Chapter Text
Are 9 to 5 jobs a boon or a bane?
It all depends on how one perceives them.
Kim Seokjin worked as the Chief Marketing Officer at Seoul Runway, one of South Korea’s top luxury fashion companies. Being a CMO came with its fair share of challenges like balancing creativity with strategy, managing a multifaceted team, dealing with budget constraints, navigating crises, and maintaining the brand’s image. He had to also work closely with the CEO to shape the company’s overall business direction.
Seokjin was among the best in the industry for his age. Most successful CMOs were at least a decade older, but he had climbed the ladder through sheer determination. He graduated with honors in marketing and joined Seoul Runway as an intern at the age of 23. Eight years later, Seokjin had carved a name for himself.
Seokjin was naturally charismatic, effortlessly engaging with people and putting them at ease in any situation. The company’s CEO, Mr. Lee Seobin, had always been fond of him. Their relationship resembled that of a father and son, and under Mr. Lee’s leadership, Seokjin had flourished without feeling the pressure most executives endured. Business was booming. Seoul Runway’s revenue was healthy, and the brand had a powerful presence.
But, as the saying goes…good things don’t last forever.
After his divorce, Mr. Lee spiraled into a gambling addiction, eventually losing most of his personal fortune. His actions dragged Seoul Runway into financial turmoil, putting the company on the brink of bankruptcy.
That's when the Jeon Group swooped in.
Jeon Group is one of South Korea’s most powerful business conglomerates, with ventures in nearly every major industry, except fashion. Seizing the opportunity, Mr. Lee sold his shares in Seoul Runway to the Jeon Group, hoping for a partnership that could save the company. Instead, the Jeon Group bought it out entirely, handing Mr. Lee a generous payout in exchange for full control.
“Jeon Jeongguk, the fourth and youngest heir of the Jeon Group, is reportedly set to take over as CEO of Seoul Runway,” Taehyung read aloud from his phone, sipping on juice.
Taehyung, the head of digital marketing at Seoul Runway, was also Seokjin’s closest friend.
“I thought the Jeon family had only three kids,” Seokjin remarked, his eyes still focused on his laptop screen.
“The second-born are twins, hyung. So Jeongguk is technically the third,” Taehyung replied with a chuckle.
“How old is he…twenty? Twenty-one? I can’t believe I’m going to be working under a kid,” Seokjin muttered in disbelief.
“Actually… he’s the same age as you, hyung,” Taehyung said sheepishly.
“What? Seriously?” Seokjin’s brows furrowed as he looked up. “Didn’t you say he’s the youngest?”
“He is,” Taehyung said, tapping at his phone. “Thirty. September-born. So basically three months older than you.”
Seokjin blinked. “What the hell?”
Taehyung shrugged. “Not my fault if he mistakes you for an intern. You stopped aging at twenty-five, hyung. And who knows, he probably looks forty.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Are there any pictures of him?”
“Ooo….curious, huh?” Taehyung grinned. “Nope. Nothing. Zero. Zilch.” He shook his head, still scrolling. “Apparently, he’s been abroad managing the Jeon Group’s international alliances. His name pops up in articles signing billion-dollar deals, attending charity galas, making silent donations but no photos. I even crawled through some sketchy-ass forums. It’s like they scrubbed him off the face of the internet. Maybe he just hates cameras.”
Seokjin scoffed, slamming his laptop shut with a sharp click. “Please. It’s a PR stunt. Mystery builds buzz. Now everyone’s whispering about who Jeon Jeongguk is and what he looks like. Classic brand play.” He paused, grabbing the folder from the table with a sigh. “But still...it's good that our company is trending because of this circus. I just hope it plays out in a good way. Anyway, I have got a meeting to run. Need to brief the team before tomorrow turns into a circus.”
“Good luck, hyung,” Taehyung called, lifting his juice like a toast. “Try not to stab anyone tomorrow.”
“No promises.”
……..
“Are you planning to come back to bed,” Jeongguk asked, voice low and deadpan, “or are you just going to stand there looking pathetic all night?”
“What’s it to you?” Jaehyun didn’t even glance back. The cigarette glowed between his fingers, smoke curling around his jaw. “You’re leaving anyway, remember?”
Jeongguk threw the covers off and stalked across the room in nothing but his boxers, muscles flexing under the sharp slice of moonlight. He grabbed Jaehyun by the shoulders, spun him around, and slammed him against the balcony railing hard enough to rattle it.
“You really want to play this fucking game?” Jeongguk snarled, pressing in close, his grip shifting to Jaehyun’s wrists. “You want to paint me the villain again, isn't it?”
