2

Jinwoo kept his secrets behind his smile.

The new Jinwoo—this Jinwoo—wasn’t the kind to sit still and hope karma did the dirty work. He had three years of betrayal carved into his bones, and now time was begging him to rewrite every moment. But revenge wasn’t just fire and fury. It had to be clean. Silent. Beautiful.

Like a poisoned cup of tea.

And the first one to drink would be Haejin.

---

Haejin’s weakness wasn’t just Minjae—it was attention. She fed on it like air. Being admired, pitied, envied. She had to be the center of every circle, every conversation. So Jinwoo pulled away. Bit by bit. No longer answering texts within seconds. No longer laughing at her bad jokes. No longer offering sympathy when she whined about how “hard” her life was.

And she noticed.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked one afternoon, cornering him by the printer room.

“No,” Jinwoo said gently. “Just… growing up.”

He left her standing there with a bright, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

By Monday, rumors were already spreading. “Did you see Haejin and Minjae talking outside last night?” “A little too close, don’t you think?”

All Jinwoo had to do was raise a brow and stay silent. That was the beauty of truth—once you planted the seed, it watered itself.

---

Meanwhile, Yunho was watching him.

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a concerned way.

He was observant. Calculating. He didn’t pry, didn’t ask too many questions. But he noticed—the way Jinwoo kept his phone face-down during breaks. The way he never flinched when people gossiped near him. The way he scanned a room like he was looking for exits, not friends.

And he didn’t offer pity. He offered space. Stability. A quiet presence at his side like a lighthouse in fog.

Jinwoo had to admit—it was disarming.

Too disarming.

---

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yunho’s voice cut through the silence of the rooftop break area. He stood beside Jinwoo, hands in his pockets, his black jacket ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jinwoo replied, sipping his coffee.

“Then you can just sit and pretend with me,” Yunho said, leaning on the railing. “I’m good at that.”

Jinwoo looked over at him. “Why do you care?”

Yunho smiled without teeth. “Because you remind me of someone who cared too late.”

There was a pause. A long one.

“…What happened to them?” Jinwoo asked.

“They disappeared before I could say sorry.”

Something inside Jinwoo twisted. He turned his face away, shielding himself behind the rim of his coffee cup.

They stood in silence after that.

But it wasn’t empty.

---

The next phase of his plan began on Thursday.

Jinwoo had once overheard Minjae bragging about a minor accounting trick he used to skim bonuses from team budgets. Just a little here and there. Enough to go unnoticed. But not to someone who knew where to look.

This time, Jinwoo started logging expenses early. Took screenshots. Collected timestamps. Made sure to “accidentally” CC the wrong department head on an email Minjae would later use for manipulation.

He was building a trap. And Minjae, in all his arrogance, wouldn’t even see the rope tightening around his throat.

---

“You’re… scaring me lately,” Haejin said that evening as they walked out of work.

Jinwoo smiled at her sweetly. “Why?”

“You just feel different.” Her voice dropped. “Colder.”

“I’m not cold, Haejin,” he said. “I’m just not blind anymore.”

She stopped walking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “Nothing.” A pause. Then: “Do you still see Minjae?”

Her eyes widened. “W-what? Why would you ask that?”

“I didn’t say you were,” Jinwoo replied. “I asked if you still do.”

He turned away before she could recover.

Let her stew. Let her panic.

Guilt made people sloppy.

---

Later that night, Jinwoo lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. His apartment was still the cheap studio it had always been before Minjae “rescued” him with promises of shared rent and shared dreams. Back then, he had believed love meant sacrifice. That being chosen meant being saved.

Now he understood: being chosen wasn’t the same as being valued.

His phone buzzed.

[Yunho]

Are you awake?

He hesitated, then replied:

[Jinwoo]

I am now.

[Yunho]

Come out. I’ll drive. You need air.

---

They drove in silence. No destination. Just city lights and winding streets. Yunho didn’t ask questions. Just let Jinwoo breathe.

Eventually, they ended up at a quiet hill overlooking Seoul. The kind of place couples came to park and make out.

Jinwoo laughed softly. “Romantic. Should I be worried?”

Yunho smirked. “If I wanted to seduce you, I wouldn’t take you to a hilltop covered in pigeon crap.”

“…So you don’t want to seduce me?” Jinwoo asked before he could stop himself.

There was a pause.

Yunho’s voice was lower than usual when he answered. “Not tonight.”

Jinwoo’s heart skipped.

---

They sat on the hood of Yunho’s car, legs stretched, shoulders brushing.

“Why are you really helping me?” Jinwoo asked quietly.

Yunho’s profile was sharp in the moonlight. “I don’t like watching good people be destroyed. You’re not the only one who’s been betrayed, Jinwoo.”

“Who hurt you?”

“My best friend,” Yunho said, after a pause. “He lied. Took someone from me. Then pretended it was fate.”

“And you let him go?”

“No.” Yunho’s eyes glinted. “I let him live with everything he lost.”

Jinwoo swallowed.

“...That sounds like revenge.”

Yunho looked at him. “Revenge isn’t evil. It’s justice with memory.”

Jinwoo’s chest tightened.

Maybe, he thought, I wasn’t brought back to be alone.

Maybe fate wasn’t punishing him.

Maybe it was giving him an ally.

Or a weapon.

---

By the next morning, Jinwoo had already planted the final piece: an anonymous complaint with attached documentation about budget inconsistencies in Minjae’s team.

Not enough to get him fired.

Just enough to spark an audit.

And fear.

The first crack in the perfect image Minjae built.

The first tremor in the world Jinwoo would bury him in.

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