Minjae had faced inquisitions before—some subtle, some brash. Executives probing with elegant detachment, department heads pressing for strategic insight, even Rennor himself once looming with suspicion behind a thin smile. But none of those had prepared him for a question delivered while standing in line at the convenience store on the first floor of the office building.
"You wouldn't happen to be a secret conglomerate heir looking for a life partner, would you?"
Minjae blinked. The voice belonged to Park Taehwan, senior manager from Finance. Known for his dry wit and immaculate spreadsheets, Taehwan rarely engaged in gossip. But today, something in his tone told Minjae it wasn't entirely a joke.
"…Pardon?" Minjae said mildly.
Taehwan glanced sideways, one eyebrow raised in mock innocence. "I mean, I get it. The quiet demeanor, the odd charisma, three department stars orbiting you like moons—it's classic drama material."
Minjae didn't respond right away. He picked up a bottle of cold brew, considered the sandwich selection, and finally turned back. "I think you've been watching too many office dramas."
"Only during budget season," Taehwan said. "It's how I cope."
The corner of Minjae's mouth almost twitched. "Healthy coping mechanism."
"Cheaper than therapy," Taehwan said lightly, then lowered his voice. "But you've got people talking."
"That much is obvious."
The line moved forward. The hum of the refrigerator filled the pause. Minjae could feel eyes drifting occasionally—an intern from HR, one from Operations—each pretending not to eavesdrop.
Taehwan broke the silence again. "Don't worry. I'm not here to pry. Just figured I'd ask before Marketing puts your face on a flowchart."
Minjae exhaled softly through his nose, neither amused nor offended. "I'm just a business analyst."
Taehwan chuckled. "And I'm just an accountant who accidentally walked in on a shareholder meeting once. Secrets run deep around here."
They paid and exited together. Outside, the late afternoon sun was warm, the courtyard busy with people enjoying a rare pause. Taehwan halted before heading back to the elevators. "For what it's worth," he said, voice quieter, "you've got three very sincere women looking out for you. I don't think they care what rumors say."
Minjae looked at him, unreadable as always. "I know," he said simply.
---
By the next morning, word had spread again—not through whispers this time, but memes.
Someone had taken a candid photo of Minjae standing by the elevator, captioned it:
"Conglomerate CEO? Or introverted prince?"
Another had added speech bubbles:
Yura: "You don't own the company… right?"
Minjae: "Define 'own.'"
The trio found the group chat hilarious.
"That's almost how he answered me once," Seori typed.
"Same," replied Yura. "Guy's allergic to direct answers."
Yuri only sent a dot. Then added: "I think he's amused."
---
He wasn't—exactly. Amusement wasn't quite the word. It was more like tolerance mixed with an old, distant warmth. Humans had always found entertainment in creating patterns around things they didn't understand. Once, long ago, it was in the form of myths and constellations. Now, it was office memes and rumor threads.
Minjae leaned back in his chair, the low hum of monitors filling the quiet. His inbox blinked with the usual reports—capital projections, trade assessments, quarterly reviews—but behind them, group chats buzzed with laughter.
He didn't mind it. Not really. As long as no one dug too deeply.
"Hey," Joohyuk's voice cut in. The cubicle partition shifted slightly as his coworker leaned over. "You've seen the memes, right?"
Minjae didn't look up from the screen. "Hard to miss."
"Man, you're famous now." Joohyuk grinned. "Even Director Jang mentioned it this morning. Said you've got the charisma of a CEO. You might want to start charging consultation fees."
"Did he?"
"Yeah. I think it was half a joke." Joohyuk paused, lowering his voice. "But seriously, they're starting to think you're some hidden investor. You always dress simple but your shoes—bro, those aren't cheap."
"I like comfortable shoes."
"Comfortable shoes that cost more than my monthly rent."
Minjae turned finally, faint amusement in his gaze. "Are you suggesting I downgrade?"
"Just suggesting you stop looking like the kind of guy who secretly owns the company," Joohyuk said, shaking his head. "Anyway, the trio from Finance and Ops are probably enjoying the show."
That last part wasn't entirely false.
---
At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed louder than usual. Seori was already at a corner table with Yuri and Yura, the three of them half-laughing, half-whispering over something on Seori's phone. When Minjae entered, Yura was the first to notice.
"Speak of the rumor himself," she said, grinning.
Minjae paused mid-step, expression unreadable. "If you're discussing audit figures, I can leave you to it."
Seori shook her head quickly. "Sit down. We're just… uh, analyzing social trends."
"Market behavior?"
"Exactly," Seori said, relieved. "Viral content dynamics within workplace ecosystems."
Yuri smirked. "Specifically the part where our analyst gets turned into a meme template."
Minjae sighed inwardly, though his face barely shifted. He set his tray down and sat. "At least it's not market manipulation."
"Not yet," Yura said. "Give the internet another hour."
Their laughter came easy, unforced. They were teasing him, yes, but gently. There was warmth beneath it, the kind that humanized the monotony of reports and deadlines.
"So, Mr. Conglomerate Heir," Seori began after a moment, propping her chin on her hand, "is it true you've been secretly funding offshore investments?"
Minjae took a slow sip of his soup. "You read too many forums."
