Dear readers, have you ever had one of those days where life just decides to kick you in the face? Not just a little stumble, not just a minor inconvenience, but a full-force, steel-toed boot straight to the soul?

Yeah? Well, let me tell you—mine took first place in the Olympic Games of Misfortune.

One minute, I was a perfectly normal (and very underpaid) chef, living my best life binge-reading BL novels after a long, grueling shift. The next? BAM. Fired for a crime I did not commit. And as if the universe wasn't already screwing me over—BOOM. A truck came out of nowhere and absolutely wrecked my existence.

And then—get this—I woke up.

But not in a hospital. Not in heaven. Not even in some peaceful void where I could complain to a god about my terrible luck.

No, I woke up in a silk-covered bed, wearing fancy-ass historical robes, in a world that looked suspiciously familiar.

At first, I thought maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I had been working too hard, inhaling too much flour, and my brain had finally snapped. But as I looked around at the luxurious canopy above me, the sheer weight of the ridiculous embroidered silk I was wearing, and the utter lack of any modern technology, a sinking feeling hit me.

I had somehow reincarnated into a BL novel I read years ago.

Okay, cool, fine. That’s not too bad, right? I mean, I had read plenty of these reincarnation stories before. Maybe I was some background extra who could just chill, avoid the main characters, and live a nice, peaceful life while enjoying the pretty boys from afar.

Oh, how naive I was.

Because I wasn’t just some minor character. Oh no.

I was now Jin Hae-Won, the delicate, sickly noble who was destined to be brutally murdered after being forced into a marriage he didn’t want.

And the best part? The one responsible for my untimely demise was none other than my own sister, who was so in love with some guy that she let me take her place at the altar and then had me killed out of jealousy.

OH, HELL NO.

So, what did I do? Did I sit in my luxurious new room and cry? Nope.

I picked up my long, flowy, way-too-heavy robes, marched my tiny, cute little ass straight to the grand hall, and crashed right into the middle of a heated argument where my "dear sister" was very loudly refusing to marry the Dragon Emperor.

That’s when I remembered the worst possible detail.

The moment my sister refused, the family would panic and shove me in her place. And that’s when I’d end up married to her secret lover—who would murder me out of jealousy.

NOPE. NOT HAPPENING.

So before anyone could say a word, I clapped my hands, smiled my cutest smile, and announced—

“Actually, I’ll take the Dragon Emperor, thank you very much!”

…And that, dear readers, is how I single-handedly destroyed the entire BL storyline, sent my family into a frenzy, unknowingly caught the attention of the empire’s most dangerous man, and possibly made the biggest (or best?) mistake of my two lifetimes.

Now, all I have to do is survive the Dragon Emperor’s deadly mood swings, avoid being discovered as a fraudulent nobleman, resist falling for the ridiculously hot and brooding emperor, and figure out why he keeps looking at me like that.

…Wait. Why does the Dragon Emperor seem interested in me instead of his supposed BL love interest?

This was NOT part of the plot!

Welcome to my story. Try not to scream too hard. I know I did.

Meet Ha-Yoon. Twenty-six years old. Small stature. Big emotions. Zero romantic prospects.

But honestly? Who needed a boyfriend when she had:

A fat, judgmental cat who tolerated her existence (on good days, if she was lucky).

A consistent diet of instant ramen and convenience store snacks that barely kept her alive but made her soul happy.

A full-time emotional commitment to fictional men who suffered beautifully in high-stakes romance plots, destroying her heart with every agonizing page.

Right now, her soul, her sanity, and quite possibly her entire future happiness belonged to Crimson and Code, a dangerously angsty, soul-destroying BL novel on web novel featuring an undercover agent and a mafia boss locked in a deliciously twisted game of cat and mouse.

Enemies to lovers? Check. Mind games that left her gasping for air? Check. A morally gray mafia kingpin who could either kill you or kiss you, depending on his mood? DOUBLE CHECK.

