My Boss is a CHICKEN?!

I speed-walked into the building with my hair still damp from the shower, my heels click-clacking like a tap dancer having a breakdown. I punched in my ID card and half-bowed at the front desk auntie like a good exhausted employee.

As I stepped into the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirror

Great. I look like I got into a bar fight with a raccoon. And lost.

"Please don't let Mr. Jeon be early. Please don't let him be early…" I whispered like a prayer as the elevator dinged on the 19th floor.

I stepped out.

Dead silence.

Too quiet.

That's never a good sign.

I tiptoed to my desk, placing my bag gently like a mom putting her baby to sleep. And just as I was about to sit—

"Miss Kim."

I froze.

I turned my head with the energy of someone staring at their tax bill.

Mr. Jo stood in front of my desk, arms crossed like a model for a "Hot bachelors of Seoul" magazine. His sleeves were rolled up, flexing muscles that had no business looking that good in the middle of a corporate war zone.

"Y-yes, sir?" I squeaked.

"Aren't you supposed to be here at 6?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

I blinked. "Six…?"

Then my soul left my body.

Oh my god. He's right.

Mr. Jeon did say I have to report to work at 6AM sharp now that I'm under his unholy rehire contract.

But how the heck does Mr. Jo know that?!

Before I could ask, he slid a paper across my desk like it was a resignation letter to peace.

"It's in your contract."

I sighed dramatically.

A whole clause for my personal suffering.

Wow. He's even weaponized paperwork.

"And Mr. Jeon wants to see you in his office" Mr. Jo added, voice casual like he wasn't sending me straight into a lion's mouth. "You're to report by 9."

"Oh, okay—wait." I blinked again. "Did you say BY NINE?!"

I whipped around and checked the time.

8:57.

My soul left for the second time that morning.

With the speed of someone avoiding both unemployment and verbal assault, I bowed quickly to Mr. Jo who, by the way, seemed mildly entertained—and sprinted out of there like I was in the Hunger Games: Office Edition.

Mr. Jeon's office is on the 22nd floor.

Mine? The 19th.

Sounds close, right?

WRONG.

I dashed to the elevators.

Closed.

Of course they are. Heaven forbid the universe cut me a tiny, microscopic break.

It was 8:58.

I turned to the stairwell and stared at it like it had personally insulted me.

"I hate everything" I muttered, then bolted up the stairs.

Somewhere around the 21st floor, I'm pretty sure I saw my ancestors cheering me on.

I reached the 22nd floor, panting like I'd just completed a triathlon. I stood in front of his glass-panelled office, scanning my face at the camera like a dystopian criminal trying to enter a villain's lair.

The door slid open like the gates of an expensive dungeon, and I—his humble, underpaid peasant—walked into the lion's den.

My heels clicked against the floor like warning bells. My palms were sweaty. Knees weak. Arms were—okay, maybe not spaghetti, but they were definitely shaking.

Mr. Jeon sat there like he owned the building.

Which, unfortunately for all of humanity, he technically did.

He was seated behind that enormous CEO desk, polished so aggressively it reflected my nervous breakdown. The blinds behind him were half-drawn, casting dramatic shadows like he was a Bond villain about to deliver a monologue.

He didn't even look up.

Just sat there flipping through a thick stack of documents like he was reading the Constitution, not a quarterly report.

I gulped.

Why is the temperature suddenly so high in here?

Did the thermostat malfunction or was I just entering emotional hellfire mode?

Probably both.

I cleared my throat like a polite citizen.

"Sir…"

Nothing.

He turned a page with the same grace a hitman uses to load a gun.

I tried again.

"Mr. Jeon?"

His head finally tilted up, just a little. Just enough for his eyes—cold, calculating, and absurdly pretty—to land on me like I was the mess he didn't order but somehow got delivered anyway.

"You're thirty seconds late," he said without blinking.

Excuse me?

I looked at the wall clock.

9:00. Sharp.

"I'm not late. The clock says 9—"

He slowly turned his desk clock to face me.

9:00:30

Oh, we're measuring seconds now?

What's next, hiring a referee to time my blinks?

"This clock is wrong" I mumbled, betrayed by technology.

He raised an eyebrow that could probably file a tax return on its own.

He leaned back in his chair like a Roman emperor waiting for me to amuse him.

"Weren't you supposed to report at 6?" he asked casually, like he hadn't just dropped a professional nuke on me.

I internally screamed.

That cursed 6AM clause. I forgot. Completely. But if I told him that, I'd be jobless before the hour hand ticked again.

So naturally… I lied.

"My car broke down" I said with a straight face.

Bravo, Mira. Another lie for the collection.

His eyes narrowed. "For three hours?"

My brain went into overdrive.

"I-it took time to fix?" I said weakly, voice so high-pitched only dogs could hear.

"Stop stuttering."

"I'm sorry." I looked down like a child caught drawing on the walls.

"Your lies won't work again Miss Kim" he added, tone dipped in disappointment and murder.

I sighed.

"I'm sparing you because it's your first day."

First day?! Then what was yesterday?! A trailer?

And the years I slaved under you as your personal assistant? Were those unpaid internships in hell?

"Where's the business plan?" he said suddenly, every syllable landing like a slap.

My eyes widened. "W-what?"

He leaned forward slightly. "The plan. For the hotel daejeon project. The one I told you to complete yesterday."

Oh sweet stress-induced amnesia.

"I—uh—you said the deadline was extended to today at 4PM?"

"I did."

Whew. So I'm not crazy.

"And did you utilize the time?" he asked like a judge ready to sentence me to the dungeon.

"T-that…" My mouth dried up like the Sahara. "I reviewed the complete files last night, sir."

