Chapter Text
The thirty-eighth rejection arrived like an insult too familiar to be surprising and too personal to ignore.
Seokjin had been staring at his phone when the email appeared, refreshing his inbox with the grim determination of a man waiting for either a job offer or a public execution. At this point, he wasn’t particular about which one he received. He opened the message as he sat in the kitchen, where the weak morning sunlight couldn’t illuminate his humiliation quite so clearly and made it as far as ‘Dear Mr. Kim, thank you for your interest’ before giving up.
No respectable sentence had ever begun with those words.
With a wounded sigh, Seokjin lowered his forehead onto the table. His phone remained trapped beneath his hand, still displaying the rejection as if determined to ensure that he absorbed every carefully worded insult. Across from him, his mother continued peeling an apple and asked, “Good news?”
“They were deeply impressed by my qualifications,” Seokjin replied.
“That sounds promising.” his mother shrugged.
“So impressed that they’ve decided to admire them from a distance.”
The curl of apple peel hanging from his mother’s knife stopped growing. “Which company was this?”
“The skincare one.”
“The one that wanted five years of experience?”
“Three years.” Seokjin corrected.
“For an entry-level position?” his mother raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“And you have no experience because no one will give you an entry-level position.”
Seokjin lifted his head. “Exactly.”
She nodded solemnly. “A flawless system.”
Seokjin just groaned out of pure frustration and hatred for the 'flawless' hiring system in their country.
His inbox contained the evidence of that flawless system. Thirty-eight applications had produced twelve responses. Ten rejections, one invitation to sell insurance entirely on commission, and one message from a man who appeared to be recruiting university graduates into either a pyramid scheme or a religious cult. The remaining companies had simply decided that silence was the most professional method of crushing his spirit.
Seokjin had done everything correctly. He had studied hard, earned a scholarship to a respectable university, graduated with honours, joined student organisations, volunteered, and taken every part-time shift that didn’t interfere with his classes. According to every adult who had lectured him throughout his childhood, he was supposed to be successful by now. Instead, he was twenty-two, unemployed in every way that counted, and due at the convenience store in less than an hour.
“Maybe I should have studied medicine,” he muttered.
“You faint at the sight of blood,” his mother reminded him.
“Law, then.”
“You cry when people raise their voices.”
“I do not cry.”
She gave him a look.
“I become emotionally hydrated.” he defended.
“You cried when that woman shouted at you because her coupon had expired.”
“She called me incompetent. The expiration date was clearly printed.”
“You cried for twenty minutes.”
“I was tired.”
“You tried to give her a free ice cream.”
“I wanted her to leave.”
His mother slid a plate of neatly cut apple slices toward him. Her amusement softened as she watched him select one without enthusiasm. Seokjin knew that look. She wore it whenever she thought he was being too hard on himself, which was unfair because somebody had to be, and the employment market was apparently too busy rejecting him with automated emails to do it properly.
“One company will see what you have to offer,” she said. “You only need one.”
“At this rate, that company will discover me when I’m eighty-three.”
“Then you’ll be a very experienced candidate.”
“I’ll still need three years of experience for their graduate program.”
She laughed and despite himself, Seokjin smiled.
Their kitchen was small enough that he could reach the refrigerator from his chair if he leaned dangerously far to the left. The table had belonged to his grandmother and bore the evidence of two generations of hurried breakfasts, school projects, hot pans, and one incident involving Seokjin, a permanent marker and artistic confidence far beyond his ability. Nothing matched. The curtains were faded, one cabinet refused to close during humid weather and the refrigerator made a concerning noise every few hours.
It was home.
They had never been desperately poor. There had always been food on the table, clean clothes in his wardrobe, and enough money for school supplies, but every purchase had required consideration. His mother knew the price of rice at four different supermarkets. Seokjin had learned to calculate electricity bills before he learned to drive, and when he wanted something expensive, he saved for it.
There had been months when life was easier and months when his mother quietly ate less so that he could have more. He hadn’t understood that as a child.
He understood it now.
That was why the rejection emails bothered him. He wanted to tell his mother she could stop worrying. He wanted to pay the bills before she saw them, replace the refrigerator before it finally died and buy her something beautiful without waiting for a sale. Instead, she still slipped money into his bag when she thought he wasn’t looking.
“Did you hear anything from J Global?” she asked.
“Not yet. The final interview is tomorrow.”