Ha-Yoon was obsessed. No, obsessed wasn't strong enough. She was possessed. She had sold her soul to this story, willingly and without hesitation. It was the kind of tale that gnawed at her sanity, leaving her a feral mess in its wake.

And today, she was about to experience an emotional breakdown in real-time.

She sat hunched over in the middle of a crowded, unsuspecting bus, her entire existence illuminated by the bluish glow of her phone screen. The world around her was a blur of white noise—the faint hum of the bus engine, the occasional chatter of passengers, the distant beeping of a crosswalk signal. None of it mattered. Not when she was deep in the trenches of heartbreak, betrayal, and sheer literary perfection.

Then—it happened.

A scene so good. So utterly, life-alteringly perfect.

A scene that reached into her chest, grabbed her fragile little fangirl heart, and promptly drop-kicked it into oblivion.

Ha-Yoon forgot where she was.

"KYAAA—!!!"

Her squeal of ultimate fangirl destruction exploded through the bus, slicing through the peaceful silence like a knife through warm butter.

Passengers jerked their heads around, eyes wide with alarm.

A middle-aged woman clutched her purse as if about to be robbed. A teenage boy physically recoiled as if she had just summoned a demon. A salaryman narrowed his eyes, gripping his briefcase like he was ready to file a noise complaint with the heavens themselves. Even the bus driver, a grizzled man who had probably seen it all, threw a nervous glance in the rearview mirror, as if assessing whether a crime was currently in progress.

Ha-Yoon, realizing the absolute disgrace she had just performed in public, slapped a hand over her mouth so hard that she nearly knocked her phone out of her grip.

'OH, GOD. OH, GOD. I HAVE EMBARRASSED MY ANCESTORS.'

Her entire body went rigid. Her soul attempted to escape. Her life flashed before her eyes.

She shrank into her seat like a deflated balloon, her eyes darting around in pure, unfiltered panic. The weight of a hundred judging stares bore down on her fragile existence. She immediately started bowing her head frantically at the other passengers, her face burning so hot it could boil water.

'Control yourself, Ha-Yoon! You are in PUBLIC. Get a grip!'

But how could she? How could she, when right now, Eun-Jae—her beloved, emotionally devastated protagonist—was seconds away from realizing the horrifying truth?

The truth that his so-called partner, his only trusted ally, the man who had been by his side through blood, sweat, and near-death experiences—

Was his enemy all along.

Her hands trembled as she scrolled faster, heart hammering against her ribs.

'Oh, no. No, no, no, baby, don't cry!' she mentally screamed.

Eun-Jae's hands shook. His breath hitched. His entire world was crumbling.

Ha-Yoon's heart was combusting.

This was it. This was PAIN. This was ART.

She clutched her phone as if it were her lifeline, as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to this earth.

'I feel SO BAD for Eun-Jae… but also, DAMN, I love this drama.'

Tears of pure excitement burned in her eyes.

And then—Caesar spoke.

Caesar, the criminal mastermind, the deadly chess player behind it all, the devil in a tailored suit, turned slowly to face Eun-Jae.

His lips curved into a smirk.

And then he said—

"Oh, darling… I never was."

Ha-Yoon's entire body convulsed.

She gasped so loudly that the teenage boy next to her physically inched away, face contorted in a mix of fear and secondhand embarrassment.

'OH, YOU FILTHY, FILTHY, BEAUTIFUL, EVIL MAN.'

Her soul left her body. Ascended. Vanished into the heavens.

'This man is a WALKING BLACK FLAG.'

Tall. Dangerous. Manipulative. The kind of ML who could either ruin your life or ruin your bed, and the worst part? She would let him. She would let him and say 'thank you' afterward.

And yet—Ha-Yoon was rooting for him.

'But it's fine. It's fine. I'm colorblind when it comes to hot men, so it literally doesn't matter.'

A giggle-snort of pure, unfiltered fangirl joy escaped her before she could stop it.