Jaehyun swallowed but didn’t drop the smug tone. “I know I messed up, alright? You wanted us to be exclusive. I wasn’t ready. But disappearing overnight without a word? Cold, even for you.”
His hand slid down between them, fingers dragging across Jeongguk’s waistband. His knuckles grazed the bulge beneath the fabric, slow and deliberate.
“Tell you what,” he said, voice slick. “Let me fix it. One photo. One post. With a caption Finally his. You would like that, wouldn’t you, baby?”
Before Jeongguk could respond, Jaehyun sank to his knees. Hands flat against Jeongguk’s thighs as he mouthed over the thick outline of his cock in his boxers…wet, shameless, tongue pressing against the fabric.He parted his lips, breath hot as he mouthed lower.
Jeongguk’s jaw tightened. His hand tangled in Jaehyun’s hair, yanked his head back viciously, forcing him to look up.
“You really think your mouth fixes this?” he hissed, eyes dark. “You really think I’m that easy?”
Jaehyun just smirked, “you are, for me, baby”
Jeongguk shoved him back, hard.
“Get the fuck out.”
Jaehyun stumbled, caught himself on the railing. “Jeong—”
“I said leave.” Jeongguk cut him off cold. He ripped the cigarette from Jaehyun’s fingers and flicked it into the trash with one sharp motion. “Before I do something you will regret”
……
D-DAY
The office had hummed with tension since early morning. Final touches were being made to presentations, documents reviewed for the third time, and every department head was on edge.
After all, the new CEO had arrived.No one had met him yet, but the whispers were endless…sharp, cold, brilliant, impossible to please. The kind of man who didn’t raise his voice but still managed to make people flinch.
Seokjin stood alongside the board members in the conference room, one hand resting loosely against the table, gaze flicking to the wall clock.
10:45 a.m.
The door creaked open with a low, deliberate sound.
A man stepped in, dressed in a slate-grey suit His hair was black, swept back carelessly, and his expression looked like it hadn't shifted since birth, like deeply unimpressed, mildly exhausted, and ready to bite if someone dared ask a stupid question. His presence didn’t shout..it hummed with quiet authority, the kind that settled into the air and didn’t need permission.
His eyes scanned the room once sharp, quick, dismissive.
“Mr. Seokjin Kim?” the man asked, voice brisk, like he had no time for introductions.
“That’s me,” Seokjin replied, stepping forward calmly.
The man gave a tight, single nod. “The CEO wants to see you. Ten minutes. He’s asked for performance metrics on every campaign to date.”
Seokjin blinked. “Every campaign? Just this year, or—?”
“Everything you’ve got, Mr. Kim.”
He turned to the rest of the room, tone unchanging. “The meeting’s canceled. The CEO will be seeing each of you individually.” A low murmur of confusion spread behind him, but the man didn’t stop to explain. He simply walked away.
Seokjin quickly compiled what he could in ten minutes taking just the current year’s reports and exhaled as he made his way to the CEO’s office. Two bodyguards flanked the entrance. As he approached, one lifted a hand.
“Wait here,” he said, voice clipped.
Seokjin adjusted the folders in his arms. The assistant’s desk nearby was empty, oddly vacant on the CEO’s first day. Just then, the door opened, and new young man stepped out. His cheeks were flushed, eyes downcast, clutching a cover letter like a lifeline. He made a beeline for the assistant’s desk and sat without so much as glancing at Seokjin.
“You can go in now,” one of the guards finally said.
Seokjin stepped inside and immediately noticed the change. All of Mr.Lee’s cluttered shelves and outdated furnishings were gone and now looked sleek with minimalist decor, all matte black finishes, warm clean wood, and a panoramic window framing the skyline. Elegant. Expensive.
The previously grumpy assistant now stood inside by another set of doors, oddly chipper this time. “Ready?” he asked, flashing a gummy smile like they hadn’t all just been dismissed like interns ten minutes ago.
Seokjin gave a polite nod. “Always.”
The assistant pushed open the inner doors.
Seokjin entered the room and saw a high-backed leather chair faced the floor-to-ceiling windows, its occupant hidden from view. Sleek. Silent. Luxurious. The kind of setup meant to remind you who had the power in the room.
“Mr. Jeon?” Seokjin called, as he stepped in.
The chair turned slowly and deliberately.The man seated didn’t look up. His eyes remained locked on the tablet in his hand, brows drawn, the room’s tension grew louder in the silence he refused to break.
“Good morning, Mr. Jeon. I’m Kim Seokjin, CMO of—”
“I already know who you are, Mr. Kim,” came the flat reply. “Where’s the file?”
