My Boss is a CHICKEN?!

I stormed into the company building like a contestant in a reality show called "Who Wants to Be Employed?!"

My hair? Half-styled. One side screamed "CEO material" the other whispered "escaped tornado victim."

Makeup? Let's just say my eyeliner did not survive the emotional rollercoaster of the uber ride. (Of course, my car broke down just to sprinkle extra drama on my already collapsing morning)

And don't even ask about my shoes, my lucky heels were still lounging at my house while I was stuck at my mum's, marching in like a business-casual goblin.

Why? Because apparently, "No daughter of mine is leaving the house at 11PM" my mom declared dramatically while blocking the door like she was in K-drama. According to her, girls who go out after 9PM end up in crime documentaries.

So I was held hostage by maternal love and curfews.

So here I am.

Running on 17 minutes of sleep, thanks to an all-night gossip session with my sister about whether my ex's new girlfriend looks like a boiled potato or not.

But hey, at least my clothes are ironed.

(Bless you, mom. MVP of the decade.)

Cut to me now—

Sitting in front of the interview panel.

The demons—I mean, the HR department—stared at me like I had just crash-landed from Jupiter, holding a baby alien and a Starbucks in each hand.

I was sitting in that sterile interview room like a knockoff mannequin from a haunted department store, spine straighter than my love life, arms plastered to the armrests and a smile so painfully fake it could've been copyrighted by Barbie.

The hiring manager looked at me like I was a suspicious package.

Probably because I was.

I mean, who dares to reapply to this company after being blacklisted like a K-pop idol in a dating scandal?

Of course, His Almighty Sassiness, Mr. Jeon Jaehyuk, once declared at a company meeting (that I attended while trying not to cry from sleep deprivation)

"We don't offer positions to dorks. Only the perfect and elite deserve to work here."

Sir, you literally turned into a feathered rotisserie nightmare last week.

Let's not throw the word elite around so casually.

Anyway.

The entire HR department was staring at me like I'm a wild crocodile that just belly-flopped into their office fishtank.

Why?

Because everyone and their office plants knew one thing: Jeon Jaehyuk NEVER rehires terminated employees.

What they don't know is that Mr Jeon is a chicken (like literally)

And no, HR Karen, I'm not on drugs.

But here I was, back in the same cursed company, because I had something more powerful than an MBA.

A permission slip.

"Allow Miss Kim to take the interview again." signed by Jeon Jaehyuk himself in black ink and pure emotional trauma.

I slapped it on the table like it was a golden ticket to Wonka's nightmare factory.

Their eyes bulged. One guy choked on his own breath. I swear the printer in the corner let out a startled beep.

The executive cleared his throat like he'd just swallowed a stapler.

"Let's proceed with the interview."

Here we go again.

Question 1:

"What are your strengths?"

Lying under pressure. Surviving chicken-related workplace trauma. Filing documents faster than your emotional damage.

But I just smiled and said,

"I'm detail-oriented, punctual, and thrive in fast-paced environments."

(Also a lie. I cry during fast-paced environments.)

Question 2:

"How do you handle stress?"

Oh, you mean like when your boss fires you for faking your grandma's death? I handle it by blacking out mentally and eating expired ice cream.

"I breathe through it and stay solution-focused."

(Total cap.)

Everything was going okay-ish until the hiring manager paused, squinting at my resume like it was written in alien code.

"Miss Kim, you've graduated in Business Analytics," he said, pushing his glasses up like he was about to ruin my life, "but the position you're applying for is Project Manager for the Design Team. Do you know graphic design?"

I gulped.

Code red. CODE RED.

Do I know graphic design? Sir, the last time I opened Photoshop, I accidentally turned my cat into a flying donut. My greatest design feat is color-coding my grocery list.

But I couldn't say that.

They'd kick me out faster than I got kicked out the first time.

The panic in my brain was so loud, I almost didn't notice the door slam open like it owed someone money.

Of course.

Who else would walk in like a Disney villain with a grudge and zero concept of knocking?

Mr. Jeon.

The heir.

The CEO.

The man.

The myth.

The walking drama OST.

Everyone stood up so fast, you'd think BTS just entered the room.

I stood too, bowing slightly, while internally screaming.

The air conditioner, as if sensing his presence, automatically adjusted to 27°. Even the electronics are scared of him.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

He raised one judgmental eyebrow.

I glared at him.

He glared back.

I glared harder.

His pupils turned into laser beams and I immediately dropped my gaze.

Internally slapping myself with a slipper.

TF, Mira?! Are you trying to get fired AGAIN before you even get hired?!

Then came the royal decree.

"Select her."

"Huh?" blinked the hiring manager, as if someone just asked him to lick a doorknob.

"She's hired."

The room fell into stunned stillness, like someone just announced that pineapples can talk.

They all stared at me like I was a white crow riding a unicorn through the apocalypse.

Because Mr. Jeon just hired me. DIRECTLY. Like I was some chosen one from a prophecy.

Then he turned to leave.

"Follow me."

And that was it.

Came.

Ordered.

Left.

Like he was ordering coffee.

And the coffee… was me.

Oh crap, that was for me, wasn't it?

I turned to the executives, gave them an apologetic little bow, and sprinted out of the interview room like a contestant in a cooking show who just realized she forgot the main ingredient.

I walked behind him like the loyal lapdog I am—head down, speed walking, sweating through my blazer.

As we moved through the halls, the entire office turned into a red alert zone.

As he walked through the corridor, employees bowed.

Phones disappeared.

Chatter vanished.

Employees scrambled to look busy.

Damn.

I'm really out here living the déjà vu of being his assistant again.

Just without the salary or job title.

We reached his executive lair—I mean, office—and of course, the automatic doors opened for him like he was royalty.

He walked in wordlessly.

I stood outside.

Waiting.

Because NO ONE enters Mr. Jeon's office without permission. Not even ghosts.

I stood there awkwardly, counting the seconds like I was waiting for judgment day.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then—

DING.

He rang the bell.

The Official Summon.

And I, the chosen minion, took a deep breath… and entered the lion's den.

Or should I say…

The Chicken Coop.