The teenage boy turned his whole body away, refusing to acknowledge her existence. The middle-aged woman edged two seats down. The salaryman sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. The entire bus had collectively decided to disown her.

But Ha-Yoon? Ha-Yoon was too far gone.

Her fingers shook as she kept scrolling, her heart pounding, her mind screaming, her very being consumed by this god-tier storytelling.

'THIS. THIS is why I don't need a boyfriend.'

This?

This was true love.

The tension inside QR Restaurant's bustling kitchen was thick enough to cut with a knife. The usual harmony of clattering pots and sizzling pans was overshadowed by a storm brewing at the center of it all—Head Chef Park.

His furious voice boomed through the kitchen, sending the junior chefs into a frantic rush as if his words alone could set the place ablaze. Everyone knew better than to test Mr. Park's patience, especially on a busy morning like this.

"WHERE THE HELL IS JIN HA-YOON?!" he bellowed, his face red with frustration as he slammed a ladle down onto the stainless-steel counter. A couple of the kitchen staff flinched, narrowly avoiding dropping their knives. The sound echoed ominously, like the ticking of a time bomb ready to explode.

Jinju, one of the senior chefs and Ha-Yoon's best friend since ninth grade, swallowed hard before stepping forward hesitantly. She knew there was no escaping this interrogation.

"Uh… S-Sir, she's on the way," Jinju stammered, gripping her phone tightly as if it could shield her from Chef Park's wrath.

Mr. Park turned to her, his piercing gaze sharp as a butcher's knife. "On the way?!" His voice was dripping with disbelief. "Do you know how many orders we have? Do you know what time it is?! We need her here ten minutes ago!"

Jinju gulped. This was bad. This was very, very bad. She could already feel the tension rolling off the kitchen staff. Ha-Yoon was one of the best chefs in the entire restaurant, and without her, the morning rush was going to be absolute chaos.

She quickly pressed Ha-Yoon's number, her hands slightly trembling. The phone rang, and after three unbearable seconds, her best friend's voice came through.

"Uhhh… hey, Jinju—"

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!" Jinju hissed through gritted teeth, stepping into a corner of the kitchen for some privacy, though Mr. Park's laser-sharp ears were definitely picking up every word.

"I'm on my way! Traffic. Serious traffic," Ha-Yoon's voice came through, a little too nonchalant for someone whose boss was seconds away from a nuclear meltdown.

"Traffic?! Are you kidding me?!" Jinju whisper-yelled, her pulse quickening. She risked a glance at Mr. Park, whose expression had gone from furious to absolutely homicidal. "Ha-Yoon, I swear to God, if you don't get your ass here in the next five minutes, we're both going to be JOBLESS!"

"I'm trying! It's just—" Ha-Yoon's voice cut off for a second, and in the background, Jinju could hear a cacophony of honking horns and angry shouts.

Jinju's eye twitched. "Please don't tell me you're still in a cab."

"... I may or may not be still in a cab."

Jinju pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience thinning by the second. "Jin Ha-Yoon, I swear if I have to go out there and cook your dishes for you—"

"NO! No, absolutely not!" Ha-Yoon suddenly sounded panicked. "Don't you dare touch my station! Remember what happened last time?"

Jinju clenched her jaw. Yeah, she remembered. The last time she tried to step in for Ha-Yoon, she had somehow mistaken salt for sugar and turned a five-star meal into an inedible monstrosity that left even the most loyal customers questioning their life choices.

"I will be there," Ha-Yoon promised hastily. "Two minutes. Maybe three. Five max."

Jinju exhaled sharply. "Make it two."

She hung up and turned back to Mr. Park, who was tapping his foot, arms crossed, watching her expectantly. His expression said one thing: Well?

"She's almost here," Jinju said quickly.

Mr. Park narrowed his eyes, then let out a long, frustrated sigh. "You better tell her to get her ass here NOW." He stormed off, barking more orders at the kitchen staff, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Jinju wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Ha-Yoon, you better start running."