Seokjin blinked. “Right here,” he said, stepping forward, holding out the folder.
Jeongguk didn’t so much as glance at him.
Seconds passed. Long and uncomfortable ones.Then, finally, the tablet was set down.
He looked up.
Seokjin almost faltered.
He hadn’t expected that. Razor-cut jawline, devastatingly symmetrical features, eyes as cold as they were unreadable. Muscular body. His presence didn’t feel corporate…it felt cinematic. Like he had been carved into power by design. The kind of man you would expect to see on a Vogue cover, not behind a desk stacked with financials.
Jeongguk stared. Longer than was appropriate. Something flickered behind his gaze…disinterest, maybe. Or curiosity. Or something crueler. Seokjin didn't know.
Then, without a word, he stood, walked near to Seokjin and extended his hand.
Seokjin, confused, mirrored the gesture.
Jeongguk didn’t budge. “I meant the file.”
The flush of embarrassment hit Seokjin’s ears first immediately and then to his cheeks.
“Right. Of course,” he muttered, retracting his hand and offering the folder instead. “Apologies.”
Jeongguk took it, flipped it open, and returned to his chair without a single word of acknowledgment. He pressed a discreet button on his desk.
The assistant reappeared, prompt as ever.
“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”
“Mr. Kim and I will be flying to Japan tomorrow. Global Fashion Industry Summit. Make the arrangements.”
Seokjin blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
Jeongguk looked up. “Was that unclear?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Jeon, I don’t know how things were run wherever you’re from, but here, we don’t spring international travel on senior execs overnight. There are processes. Protocols.”
Jeongguk leaned back slightly, studying him like a mildly interesting report.
“These are the new processes now,” he said simply. “Maybe you can give me a crash course on that so called ‘protocol’…on the plane.”
Seokjin didn’t blink. “I won’t be on that plane.”
Jeongguk’s voice dropped to something lower and sharper. “This isn’t a request Mr.Kim. I give orders. I expect them to be followed. If you have an issue with that, resign. HR can have the paperwork ready within the hour.”
A beat of silence passed, thick and electric.
“And before you do that,” Jeongguk added, “I want the campaign performance metrics from the last five years. Clean. Categorized. No fluff.”
Seokjin exhaled slowly. “I’ll send the campaign breakdown by five,” he said evenly. “But I won’t be flying to Tokyo.”
Jeongguk’s eyes dragged over him, slow and unreadable, before a smirk curved the corner of his mouth.
“Then I’ll find someone who can do your job and listen.”
Seokjin gave a short, sharp bow. “Good luck with that.” And without waiting for a dismissal, he turned and walked out…head high, heart pounding, rage carefully folded into each step.
………….
“You know you can’t actually let him resign, right?” Yoongi said dryly. “We hae seen his records. He’s the biggest asset this company’s got.”
Jeongguk didn’t even glance up. “He won’t resign. Is the downsizing list ready?”
“Yeah, I emailed it to you.” Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck. “Guk, don’t you think this is a little... excessive? Over 150 people on that list?”
“150 people who’ve been clocking in, clocking out, and wasting our money and time," Jeongguk said flatly. "So no, not excessive. Send the termination emails by evening. And check with Pinnacle about the 150 replacements we ordered.”He paused, tapping his pen against the desk.
“Oh, make that 151. I need a new personal secretary.”
Yoongi pressed his lips together. “Pretty sure I’m about to be the first guy in history to send himself a termination letter.”
Jeongguk smirked. “Already saved you the trouble, hyung. Check your inbox.”
Yoongi groaned. “Do I really have to take this COO position, Jeongguk-ah? I was perfectly happy doing actual work instead of babysitting executives.”
“We have been over this, hyung," Jeongguk said without looking up. "You can't keep saying no. What’s done is done. Suffer with me."
Jeongguk flicked his tablet screen, marking "Kim Seokjin" as checked.
“Next,” he said. “Kim Taehyung. Head of Digital Marketing.”
“You’re a menace,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head with a reluctant grin as he walked out.
As the door shut, Jeongguk exhaled heavily, tossed his pen down, and leaned back in his chair.
“Alexa, call Mom.”
“Calling Mom,” the assistant chirped.
The line picked up almost immediately. “Oh, my bun finally remembers he has a mother?”
“How are you, Mom?”
“I’m doing fine, baby. But you….Jeongguk-ah…you can’t keep dodging dinner. Come home please.”
“I don’t have a problem with dinner,” Jeongguk said, voice sweet but dripping sarcasm. “I just have a problem seeing the faces of the other mistakes you decided to give birth to.”
“Jeongguk-ah! Language! They’re your siblings.”
