Sungmin Pov
"SHIT!!!!" I cursed under my breath, staring at the clock.
No, I was not late to the office; if anything, I was earlier than that. Okay, fine, maybe I was late at least once a week, but not today. But the problem was worse than that. I had completely forgotten Rooyeol's parent-teacher meeting.
Thanks to yesterday's chaos, it slipped right out of my head. I grabbed my phone in a rush, typing a quick message to Rooyeol: I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Total lie. It would take me twice that long just to convince that brat, our manager, Jeon Junwoo, to get the permission. But do I have any other choice...?
I looked around for Bongseon, but it looks like she wasn't around. I bit my nails, looking around until my eye fell on the right person who could save me out...the known Angelic Teamleader Park Minjae.
A victorious smirk crossed my lips. I quietly reached his desk with an ever-so-soft smile on my lips, with extra sweetness. He didn't even look up or notice my presence in front of him, his eyes glued to the report that I assumed to be a new product list of items. So, I cleared my throat to get his attention.
He finally glanced up, first through his lashes, then higher, as if recognizing my white buck shoes. Don't question my style. What do you expect me to wear when I wear neat blue jeans and a navy shirt tucked in just to look more handsome than usual? Priorities. (hair flip)
Anyways, he clasped his hands on the desk, tilting his head, of course, with an angelic smile. "Sungmin hyung," he chimed, which almost made me roll my eyes at being done. No matter how many times I remind this guy, he never quits calling me hyung.
Whatever Iam not going to waste my time in reminding him again or lecturing him.
"Um...Timjang-nim," I began, trying to sound as polite as possible, though Minjae is easy to convince; sometimes it's better to approach it like this. "You know how I've covered for you when you sneak out without getting caught by Gawjang-nim?"
His extended lips in a smile slowly started to shrink, a frown creasing over his face, yet I continued, "Well, I don't want you to cover for me, but maybe...just this once...you could give permission to this hyung." I have something really important, so please listen.
I paused, swallowing hard as soon as the word "please" escaped from my throat, which felt like sandpaper in it. I never asked Minjae for favors; if anything, it was he who had even begged, I mean, requested a lot of time to manage his absence, now I am here.
He sighed, his chest having an up-and-down kind of dramatic movement, before opening his mouth. "Hyung, you know we got a huge headache in the company, and you are asking me this?"
Huge headache? Bigger than Junwoo? I thought, but by judging the way Minjae's lips pressed into a tight line, my face had already betrayed me with the subtitles.
"I am really serious," he said flatly.
I raised both eyebrows at the same time, looking away and then back. "I don't think there is a bigger headache than—" I paused myself, looking around, before continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, "Than our manager brat."
Normally, that line would have at least gotten a snort, maybe even a chuckle, out of him. But this time, Minjae didn't laugh. Not even an "a-ha" sound left from him, just that dead, pained look sitting heavy in his eyes.
I blinked, caught off guard, the words drying up on my tongue. "Alright, but... can't you just let me slip out for a while? It's really important."
"It's way too important, hyung. I mean, we don't even have a chef now to make the trail products," Minjae said, his voice carrying those words in this-is-life-or-death way he only used when the department's survival was actually on the line.
And he wasn't wrong. That was our biggest curse. Every time the company brought on a chef for product development, they barely lasted a year. The pay was fine, super fine for us, and the perks were decent, but apparently, our endless trail-tasting, retesting, and "Let's make it spicier but not too spicy" line just drove every sane chef out the door.
The inconsistency in flavor wasn't just an internal headache; it was tanking our stats. Consumers have already complained about our best-selling tuna bibimbap suddenly tasting like shit. And of course, our department was always the first to get dragged into the mess.
I slumped into the chair across from him, running a hand through my hair. "So basically, we are on chef number what now? Five? Six?"
"Seven," Minjae corrected without missing a beat, flipping a page in his report. "Only if there is a new one coming; that would be seven, and if that fails, I'm not sure if headquarters will even bother replacing them. They'll just dump the responsibility on us permanently."
I groaned, tilting my head back until I was staring at the ceiling tiles. "Great! So not only do I have to survive our manager Jeon's tyranny, but I'll also have to whip up soy-marinated tuna and bibimbap, as I graduated from Le Cordon Bleu."
Minjae's lips rose into a teasing smile. "You would look cute in a chef hat, hyung."
"Shut up," I snapped immediately with deadpan eyes. "This isn't funny. You know how bad this will get if we can't fix the product line."
"I know; that's why I can't just let you walk out. Not today when Junwoo's breathing down our necks; you know he even glared at me just for not fixing the single digit on Excel." He said, almost sniffling invisible tears.
I patted his back, pressing my lips into a pouty line. Poor boy. But I, too, have responsibility, not just at work.
"Listen, Minjae, I am not asking for the whole day. Just one hour. Maybe less. I'll sprint if you just say yes. It's Rooyeol's parent-teacher meeting. If I don't show up, my mom will roast me alive just for saying that I would take care of it confidently. And Rooyeol, he never showed how disappointed he was when his hyung or mother appeared on his important day."
Yes, Rooyeol wasn't anything like me. He's a calm and quiet introvert who makes me feel like the polar opposite of my existence. Sometimes his silence makes me wonder if he even likes me at all. He'll sit there, eyes lowered, chewing on his words he'll never say. And I just... now, I let him. Maybe he's too shy. Maybe he doesn't need to say it to silence it. But if I let him down now, if I don't show up whenever it actually matters, that silence will cut deeper than the tauntings from Junwoo ever could.
"You really do know how to make it impossible to say no, hyung."
"So that's a yes?" I asked, leaning forward like a hopeful puppy.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Alright, take your own time, but if Junwoo finds out, I am blaming you."
"Yah! Don't be a jerk. I have covered more times than I can count, especially when you ditched work to go play Romeo with your girlfriend—" I paused, feeling the stares of other employees on us. I gave a small bow and rubbed my forehead, groaning internally in the pain of embarrassment. "Ugh, whatever. Thank you; I'll keep that in mind. See you."
I shot up from the chair before he could change his mind, flashing him a grin that was probably way too smug for someone begging just two minutes ago.
Without wasting time, I quietly sneaked out, texting Bongseon that I'll be out for sometime call me if anything is urgent. By the time I stumbled into highschool sweat stuck to my back under the stupidly tight navy shirt I'd thought made me look professional; I was already twenty minutes late. Great start, Sumgmin.
I once adjusted my hair, looking through the rearview mirror before stepping out of the car. September made the cherry blossom almost bare, the remaining leaves blushing red and brown as they drifted lazily to the ground.
There were no students in sight, just their bikes clanging against the metal racks in the distance and some lavish cars parked around the lot. As I walked toward the entrance, a couple of parents exited the building, exchanging polite smiles as we nodded to each other. I ducked my head in a quick bow, returning the gesture as best I could, hoping no one would notice my sweat-streaked shirt.
"Umm, excuse me, could you tell me where Class 10-B is? I'm here as the guardian of Han Rooyeol for the parent-teacher meeting," I said to a female student, and the girl next to her almost squealed.
But before the girls could answer, a deep voice came from behind me, "Oh, the teacher meeting is not in the classroom—"
I turned around, and both of us froze in surprise. His eyes went wide, and so did mine. He looked different from yesterday, his ash-brown hair neatly pushed back, wearing a crisp white button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up and light brown pants.
It was Taekawang, the younger brother of Joohawan, the man I saved on that night, the one he had called "hyung" yesterday.
"Aren't you the one from last night?"