"I'M HERE, I'M HERE!!"

Jin Ha-Yoon practically crashed through the restaurant doors like a contestant in an obstacle course finale, panting like she had just finished a marathon. Her chest heaved, sweat clung to her forehead, and her hair was a chaotic mess from running. A few customers sitting near the entrance turned to look at her, startled by her dramatic entrance, while one child actually started clapping as if she had won something.

Ha-Yoon had no time to bask in the unwanted attention. She immediately bolted towards the staff changing room, nearly colliding with a server carrying a tray of drinks. "SORRY!" she yelped before skidding around the corner.

The second she reached the changing room, she tore off her jacket, grabbed her neatly folded uniform from her locker, and wriggled into it at lightning speed. Her limbs flailed as she tried to shove her legs into her pants while hopping in place like an uncoordinated flamingo.

"Come on, come on, come onnnn—YES!" she hissed as she finally managed to zip up.

With a deep breath, she yanked on her chef's hat, checked herself in the mirror for two seconds (looking like a disheveled raccoon, but there was no time to care), and then let out a dramatic sigh. Her gaze landed on her phone, which was still open to the last chapter of Crimson and Code.

"S-Sorry, novel…" Ha-Yoon whispered, lovingly caressing her phone like a tragic lover. "I need to go to work now. But as soon as I'm free, I'll come back to you." She pressed a dramatic kiss to the screen, eyes glistening with devotion.

Unbeknownst to her, Min-Jae stood in the corner of the changing room, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, watching the whole thing with undisguised disgust.

Min-Jae and Ha-Yoon had never gotten along. Not only was Ha-Yoon considered the best chef in QR Restaurant, but she had the audacity to be effortlessly better than everyone else. Especially Min-Jae, who had worked her ass off to climb the ranks. Every time Mr. Park praised Ha-Yoon, Min-Jae swore she could feel her soul combusting in real-time. And now? Seeing Ha-Yoon make out with her phone like a lunatic just confirmed what Min-Jae had always known—Ha-Yoon was an absolute weirdo.

She's lucky she's talented… but not for long.

Min-Jae smirked. She had a plan.

Meanwhile, Ha-Yoon—completely unaware that her existence was being plotted against—happily skipped out of the changing room and straight into hell.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

Mr. Park's roar nearly knocked Ha-Yoon's soul out of her body. The head chef stood in the middle of the kitchen, his expression resembling an enraged dragon about to breathe fire. The entire staff froze in terror, the kitchen falling into a tense silence.

Ha-Yoon barely managed to open her mouth before—

"GET TO WORK!" Mr. Park thundered, slicing through any excuse she might have had like a knife through butter.

"Y-Yes, sir!" Ha-Yoon squeaked, slapping on a forced, innocent smile before speed-walking to her station.

As she reached her counter, she grabbed the order slip waiting for her. Table 74 and 76.

She glanced at the requests and—

"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me."

Table 74 had ordered the restaurant's most complicated dish—one that took precise timing and skill to execute perfectly. Table 76? Oh, just a huge group of businessmen who had ordered ten different things, all of which needed to be cooked simultaneously.

Ha-Yoon inhaled deeply, gripping the order slip like it had personally wronged her.

"Alright. This is fine. This is totally fine."

This is NOT fine.

She glanced up, catching a glimpse of Min-Jae watching her from across the kitchen with a smug expression. Ha-Yoon narrowed her eyes. Suspicious. Very suspicious. But there was no time to think about that right now. Right now, she needed to cook like her life depended on it.

With a quick, determined nod, she cracked her knuckles. "Let's do this."The kitchen descended into chaos, and in the center of it all was Ha-Yoon, moving like a madwoman, flipping pans, tossing ingredients, and somehow—somehow—keeping everything under control.

Or so she thought.

Or so she thought.

“TABLE 78!”