He leaned back, arms crossed, gaze locked in like a sniper.

"What's the progress?"

Progress. PROGRESS. That word sounded like a punch.

My brain ran through everything I did last night.

Reviewed half the files.

Fell asleep drooling on the 251st page.

Wrote exactly zero summaries.

Created exactly one thing: a burn book titled "Why Mr. Jeon Is the Villain of My Life."

But if he finds out I didn't design a single plan, I'd be roasted and served at the next team meeting.

"I studied the structure of the place and wrote a summary," I lied like my life depended on it. "I'll submit the graphical representation by 4."

He raised an eyebrow. "Where is the summary?"

Huh?

"It's… in my desk"

Mira, STOP LYING. These lies are stacking up like Jenga blocks and the tower's shaking.

"Bring it" he said.

"Huh?"

"Go and bring the files here. I want them in my cabin in five minutes."

I blinked. Five what now?

SIR. I AM ON THE 22ND FLOOR.

MY DESK IS ON THE 19TH.

I DON'T HAVE WINGS.

I AM NOT A SPIRITUAL BEING CAPABLE OF INSTANT TRANSPORTATION.

And more importantly—WHAT FILES?! THEY DO NOT EXIST!

But alas, I nodded like a fool and bowed.

From where am I going to summon this mythical business summary?!

As I was about to escape and maybe fake a fainting episode near the elevator, I heard his voice behind me again.

"I want the files here in five minutes" he repeated.

Yes, sir, thank you for the reminder. I definitely wasn't having a breakdown already.

I took one step.

"And, Miss Kim?" he added.

I stopped mid-stride. "Yes, sir?"

"Are you sure they're the summary for the Daejeon project and not your grocery list?"

I gasped—

mentally.

Oh no he didn't.

What kind of passive-aggressive roast was that?!

I turned to him slowly, cautiously, like a horror movie protagonist checking behind a curtain.

"You really expect me to believe you're capable of writing a full proposal for THE Hotel Daejeon project after one all-nighter?" he asked, voice layered with doubt, sarcasm, and just a sprinkle of evil.

I wanted to hurl my shoe at him.

He got up and slowly walked toward me, every step echoing like doom in heels.

I stayed still, bracing for impact.

He stopped right in front of me, looking down like I was a stray cat that wandered into his polished office.

"I know you're not that skilled, you little minx." he said, voice cold enough to cause brain freeze. "I cancelled the project."

What did he just call me?

Minx?? MINX???

And wait— WHAT DID HE SAY?

CANCELLED THE PROJECT?

I gasped. "WHAT?!"

"It's canceled" he repeated casually, like he was announcing the weather.

My brain short-circuited. "B-but... I thought I had more time—"

"I don't want to waste any" he said, his tone sharp as glass. "Especially not when I know you are incapable of completing it."

I wanted to grab the enormous lamp next to his window and bop him gently on the head with it. Just a little bonk. For emotional balance.

"This is WRONG, Mr. Jeon!!" I yelled, completely dropping my corporate filter.

"You made me work for nothing?!"

How DARE he?

I skipped sleep, didn't shower, and haven't even eaten anything except one sad banana and four panic coffees. I read documents that felt like ancient scrolls written in curse language.

And now he cancels it? Just like that? Without even a single grace period extension button?

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I gave a polite little smile that was 80% rage and 20% despair.

"With all due respect, sir" I said slowly, "don't you think canceling a project without notice is a bit... premature?"

He turned to look at me properly now. Bad idea.

That gaze? That's the same look a predator gives its prey before deciding whether to toy with it or bite its head off.

"No" he said. "I think it's strategic. I don't see the point in assigning responsibility to someone who can't handle it."

"I was halfway through the proposal—"

"Halfway?" He scoffed. "You were supposed to present it today. Do you call that 'progress'?"

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting every urge in my body to grab that giant decorative pot in the lobby and yeet it directly at his perfectly symmetrical face.

He tilted his head. "Do you want to continue the project?"

"NO!!" I screamed immediately.

He smirked like the smug demon he is. "Then what are you arguing about?"

I sighed dramatically. "You didn't have to make me waste my time. I am a very precious human resource Mr. Jeon! I could've been used elsewhere!"

"Used where?" he scoffed. "You only seem qualified to break into people's houses and eat their brain using your tongue."

"That was RUDE!" I said, clutching my imaginary pearls.

Rude with a capital R.

He looked completely unbothered.

"There's a tiny little thing called a brain in here" he said, tapping the top of my head like I was a melon at a fruit market. "You should try using it sometime."

I slapped his hand away—politely, of course. HR might be watching.

He blinked, slightly surprised, and stepped back.

"Sorry" he muttered quickly.

Wait what?

Did Mr. Jeon just—apologize?

Was this a trap?

I looked up at him, resisting the urge to flinch.

"Anyway" he continued, regaining his Ice King aura "You know what I think, Miss Kim?" he said, voice low and almost condescending.

"I think you're very talented."

Wait. What?

"But you let that mouth of yours run faster than your brain."

Aaand there it is. Compliment canceled. Confidence murdered. Hope smothered.

"If you put half the energy you use to argue, deflect, or create excuses into your actual work, you might even impress me one day."

Was that… encouragement?

Or sarcasm?

Was I just insulted with a compliment or complimented with an insult?

My brain refused to process anything now. I was just standing there, blinking, wondering if this conversation was real or just a sleep-deprivation hallucination.

"Dismissed" he said finally.

Just like that.

Who does he think he is?

I bowed slightly. "Yes, sir." I said before walking out of the room with dignity in my posture and murder in my heart.

I hope he stutters during an important meeting.