“Yeah, siblings. What a blessing,” he muttered.
“Enough!” she snapped. “You’re coming to dinner tomorrow. Final.”
“I’m flying to Japan tomorrow. Enjoy your precious family reunion with your miracles. Bye, Mom.”
“Jeong—”
He hung up without waiting for a reply.
The door cracked open again. Yoongi stuck his head in. “Kim Taehyung’s here.”
“Good. Send him in.”
….
Seokjin was drowning in work after that infuriatingly uneventful meeting with the new CEO. Of all the ways he imagined that interaction going, this definitely wasn’t it.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, fingers flying angrily across the keyboard.
“I swear, I’m sending that resignation today. I can’t work for a brat with a superiority complex. I have self-respect, and I’m not about to trade it for a paycheck,” he grumbled to himself while finalizing the document Jungkook had demanded.
Truth be told, Seokjin wasn’t worried about finding another job. He was damn good at what he did…brilliant, in fact. The moment word got out that he was leaving, rival companies would be lining up to throw outrageous offers at him. Double his current salary? Probably. A corner office and a personal assistant? Likely. But none of that mattered.
Because Seokjin loved this company. His blood, sweat, and sleepless nights were etched into every success story it had. His marketing campaigns had turned the tide more than once. He had built a legacy here.
That was the hardest part. Walking away from something he helped build with his own hands, only because the new idiot in charge had an ego the size of Seoul.
His phone buzzed on the desk, pulling him from the spiral of frustration. He glanced at the screen…and just like that, the tension in his jaw softened.
His lips curved into the first real smile of the day.
“Hi, baby.”
……
As expected, by noon, the office had descended into full-blown chaos.
More than sixty employees had received their termination emails…department heads, coordinators, even interns. Jeongguk hadn’t spared a single one. The ones who were slacking, underperforming, or had even one complaint, especially the kind the previous CEO swept under the rug, like harassment or bullying…were gone. And those who thought they were smart enough to launder money right under the company’s nose? Game over. No warnings. Just a clean, ruthless cut.
“Jeongguk-ah, it’s done,” Yoongi said as he walked in. “Emails sent. The ones flagged for poor performance have two weeks to prove their worth. The rest… they’re packing up. Gratuity will hit their accounts by this evening.”
“Did you CC every employee with the termination list and the reasons behind each one?” Jeongguk asked, not bothering to look up from his phone. “I want full transparency.”
“Yes. Every single name. Even the interns,” Yoongi sighed.
“Good. Let it be a fucking warning to the rest,” Jeongguk muttered, grabbing his coat. “Schedule Finance for 4 PM. I’m heading out for lunch.”
He stepped out, bodyguards silently falling in behind him. As he crossed the reception, he paused.
The front desk assistant was twirling her hair and giggling into her phone, completely unaware that the CEO himself was standing just a few feet away.
Wrong day for that.
Jeongguk entered the elevator, hit the button, and casually called Yoongi.
“You’ve got one more termination email to send.”
…...
Seokjin finally decided to take a breather and stepped out of his office and flipped the door sign from “Do Not Disturb” to “Open.” With a sigh, he turned around…only to see his entire team sitting in pin-drop silence, heads down, working like their lives depended on it.
“Hyung,” Taehyung mouthed from across the room and nodded his head toward the pantry.
Curious and mildly annoyed, Seokjin made his way there. As he walked in, Taehyung followed close behind and shut the door.
“Hyung, do you even know what’s happening out there?”
“I would have if that asshole hadn’t dumped an entire week's workload on my desk,” Seokjin muttered, rubbing his temples.
“Hyung… more than 130 people got laid off. Including that fucker Junghyun. And about 20 others? They have been given a two-week trial to prove they’re not useless.”
“What?” Seokjin blinked. “Laid off? As in… fired?”
“Check your email. Everyone’s CC’d. We’ve been getting a termination email every five minutes.”
Eyes wide, Seokjin stormed back to his office,with Taehyung following him. He opened his inbox and just as Taehyung said, it was flooded with subject lines like “Termination of ……” One after another. Seokjin's jaw dropped.
“This is... insane.”
“You know what’s even more insane?” Taehyung leaned in. “Not a single person from Marketing got the boot. Other departments are furious. They think we’re being protected or something.”
“Protected?” Seokjin scoffed. “My babies work their asses off. They earn their place. We don’t cut corners here.”
He paused, eyes narrowing. “But seriously, what is he trying to prove? Who’s going to do all this work now? I'm not letting my team work past five. I swear…if he thinks we’re picking up the slack—”
“Anywhooo… I kinda like our new CEO,” Taehyung said, shrugging casually. “He’s cool. Friendly. Gave me a raise.”