Her knife stilled. It was a small hesitation, barely long enough to notice, but Seokjin had spent his entire life reading his mother’s moods. He immediately asked, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made the face.”
“What face?”
“The one you make when you know something you aren’t telling me.”
“I’m your mother. I always know something I’m not telling you.”
“That is deeply sinister.”
She resumed cutting the apple and said only, “J Global is a good company.”
“It’s one of the largest companies in the country.”
“Then they can afford to hire you.”
“Unfortunately, they can also afford to hire everyone who is more qualified than me.”
“Did everyone more qualified than you graduate with honours?”
“They probably graduated with higher honours, international internship and wealthy uncles.” Seokjin leaned forward. “I would like a wealthy uncle. Can we acquire one before tomorrow?”
His mother smiled, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You have yourself. That has always been enough.”
Before Seokjin could answer, the morning news shifted to footage of the royal palace. Its stone buildings stood serene beneath a pale sky, traditional roofs curving above immaculate gardens. A reporter stationed outside the gates explained that the King had cancelled a scheduled engagement due to exhaustion.
For a moment, Seokjin’s mother stared at the television. Something complicated passed over her face. Something close to worry, tenderness and an old sadness Seokjin couldn’t name. Then she reached for the remote, changed the channel and said, “You’ll be late.”
Seokjin glanced at the clock and nearly choked on his apple. He ran from the kitchen with his shirt half-buttoned, leaving his mother alone at the table. She waited until the front door slammed before opening the drawer beside her.
Beneath old receipts and spare batteries lay a photograph she had not shown her son in twenty-two years. In it, she was young and laughing, her face turned toward a man whose eyes looked remarkably like Seokjin’s.
“I know,” she whispered, glancing toward the now-silent television. “I’m worried too.”
By the time the convenience store’s lunch rush began, Seokjin had processed three deliveries, cleaned spilled coffee from the floor, argued with a teenager attempting to buy alcohol using an identification card that clearly belonged to a thirty-seven year-old man and been informed by his manager that smiling was part of his professional responsibilities.
“I am smiling,” Seokjin protested.
His manager studied his face. “You look like you’re threatening me.”
“This is my customer service smile.”
“Try showing fewer teeth.”
The bell above the door chimed before Seokjin could defend himself. He turned automatically, rearranging his expression into something less likely to frighten paying customers, but nobody entered. Beyond the glass doors, the pavement shimmered beneath the late-summer sun. Cars crawled past in midday traffic and office workers moved between buildings with iced coffees clutched like medical necessities.
The delivery truck was already fifteen minutes late. Seokjin checked the time and stepped outside hoping the driver was circling the block rather than napping somewhere with the store’s entire supply of bottled water.
That was when he heard a woman scream.
She was running toward him, one hand clutched around a phone and the other holding her handbag against her body. Her heels struck the pavement in uneven, frantic beats. Several meters behind her, a man in a dark suit was giving chase.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Stop her!”
Seokjin’s mind assembled the scene with impressive speed and catastrophic inaccuracy. A terrified woman. An angry man. A deserted stretch of pavement.
He did not stop to wonder why the frightened woman was gripping a phone that didn’t seem to match her outfit. He did not consider that the man might be shouting for someone else to stop her. He saw danger and acted.
As the woman rushed past, Seokjin stepped directly into the man’s path and stuck out his foot. The stranger hit the pavement with a startled curse and Seokjin launched himself at him. It was a brave decision. It was also an extremely poor one he'll belatedly realise.
The man recovered almost immediately. One moment Seokjin was attempting to pin his shoulders to the ground the next, the stranger twisted beneath him with alarming efficiency. Seokjin’s back struck the pavement and a strong hand closed around his wrist.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man demanded.
Up close, he was younger than Seokjin had expected.
And far more attractive.
Neither observation was relevant but Seokjin’s brain supplied them anyway. Dark hair had fallen across the stranger’s forehead, and fury sharpened features that would have looked unfair even under ordinary circumstances. His black suit fit too well to be inexpensive. A silver watch flashed at his wrist as he restrained Seokjin with enough ease to be personally insulting.
“Get off me!” Seokjin shouted.
“You attacked me!”
“You were chasing her!”
“She stole my phone!”
“That’s what they all say!”
The man stared at him. “Who is they?”
“Criminals!”
“She is the criminal!”
The woman had already disappeared around the corner. Seokjin struggled harder and called for help while the stranger, rapidly losing patience, ordered him to stop screaming.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Seokjin accused.
