ju was an omega in his late twenties who dressed as though every hallway might contain a photographer. His pale gray suit fit him perfectly, his hair had been styled without looking stiff, and the scent patch at the back of his neck carried the faint floral fragrance of an expensive product line. He had greeted Min-ho politely at the beginning of the meeting before choosing the chair closest to Hee-won.

When Procurement began explaining annual vendor consolidation, Woo-ju leaned toward the CEO. "It seems unfair to bring you into a meeting over one font, Mr. Joo. I could've brought the request upstairs myself."

Min-ho changed the slide before answering. "Mr. Joo isn't here to approve the font. He's here to explain why anyone thought his approval should be required."

A few people lowered their eyes to the table. Miss Kwon continued taking notes, though her face had gone bright red from the effort of not laughing.

Woo-ju turned toward Min-ho with pleasant interest. "You don't waste much time, Team Leader Lee."

"The font has already wasted four days. I don't need to contribute."

Hee-won looked at the approval route and asked how much independent purchasing authority Min-ho's team currently possessed.

"None," Min-ho said. "I can reorganize campaigns worth millions, but I can't buy a font without six people agreeing that the alphabet is necessary."

That ended the discussion more effectively than another ten minutes of policy language. Hee-won authorized a yearly creative asset budget under Min-ho's control, including font licenses, stock images, editing tools, and approved software subscriptions. Purchases below the defined limit would require no additional signature.

The Finance representative began to object, but Hee-won asked whether Finance wished to assume responsibility for every missed deadline caused by a delayed twenty-nine-dollar purchase. The objection disappeared.

Min-ho moved to the next section of the workflow. Each campaign would now have one named project owner, while managers who retained approval authority would also be listed as responsible for delays created by their decisions. The room became quieter as soon as authority and responsibility appeared in the same sentence.

Woo-ju remained the only person who looked entertained.

He asked several useful questions about outside partners, then found reasons to direct each one toward Hee-won. When he passed a printed brief across the table, his fingers came closer to Hee-won's hand than the exchange required. Hee-won collected the paper by its opposite corner and placed it in front of Miss Kwon without touching him.

Min-ho noticed, mostly because Hee-won moved his chair farther away afterward.

By the third attempt, even Min-ho began to feel sorry for him.

The meeting had reached emergency campaign approvals when the floral scent in the room changed.

At first, Min-ho thought Woo-ju had applied too much fragrance. Then the sweetness grew warmer and richer, spreading beyond the scent patch at the back of his neck. Two alpha managers stopped writing. Another looked toward the ventilation panel.

Woo-ju continued speaking about influencer contracts, but his voice had lost its earlier ease. A faint flush had reached his cheeks, and one hand remained around his water glass without lifting it.

Min-ho set down his pen. "Mr. Cha, are you feeling well?"

Every alpha at the table became very interested in the question.

Woo-ju touched the edge of his patch. "I'm fine. Though, in case you haven't noticed, this room is boiling. Are we testing a new sauna concept for J Core Beauty?"

The room was not warm. The executive floor was cool enough that several people had kept their jackets on. The seventh floor was no warmer; its climate system had been adjusted so carefully for Min-ho's comfort that employees who preferred tropical working conditions had begun filing complaints. It wasn't hot anywhere. 

Hee-won had already reached for the phone. "Haah… Miss Kwon, call the medical team and have Security clear the floor."

Woo-ju turned toward him. "That isn't necessary. My cycle isn't due for another week."

His scent answered before anyone else could.

The omega heat rolled through the conference room, and every alpha except Hee-won stood at once. Then one of them shouted, "Run!"

The warning destroyed what remained of their dignity. Four senior managers reached the door together, wedged themselves into the frame, and spent several seconds pushing one another while insisting they were trying to let everyone else through. Miss Kwon stepped aside until they finally spilled into the corridor, then calmly held the door open for the betas, who, as usual, were standing there like a bunch of idiots. Life had always been easier for them.

"What smell?" one of them asked as he started toward the door.

Another had not even begun to move. "When you say heat... do you mean he's horny? Right now?"

"What are you looking at? Get out!" Min-ho yelled.

As they finally hurried after the alphas, Woo-ju tried to rise, but his knees failed to support him properly.

Hee-won came around the table before Woo-ju reached the floor.

The moment Hee-won caught him, Woo-ju straightened against him. Both hands closed around the front of Hee-won's suit as he raised his neck toward the alpha's mouth.

Hee-won's eyes changed from dark brown to luminous amber.

Min-ho had never seen that color this clearly. Honey burned around the pupils while deeper orange filled the edges. Fresh forest air filled the room, controlled but powerful enough to push against the heat scent surrounding them.

Hee-won held Woo-ju by the forearms and kept their bodies apart. He did not throw him away, raise his voice, or release enough alpha scent to force obedience. Even as Woo-ju tried to move closer, Hee-won maintained the distance without hurting him. "The medical team is coming," he said. "Stay where you are, Mr. Cha."

It was not an Alpha Command. Min-ho understood that before he understood why the difference mattered to him.

Security arrived with two medical staff members and a portable scent barrier. They placed it around Woo-ju, gave him an emergency suppressant from the portable medical kit, and helped him into a wheelchair before taking him toward the medical room. The floor had already been cleared, which spared him from being wheeled past an audience.

Miss Kwon followed to oversee the report. Before leaving, she told Min-ho that another medical officer was already on the way for Hee-won.

The conference room door closed.

Hee-won stood beside the table with one hand resting against its edge. His eyes remained amber, and the fresh forest air around him had become stronger now that Woo-ju was gone.

Min-ho opened the nearest window panel and reached for the air controls. "You should sit down."

"Right side of my desk," Hee-won said. His voice remained controlled, though each word required more care than usual. "Upper drawer. There's a black pill case."

The executive conference room opened directly into Hee-won's office. Min-ho crossed through the connecting door and found the black case in the upper drawer of Hee-won's desk. By the time he turned from the desk with two alpha suppressants and a bottle of water, Hee-won had followed him into the office and was supporting himself against the desk.

He looked unsteady. Woo-ju's heat still filled the connected rooms, and the fresh forest air surrounding him had grown strong enough to reach the corridor.

Min-ho opened the case and placed the tablets in Hee-won's hand. "Take these, Mr. Joo."

Hee-won swallowed them with half the bottle, then remained where he was with his head lowered. Min-ho waited beside him, unwilling to leave until he knew the medication had begun working.

When Hee-won looked up again, his eyes were still amber.

Before Min-ho could step away, Hee-won caught him by the collar and pushed him through the office bathroom door. "Lock it."