Seokjin nearly choked. “Cool and friendly? Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”
“Bye, hyung!” Taehyung grinned, already halfway out the door. “Gotta impress my new CEO!”
“Yah! I’m still your boss! He comes after me. You report to me first. Tattoo that somewhere if you have to!” Seokjin shouted after him.
Taehyung only chuckled as he disappeared back to his desk.
Seokjin plopped into his chair, utterly overwhelmed. His eyes flicked to the clock on his screen.
4:35 PM.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
……
Seokjin had just finished reviewing the file and, without wasting another second he headed straight to Jeongguk’s office. This time, to his surprise, he was sent in without having to wait.
The office lounge was empty with no sign of the usual grumpy man who camped there. Seokjin hesitated for a moment before walking further in and knocked on the inner chamber door.
“Come in,” the familiar voice came
“Mr. Jeon, the file you requested is complete,” Seokjin said and placed the document neatly on the desk.
Jeongguk didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on his laptop like he hadn’t just threatened half the company into therapy. Seokjin exhaled and turned to notice the so-called grumpy man lounging on the office sofa, casually working on something of his own.
A moment passed. Jeongguk picked up the file, glanced at the clock 4.45 p.m. and then looked up at Seokjin with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Yoongi-ssi, did we receive any resignation emails today?” he asked casually.
“Fucking asshole” Seokjin muttered to himself
“No, Mr. Jeon,” Yoongi replied, not looking up. “To the best of my knowledge, we were the ones sending termination emails.”
“Huh. I wonder why,” Jeongguk mused, the smirk deepening.
Seokjin kept his expression steady. “Mr. Jeon, I never mentioned resignation. If I recall correctly, I only said I wouldn’t be joining the trip. Perhaps it’s best to confirm with your... assistant... before jumping to conclusions.”
Jeongguk raised a brow. “Bold of you to assume the man sitting there is my assistant, Mr. Kim.”
He stood, walked over to the coffee machine, and poured himself a cup with the leisurely flair of a man enjoying himself far too much. “Seems like someone’s out of the loop,” he added and strode back with that obnoxiously charming smile. He handed the cup over. “Here. You’ve worked hard. Tomorrow, 5:30 p.m. Gimpo International Airport. Pack for three days.”
Before Seokjin could object, Jeongguk returned to his desk and called out, “Alexa, play Daechwita by Agust D. Volume up.”
“Playing Daechwita by Agust D”
The heavy beat filled the office.
Jeongguk nodded along like it was his personal victory anthem.
Seokjin stared, half in disbelief, half ready to chuck the coffee at his head.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he slammed the door on his way out and came to his cabin and screamed
“That idiotic, insufferable, power-tripping bastard…..uggghhh!”
He glanced at the clock.
5:30.
“Shit.”
He snatched his keys and bags, bolted out of the office, and practically flew through the parking lot.
5:45.
“Shitshitshit….he’s gonna murder me.”He muttered to himself and sped through the traffic chewing on his lip the entire way. By the time he screeched to a stop in front of the bus stand, it was 6:30.
And there he was.
Backpack slung low, hoodie half off one shoulder, leaning against the bus stop post with a face that pinched in dramatic betrayal. His arms were crossed, mouth downturned as he glared at the car.
Seokjin barely parked before he strutted over…slow, theatrical, a walk born of maximum judgment. He yanked open the car door and slid in without a word.
“I’m sorry, baby—” Seokjin started breathlessly.
“Save it.” The seatbelt clicked with a snap. “And stop calling me baby.”
“Okay, okay... I’m sorry.”
“You missed my trials. My trials.You know how important this was.”
“I know, I’m so sorry, I got stuck at—”
“You owe Dad. Big time. I’m not letting this go easily.” Jimin turned toward the window dramatically. “This is going in the log.”
“…Log?”
“The Kim Seokjin Mess-Up Log,” Jimin said, enunciating each word like it was a federal document.
“There’s a log for me?”
“There is.” He turned back with the tiniest hint of evil satisfaction. “And this little disaster? Page three.”
“Three pages? Already?! Can I see it?”
“No. It’s confidential. And annotated. Now keep driving. I want pizza. And I’m ordering the expensive one.”
Seokjin let out a helpless, breathy laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Anything for you, baby,” he said, reaching over to ruffle Jimin’s hair.
“Dad….I’m thirteen,” Jimin groaned, ducking away with an exaggerated glare. “Stop calling me baby, it’s seriously embarrassing.” But the corner of his mouth twitched traitorous, smug, just a little soft around the edges.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~