“On it!” Ha-Yoon called back, her hands already moving with the skill and speed of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of plating. The kitchen was chaos—a symphony of clattering pans, bubbling sauces, and the occasional shouts from impatient waitstaff. But for Ha-Yoon, this was her battlefield, and she was a seasoned warrior.

She grabbed the main dish—an elegant seafood pasta—with practiced ease, the steam curling into the air like a whisper of temptation. Her fingers worked with precision, twisting the delicate strands into an artful swirl, ensuring that the sauce clung to each ribbon of pasta like a lover's embrace. The shrimp, glistening in their buttery, garlicky glory, were arranged with the meticulousness of a jeweler setting diamonds. A final touch—a sprinkle of fresh herbs—and she took a step back, admiring her creation with the same satisfaction an artist felt upon completing a masterpiece.

Gordon Ramsay would weep if he saw this. A single tear of pride, rolling down his cheek in slow motion.

Satisfied, she handed the plate to the waiting server, watching as they whisked it away with the urgency of someone delivering a heart transplant.

And then—finally.

Break time. Blessed, beautiful, holy break time.

Ha-Yoon let out a long, theatrical sigh as she dragged herself to the nearest chair, collapsing into it like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. She melted into the surface of the table, limbs sprawled, her body resembling a corpse laid out for a medieval wake. Her feet throbbed like they had just run a marathon, her arms ached from wielding pans like weapons, and her soul—her very essence—was ready to float into the heavens. If one more customer screamed, “Where’s my food?!” at her like she was some kind of soulless, automated cooking machine, she might actually consider retiring to a quiet life in the mountains. Just her, some chickens, and absolutely no human interaction.

Just as she was about to mourn her suffering with a dramatic groan, a cold can of cola slid in front of her, its condensation beading against the metal like little droplets of salvation.

Ha-Yoon blinked at it, then looked up to see her best friend, Jinju, standing over her, one brow raised, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Oh my god,” Ha-Yoon gasped, reaching for the can like it was the Holy Grail. “You are an angel. A saint. A gift to this wretched earth.”

She cracked it open, the crisp hiss music to her ears, and took a long, soul-reviving sip. The fizzy sweetness exploded on her tongue, cooling her from the inside out.

Ah. Carbonated heaven. A gift from the gods. The nectar of life itself.

Jinju pulled out a chair and plopped down beside her, watching with amusement as Ha-Yoon practically ascended into another dimension. “You okay?”

“Barely,” Ha-Yoon sighed dramatically, wiping a stray bead of sweat from her forehead like she had just survived a war. Then, as if suddenly recalling something life-altering, her eyes widened with excitement.

“OH. I have a new story for you!”

Jinju immediately groaned, already predicting where this was going. “Is it BL?”

“Yes!” Ha-Yoon squealed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “AND it’s so freaking good. It’s called Crimson and Code! It’s about agents and the mafia—super intense, slow-burn, full of danger and betrayal, and the best part? THE TENSION. Oh my god, the tension between Eun-jae and Caesar is insane. I was losing my mind the whole time!”

Jinju rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Of course, it’s BL.”

“But listen!” Ha-Yoon grabbed Jinju’s wrist, eyes sparkling with manic energy. “The author said she’s going to make it into a manga. A MANGA, JINJU.”

Jinju barely had time to react before Ha-Yoon let out an exaggerated, dreamy sigh, pressing both hands to her cheeks as she blushed like a schoolgirl in love.

“I can’t wait to see what Caesar looks like,” Ha-Yoon gushed. “He’s already such a smooth-talking, dangerous, mysterious man in the novel. Imagine how HOT he’s going to be in manga form. UGH. I just know he’s going to have that sharp jawline, messy blonde hair, and piercing eyes that make you weak in the knees. Maybe some tattoos. Probably a suit. Definitely a cigarette between his lips—OH MY GOD, JINJU, I’M GONNA DIE.”

Jinju chuckled, shaking her head. “You really have an unhealthy obsession with BL, Ha-Yoon.”