“Yes,” the man said through clenched teeth. “Very much.” He clamped a hand over Seokjin’s mouth. That was his second mistake.
Seokjin bit him.
The man jerked his hand back with a cry and Seokjin seized the opportunity to drive his knee upward. The stranger folded with a sound Seokjin would later remember in moments of profound shame.
They remained on the ground, both temporarily incapacitated for very different reasons. Seokjin recovered first, rolling away and scrambling to his feet. “Someone call the police! This man attacked a woman!”
“I was robbed,” the stranger managed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because it happened!”
A delivery truck slowed beside the pavement. The driver leaned out of his window and looked from Seokjin to the elegantly dressed man curled protectively around his injured dignity. “Everything all right?”
“No!” both men shouted.
The stranger pointed in the direction the woman had fled. “She stole my phone.”
Seokjin pointed at the stranger. “He was chasing her.”
“That is generally what people do when they have been robbed!”
“You could have hurt her!”
“She stole from me!”
“That doesn’t give you permission to terrorise women on the street!”
“She had my phone!”
“I don’t know that!”
“I was shouting it!”
“You were shouting ‘stop her.’ That is not the same thing!”
The driver climbed reluctantly from the truck, already holding his own phone. “I’m calling the police.”
“Good,” Seokjin said.
“Finally,” the stranger muttered.
It took the police nineteen minutes to determine what had happened. It took Seokjin considerably longer to accept it.
The convenience store’s security camera showed the woman colliding with the stranger near the crossing, slipping a hand into his jacket, and sprinting away with his phone. It also captured Seokjin tripping him with all the confidence of a man certain he was performing a public service.
At the police station, Seokjin watched the footage twice. On the third replay, he covered his face and whispered, “Oh no.”
Beside him, the stranger sat with an ice pack positioned discreetly across his lap. “Yes,” he said. “Oh no.”
“I thought-”
“I know what you thought.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You helped the thief.”
Seokjin lowered his hands. “I can see that now.”
“Can you?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“You bit me.”
“You covered my mouth!”
“Because you were screaming!”
“I thought you were abducting me!”
“In front of a convenience store?”
“Criminals can be reckless.”
“You tackled me in front of a security camera. You have no authority to criticise anyone’s recklessness.”
The police officer behind the desk coughed into his fist, suspiciously like a man disguising laughter. Seokjin turned toward him and asked whether they had found the woman but the officer shook his head and explained that they had circulated her description.
The stranger closed his eyes briefly. The anger had begun to drain from his face, leaving exhaustion behind. His jacket was dusty, one sleeve was wrinkled and a red mark curved across his hand where Seokjin’s teeth had caught him.
Guilt settled heavily in Seokjin’s stomach. “I really am sorry,” he said, quieter this time. “I saw her running and I saw you chasing her, and I thought she needed help. I didn’t think.”
“That much is obvious.”
“I know you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You’re holding an ice pack over your reproductive organs.”
The officer made another choking noise. The stranger looked toward the ceiling as though asking a higher power why this was happening to him.
Seokjin reached into his pocket. “I can compensate you.”
That earned the man’s attention. Seokjin emptied everything onto the desk. Two ten thousand won notes, several coins, his transport card, a crumpled receipt, and a coupon for a free cup of instant noodles.
The stranger stared at the collection. “What is this?”
“Everything I have with me.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“It isn’t much, but I can transfer more after I’m paid.”
“You’re offering me twenty three thousand won?”
“And the coupon.”
The stranger picked it up between two fingers. “It expires tomorrow.”
“Then you should use it quickly.”
For one long moment, neither of them spoke. The man’s mouth twitched, so quickly that Seokjin wondered if he had imagined it. Then the stranger set the coupon back on the desk and pushed everything toward him.
“Keep your money.”
“But-”
“I don’t want it.”
“I attacked you.”
“Yes. I remember.”
“You could press charges.”
“I could.”
Seokjin’s eyes widened.
The stranger looked at him properly for the first time. Without panic animating his features, Seokjin was almost painfully beautiful. Soft dark hair fell across his forehead and worry had gathered in his large brown eyes. His convenience store vest sat crookedly over a pale shirt, one knee of his trousers was torn and a faint flush coloured his cheeks. He looked sincerely horrified by what he had done.
Jungkook had spent his life surrounded by people who apologised strategically. Executives apologised to avoid consequences. Politicians apologised to preserve their reputations. Wealthy heirs apologised when their lawyers instructed them to.