"Could be true," Yura mused. "Remember that one time he left early for a 'meeting'? Then Hwaryeong's stocks spiked the next morning."
"That's correlation, not causation," Minjae said.
Yuri's eyes flicked to him. "But not denial."
He paused just a second too long.
Seori caught it. Of course she did. "You're not even trying to deny it anymore."
"I find denial only encourages curiosity," he said dryly.
Seori chuckled, then leaned back, her tone softening. "You know, you make it too easy for people to imagine things. You never explain anything, even the simple stuff."
He didn't answer right away. Part of him wanted to—just once—to tell her the truth. That explaining himself would unravel everything. That beneath the human facade was something ancient, too heavy for anyone to carry alongside him.
Instead, he only said, "Mystery sustains engagement metrics."
Yura groaned. "You sound like a press release."
"Habit."
"Right."
They lingered in companionable silence after that. The air was light again, but Seori's gaze lingered longer than the others. She watched him as if she could see past the composure. And maybe, in small ways, she could.
---
Later that evening, after most employees had gone, Minjae stayed behind. The floor was quiet except for the low hum of machines and the steady tapping of his keyboard. The city lights filtered faintly through the blinds—cold, distant stars.
He reviewed quarterly projections, cross-checked data points, and added minor annotations in the shared document. It was routine work, grounding in its repetition.
But his mind drifted back to Taehwan's words. *Three sincere women looking out for you.*
He didn't doubt that. Seori, Yuri, Yura—they each approached him differently, but their concern was genuine. Seori with quiet intuition, Yuri with direct practicality, Yura with a mix of curiosity and candor. They reminded him of warmth he hadn't known in ages.
And that… was dangerous.
He paused, staring at the spreadsheet until the rows blurred into meaningless digits. Humans could be kind, sincere, loyal. But affection—affection complicated everything. It attached people to illusions.
If they ever saw what lay beneath—what kind of being they had placed their trust in—those feelings would turn to fear. Or worse, loyalty misplaced into reverence.
He shut the laptop.
The printer across the room whirred softly—someone had queued a leftover document from earlier. As the paper slid out, he caught a glimpse of it. Another meme. His face again, captioned:
"When your analyst might secretly own the parent company."
He stared for a moment, then let out a quiet exhale that almost resembled a laugh.
He'd never been anyone's project before. Yet somehow, this harmless rumor had done what few things could: make him feel seen—if only as a caricature.
He gathered his things, slung his coat over one arm, and headed toward the elevator.
Just before the doors closed, Seori appeared, holding a folder. "You're still here?"
"Final revisions," he said.
"Ah. Same." She hesitated, stepping in beside him. The elevator began to descend.
Silence settled, broken only by the faint hum of machinery. Then, softly—
"They'll stop eventually," she said.
"The rumors?"
"Mm. They always move on to something else."
Minjae nodded. "That would be ideal."
She glanced sideways. "You're not bothered, are you?"
He shook his head. "No."
But Seori studied him quietly, reading the truth between the lines. "You always say that, even when you are."
He almost smiled. "Occupational reflex."
When the elevator reached the ground floor, she didn't move immediately. "Minjae."
"Yes?"
"Whatever people say… I know you're not like that. But I also know you're not just what you show here." Her tone was careful, almost apologetic. "I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just… you feel like you're always holding something back."
He looked at her, expression still calm, but his voice was gentler. "Maybe that's true."
A quiet pause.
"Good night," she said finally, stepping out.
"Good night."
He watched her leave before the doors closed again.
---
Outside, the city had softened into its nighttime rhythm. He walked toward the main street, blending into the steady flow of pedestrians. Neon signs reflected faintly off the wet pavement; the air smelled faintly of rain and exhaust.
Somewhere behind him, laughter echoed from a late-shift group leaving the office, probably still sharing memes. It was ordinary, human noise. He let it fade into the distance.
His thoughts, however, were far from ordinary.
Taehwan's curiosity, Seori's intuition—each signaled a narrowing distance between the life he had built and the truth he could never expose.
He had lived through centuries once, learned the art of invisibility. Yet here, in a glass tower of numbers and audits, concealment felt harder than ever. Not because humans were sharper now, but because he'd grown softer.
He stopped by a convenience store again—the same one as before—and bought another bottle of cold brew. The cashier recognized him, offered a small smile. "Rough day?"
He almost laughed. "Something like that."
He twisted off the cap while standing outside. He took a slow sip from the bottle. The coffee came out bitter. It helped pull him back to the moment.
Thing is, that might be what he pays for keeping things low-key around regular folks. People spot him not for the real deal. But for those pieces that sort of mimic it.
He made his way home beneath the faint glow of streetlights. Coat slung casual over his arm. The whole city thrummed on. Like some creature buzzing with all sorts of tiny tricks.
The group kept laughing for the time being. That edge between lighthearted talk and something more serious stayed intact.
He filed it away in his head though. Even a level-headed type like Taehwan picking up on trends meant he had to adjust the front. Build up the gap a little more.
Mainly to keep them safe. If nothing else.
Still his mouth edged into a faint smile. He walked by a poster fixed to the lamppost. Someone had run off that meme one more time. Added sparkly letters this go-around.
He shook his head a bit. Folks have a strange habit when it comes to liking each other. He thought.
That would hold him over for the night.