“It’s not unhealthy,” Ha-Yoon huffed, still lost in her fantasy. “It’s my religion.”

Jinju gave her a knowing look. “You need a man yourself. It’s been a while since you dated someone.”

Ha-Yoon immediately recoiled as if Jinju had suggested she eat dirt. “Excuse me? I have men. Eun-jae, Caesar, all the hot MLs in my books—”

“Fictional men don’t count,” Jinju deadpanned.

Ha-Yoon gasped, clutching her chest as if she had been personally attacked. “BL men are superior. Real men could NEVER. Real men don’t have tragic pasts and enemies-to-lovers arcs! They don’t smirk while covered in blood! They don’t pin you against a wall and whisper in your ear—”

Jinju slapped her hands over her ears. “Okay, okay, I get it!” she laughed, shaking her head.

Ha-Yoon crossed her arms with a huff. “Listen, Jinju. If I ever find a real man who looks at me the way Caesar looks at Eun-jae, then I’ll consider dating again. Until then, BL is my life.”

Jinju simply chuckled, sipping her drink. “You do you, Ha-Yoon.”

And with that, Ha-Yoon returned to her daydreams, mentally preparing herself for another shift of cooking—all while planning which BL novel to obsess over next.

Work continued as usual, the kitchen alive with the clatter of pans, the sizzle of oil, and the constant shouting of orders. The dinner rush was always brutal, a merciless whirlwind of heat and movement, leaving Ha-Yoon feeling like she had just run a marathon while dodging knives, fire, and the occasional panicked coworker. But finally, as the evening approached, the chaos began to settle.

Just when she thought she could finally breathe, a sharp voice cut through the air like a whip.

“Everyone, gather up! Now!”

Ha-Yoon turned, still wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, heart sinking at the tone. The entire staff—chefs, waiters, dishwashers—huddled into the main dining area, murmuring amongst themselves in hushed confusion. Her boss stood in the center, arms crossed, his face carved from stone.

“Thank you all for being here,” he began, his voice steady but carrying an edge of fury beneath the surface. “I called this meeting because—” He took a breath, his jaw tightening like a steel trap. “My money in the safe has been stolen.”

Gasps rippled through the staff like a crashing wave. The room instantly buzzed with unease, suspicion darting between wary glances. Ha-Yoon frowned, her brows knitting together.

Stolen? Who the hell would be dumb enough to steal from the boss?

Then, out of nowhere—

“I saw Ha-Yoon put the money in her bag,” Min-Jae’s voice rang through the room, slicing through the tension like a blade.

Silence.

The accusation hit Ha-Yoon like a slap across the face.

“HUUUH?!” she and Jinju exclaimed at the same time, their eyes snapping wide with disbelief.

Her heart lurched, slamming against her ribs. Her? A thief?

She turned sharply to Min-Jae, mouth hanging open in sheer, stunned shock. That smug little snake was standing there, arms folded over her chest, an infuriating smirk barely hidden on her lips.

“Sir, please!” Ha-Yoon protested, her voice rising, hands shaking with anger. “That’s not true! I would never do something like that!”

Min-Jae, that backstabbing, lying, two-faced demon, didn’t even blink. Instead, she tilted her head, feigning innocence.

“Everyone knows how obsessed you are with BL,” she said smoothly, her tone laced with condescension. “I’m sure she stole the money to attend those... fun little events.”

Fun little events?!

Ha-Yoon almost choked on air.

Her blood boiled, rage crackling through her veins like an electric storm.

Her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms, but she barely felt the sting.

Oh, this was war.

“You piece of shit—!” she lunged, her fingers twisting into Min-Jae’s hair, yanking so hard that a shriek erupted from the liar’s mouth.

The restaurant exploded into chaos.

“Let go of me!” Min-Jae wailed, thrashing like a fish out of water, but Ha-Yoon held on tighter, shaking her violently.