This man had offered him every coin in his pocket and an expiring noodle coupon. It was difficult to remain furious with someone that ridiculous.
“I’m not pressing charges,” Jungkook said.
Relief transformed Seokjin’s face. “Really?”
“You were trying to help.”
“I was.”
“You were spectacularly bad at it.”
The relief disappeared. “That was unnecessary.”
“You kicked me.”
“I already apologized for that.”
“It may require a separate apology.”
“I’m sorry for assaulting your…” Seokjin glanced at the officer. “Your future.”
The officer abruptly stood. “I’ll give you two a moment.”
Jungkook watched him flee into the adjoining office. Seokjin gathered his belongings, still looking miserable and insisted that he should at least pay for a hospital visit.
“I don’t need your money,” Jungkook told him.
“You don’t know that yet.”
Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the twenty-three thousand won. “I’ll survive.”
Before Seokjin could argue, the station doors opened and a breathless man in a suit hurried inside. “President Jeon.”
Jungkook rose. The man’s attention shifted between his ruined suit, the ice pack and Seokjin’s torn trousers. Professional discipline visibly warred with curiosity before he managed to say, “The car is waiting, sir.”
President Jeon.
Seokjin blinked. Perhaps the stranger ran a small company. Possibly a restaurant franchise. Maybe he was president of an association for unpleasant men with expensive watches.
Jungkook picked up his jacket. Seokjin apologised once more and Jungkook looked back at him. “Try asking questions before assaulting someone.”
“I don’t make a habit of assaulting people.”
“That is reassuring.”
“It was an unusual situation.”
“Same here.”
Jungkook left before Seokjin could embarrass himself further. Outside, his driver opened the rear door and wisely asked no questions. Jungkook slid into the car and rested his head against the leather seat. His entire body ached. His phone was gone, his schedule had been destroyed and somewhere in the city a thief was enjoying unrestricted access to a device his security team would shortly turn into a very expensive paperweight.
He should have been furious. Instead, he found himself remembering tearful brown eyes and an expiring noodle coupon.
“What was his name?” he asked.
His driver glanced at him in the mirror. “Sir?”
“The man at the station.”
“I believe the officer called him Kim Seokjin.”
Kim Seokjin.
Jungkook looked out the window and hoped he never saw him again. The thought felt suspiciously like a lie.
“You kicked him where?” Hoseok nearly slid off Seokjin’s sofa. Seokjin immediately hissed at him to keep his voice down because his mother was in the kitchen, but Hoseok only clutched a cushion to his chest and said, “She managed to create another human being with your father. I’m sure she knows those organs exist.”
Seokjin grimaced at the mention of his non-existent father but shrugged it off.
“She doesn’t need to know I attempted to destroy someone else’s.”
Yoongi sat beside Hoseok, elbows resting on his knees and his expression deeply unimpressed. He had arrived with fried chicken and the immediate suspicion that somebody had wronged Seokjin. Learning that Seokjin was the one who had committed the wrong had done very little to reduce his outrage.
“He put his hand over your mouth?” Yoongi asked.
“Because I was screaming.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.” he said with a frown.
“I bit him.”
“Good.”
“Yoongi.”
“What? You didn’t know what he was doing.”
“He was trying to stop me from accusing him of a crime he didn’t commit.”
Hoseok wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “And then you offered him a noodle coupon.”
“I panicked.”
“Was it at least a good flavor?”
“Spicy seafood.”
“That does improve the compensation.”
Seokjin threw a cushion at him. Hoseok caught it and hugged it to his chest, still laughing, while Yoongi remained focused on the important issue. He asked whether the man had threatened Seokjin, requested his information, or touched him anywhere else.
Seokjin stared at him. “Are you planning to hunt down the man I assaulted and defend my honor?”
“If necessary.”
“That seems excessive.”
“So was tackling him.”
“That was different. I thought I was saving someone.”
Yoongi’s expression softened despite himself.
They had known each other since high school, long enough for Yoongi to recognize that explanations like that weren’t excuses when they came from Seokjin. He really would throw himself at a stranger if he believed someone needed help. He would lend money he couldn’t spare, offer food he had been saving for himself and remain awake all night if one of his friends sounded unhappy over the phone.
It was one of the reasons Yoongi had fallen in love with him.
It was also one of the reasons their brief attempt at dating had failed.