“YOU LYING, BACKSTABBING, SNAKE!” Ha-Yoon screamed, yanking her closer. “YOU THINK YOU CAN FRAME ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT?!”

“Somebody stop them!”

Waiters and chefs scrambled to pry them apart, hands pulling at Ha-Yoon’s arms, but she fought against them, her vision blurred with fury. Min-Jae continued to cry like the manipulative little gremlin she was, sniffling and gasping like some tragic victim.

“ENOUGH!” the boss’s voice thundered. The entire restaurant fell into eerie silence.

Panting, Ha-Yoon finally let go, shoving Min-Jae one last time for good measure.

“Ha-Yoon.” The boss pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “If you’re so sure you don’t have the money, then prove it.”

Ha-Yoon was still vibrating with rage, her breathing ragged, her muscles coiled so tightly she thought she might snap. But she rolled her shoulders back, forcing herself to appear composed.

“Fine,” she ground out. “I’ll prove I’m not a thief.”

With stiff steps, she marched toward the lockers, Jinju at her side, throwing Min-Jae a glare so sharp it could slice through bone. Min-Jae followed smugly behind, her arms folded, her lips twitching as if barely holding back laughter.

When they reached her locker, Ha-Yoon yanked it open, fire burning in her chest.

And then—

Her stomach dropped.

Her breath hitched.

Her heart stopped.

The money was there.

Sitting neatly inside her bag.

A slow, suffocating chill crawled down her spine.

No. No, no, no. This was impossible.

She felt the weight of every gaze on her, the thickening air pressing in, crushing her. The shift in the room was almost palpable, a wave of doubt and judgment rolling over her like a tidal wave.

“S-Sir… I don’t know where this came from. I swear, I didn’t—”

“I told you,” Min-Jae interjected, her voice dripping with mock pity. “She’s a thief.”

Ha-Yoon turned, her hands trembling, her vision darkening with rage.

That snake. That absolute demon in human form. She knew it. Min-Jae had set her up.

Her blood roared in her ears, hot and blinding.

“You son of a—” Ha-Yoon lunged again, fully prepared to strangle Min-Jae in front of everyone.

Min-Jae gasped, eyes widening dramatically as she burst into tears. “I—I’m just trying to get justice! Why are you being so violent? You’ve been caught! Accept it!” She sniffled, wiping nonexistent tears from her face.

HA-YOON WAS GOING TO KILL HER.

“ACCEPT WHAT, HUH?!” she bellowed. “I SWEAR, I WILL END YOU, YOU LYING, MANIPULATIVE, FAKE CRYING, BACKSTABBING—”

Jinju grabbed her arms, desperately pulling her back. “Ha-Yoon, STOP! You’re just making yourself look guilty!”

But Ha-Yoon could barely hear her. The injustice of it all burned hotter than fire.

How could she prove her innocence now?!

“I always respected you, Ha-Yoon…”

Her boss’s words struck her harder than any slap could, the weight of them sinking into her bones, leaving her frozen in place. It felt as if the ground beneath her had cracked open, ready to swallow her whole.

“This was the least I expected from you.” His voice was devoid of warmth, sharp and cold like the edge of a freshly honed blade. It was a voice she had once admired—steady, commanding, filled with authority. But now, it was empty, hollow, stripped of anything resembling the respect he had just claimed to have for her. It was as if he was speaking to a stranger, not the woman who had dedicated years of her life to this place, the woman who had poured every ounce of her passion into perfecting each dish, ensuring every plate that left her kitchen was a masterpiece.

Her lips parted, her breath catching in disbelief. No. No, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening.

She had given everything to this restaurant. Her sweat. Her time. Her dreams. She had sacrificed weekends, holidays, and even her own health for this place. And yet, here she was, being accused of something so vile, something so beneath her that the sheer thought of it made bile rise in her throat.

But her boss’s eyes were distant, like he had already washed his hands of her.

“In my office. NOW.”