Seokjin loved Yoongi fiercely, but not in the same way. After three awkward dates and a kiss that felt more confusing than romantic, they had agreed they were better as friends. Yoongi had agreed because remaining beside Seokjin was easier than losing him.
Hoseok knew that. Hoseok knew almost everything about Yoongi. He leaned against Yoongi’s shoulder now, still clutching the cushion and teased Seokjin with an ease that concealed how carefully he watched the man beside him.
“Maybe this was fate,” Hoseok said. “You’ll meet the handsome stranger again, discover he’s secretly wealthy and fall madly in love.”
“He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than our sofa,” Seokjin replied. “He’s definitely wealthy.”
Yoongi scowled. “You said he was handsome?”
“That isn’t important.”
“You specifically mentioned it three times,” Hoseok pointed out.
“I was describing him accurately.”
“You described the police officer as ‘the police officer.’”
“The police officer had a forgettable face.”
“And this man?”
Seokjin remembered dark eyes, broad shoulders and the brief twitch of Jungkook’s mouth when he examined the coupon. “Annoying,” he decided.
Hoseok grinned. “Handsomely annoying?”
“I have an interview tomorrow. Why are we still discussing this?”
Because his interview was more important, Hoseok helped him rehearse possible questions while Yoongi reviewed his resume for the fifth time and found nothing to criticise except the companies foolish enough not to hire him. By the time his friends left, Seokjin felt marginally prepared.
He did not know that the stranger he had tackled was Jeon Jungkook.
He certainly did not know that Jeon Jungkook was the president and CEO of J Global.
He learned both things the following morning.
J Global’s headquarters seemed specifically designed to make Seokjin feel poor.
The lobby was all white marble, polished glass and quiet employees wearing shoes that cost more than his monthly transport expenses. Even the potted trees looked wealthy. They stood beneath the soaring ceiling with the confidence of plants that had never been placed beside a discounted bag of fertiliser.
Seokjin adjusted his tie and followed an assistant toward the interview rooms. Four other candidates were already waiting outside. One had studied abroad. Another casually mentioned that her father was a government official. The man beside Seokjin had completed internships at three international companies and spoke four languages.
Seokjin spoke two languages, if one generously counted the English he used to argue with tourists over prepaid telephone cards.
He reminded himself that he belonged there. His grades had earned him the interview. His application had survived several rounds of screening. He had worked throughout university while maintaining his scholarship. He belonged there.
The assistant called his name, and Seokjin entered the conference room with his shoulders straight and his portfolio held firmly against his chest. Three interviewers sat behind a long table. The center chair was empty.
“Please sit, Mr. Kim,” one of them said. “President Jeon will be joining us shortly.”
Seokjin sat. President Jeon.
An unpleasant sense of recognition stirred in his stomach but he pushed it aside. Jeon was not an uncommon surname. There were undoubtedly thousands of President Jeons in the country.
The door opened behind him. Seokjin turned. The man from the pavement walked into the room. For a heartbeat, neither of them reacted.
Jungkook looked immaculate. His dark suit had been replaced, his hair was neatly styled and no ice pack was visible anywhere on his person. Only the faint bite mark on his hand remained as evidence that the previous day had truly happened.
His gaze landed on Seokjin. Then it narrowed.
Seokjin considered escaping through the window. Unfortunately, the room was fourteen floors above the ground and the glass looked expensive.
“President Jeon,” the interviewers greeted.
Seokjin stood so quickly that his knee struck the underside of the table. Pain shot up his leg but he bowed anyway.
Jungkook took his seat with infuriating calm. “Mr. Kim.”
“President Jeon.” Seokjin bowed again hoping that the floor will swallow him whole right now.
One interviewer glanced between them and asked, “You’ve met?”
“No,” Seokjin said at the exact moment Jungkook answered, “Yes.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Seokjin smiled with every tooth he possessed. “Briefly.”
Jungkook opened the copy of Seokjin’s resume placed before him. “Have you assaulted any other innocent civilians since yesterday?”
One interviewer dropped her pen.
Seokjin wished the grim reaper would come and accept him into its merciful embrace. “I can explain.”
“Which part?” Jungkook asked.
“Ideally, none of it.” Seokjin squeaked.
Something flickered in Jungkook’s eyes. Amusement. The realization steadied Seokjin. If Jungkook intended to have him thrown from the building, he probably wouldn’t find the situation funny.
Probably.
The interview began badly. Seokjin forgot half of the answer he had prepared about his strengths. He called J Global “Your Global” and corrected himself so abruptly that he knocked his portfolio onto the floor. When asked where he saw himself in five years, his mind supplied not in prison for assaulting a corporate executive, which was not an appropriate response.
Then one interviewer presented a case study.
A J Global subsidiary operated a collection of neighbourhood supermarkets. Several locations were underperforming and the company needed to reduce costs. The candidates had been asked to recommend a solution.
Seokjin studied the figures before saying, “Closing the least profitable stores would produce the quickest savings.”
“That is the expected answer,” the interviewer replied.
“But I don’t think it’s the best one.”
Jungkook looked up.
Seokjin pointed to the locations listed in the report. “These stores serve neighbourhoods with large elderly populations. Two are near public housing complexes and one is the only supermarket within walking distance. Closing them would reduce costs but it would also leave hundreds of employees without work and make food less accessible for residents who may not drive.”
“This is a business,” another interviewer said. “It cannot operate unprofitable stores indefinitely.”
“No,” Seokjin agreed. “But closing them isn’t the only option.”
As he studied the numbers again, his nervousness began to fade. Problems made sense to him in a way interviews did not. A problem did not care what kind of suit he wore or how many influential relatives he possessed. It only needed someone willing to look at all its parts.
“The stores are too large for their current sales,” he continued. “We can reduce the retail space and use the remaining areas for services the neighbourhoods actually need like pharmacy counters, affordable meal programs, parcel collection and community banking kiosks. We can also renegotiate supplier contracts across the subsidiary instead of cutting each store independently. Offer voluntary transfers before considering redundancies.”
“That would require investment.”
“So does closing a store. Severance, contract penalties, lost inventory, damage to the company’s reputation.” Seokjin folded his hands to stop himself from gesturing. “It may not create the largest short-term profit, but people remember when a company abandons their neighbourhood. They also remember when it stays.”
The room had become very quiet. Seokjin worried he had said too much. He had a habit of doing that.
Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “And if your plan fails?”
“Then we close the stores,” Seokjin said. “But we close them after trying to save the jobs not because eliminating people was the easiest line to put in a presentation.”
One of the interviewers frowned. Jungkook did not.
For the first time that morning, Seokjin forgot about the pavement, the police station, and the injury for which he might one day be remembered in a medical journal. He answered the remaining questions honestly. He spoke about working nights while studying, managing difficult customers and learning that practical solutions usually came from the employees closest to the problem. When he didn’t know something, he admitted it rather than decorating his ignorance with impressive vocabulary.
By the end, he had no idea whether he had succeeded.
Jungkook closed the folder. “One final question.”
Seokjin braced himself.
“If you saw a woman running down the street tomorrow, what would you do?”
The interviewer who had dropped her pen stared determinedly at the table.
Seokjin considered his answer. “Ask whether she needs help.”
“And then?”
“Ask why the man behind her is chasing her.”
“And then?”
“Call the police.”
“Before attacking anyone?”
Seokjin exhaled. “Yes, President Jeon.”
Jungkook nodded. “Good. You’re capable of professional growth.”
Seokjin left the building convinced he had ruined his future. He called his mother and told her the interview had been “complicated,” ignored seventeen messages from Hoseok asking whether his handsome stranger had appeared, purchased a cup of cheap coffee and sat at the bus stop already preparing himself for rejection number thirty-nine.
Fourteen floors above him, the interview panel reviewed the candidates.
“Kim Seokjin lacks corporate experience,” one executive said.
“It’s a graduate program,” Jungkook replied. “They all lack experience.”
“His answers were unconventional.”
“His answers were practical.”
“He challenged the premise of the case study.”
“Because the premise was incomplete.”
The executive fell silent.
Jungkook looked down at Seokjin’s application. His academic results were exceptional. He had earned a full scholarship and worked consistently throughout university. His professors described him as intelligent, compassionate, outspoken, and incapable of ignoring unfairness.
Jungkook’s hand still bore proof of the last quality.
He remembered Seokjin on the pavement, throwing himself into danger for a stranger. Then he remembered him in the police station, offering everything in his pockets because he couldn’t bear the thought that he had harmed someone.
Reckless. Gullible. Exasperating.
But also Kind. Infuriatingly so.
“Put Kim Seokjin through to the graduate program,” Jungkook said.
The executive hesitated. “Despite the incident?”
Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the fading bite mark on his hand. A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Partly because of it.”