"If I had the chance to own a pet, I would rather strangle it to death with my own hands than let it be struck by Another's vehicle."A grumbling voice muttered from within, laced with bitterness and exhaustion.
The scene opened in a bustling office space—phones ringing faintly, conversations floating in the air like smoke. Workers meandered through the aisles, chatting idly, some clutching hot paper cups of coffee, others raising their open palms mid-story, animated and carefree. Laughter echoed in patches, and the click of keyboards created a subtle rhythm beneath it all.
Suddenly, a slow, dragging sound disrupted the harmony—footsteps, sluggish and heavy, echoed from the entrance. They were the kind of footsteps you'd expect from a deer wounded by a hunter's arrow—limping, reluctant, yet still moving forward.
"Then again, didn't that happen to my pet cat, Charles..."The groggy inner voice continued, half-lost in reflection, half-aware of the present.
As if some unspoken instinct bound them, the heads of nearly every coworker turned to the man who had just entered. Their gazes weren't of concern—they were sharp, judgmental. Some held pity, but most were mocking, scornful, or amused. It was clear he had become a common spectacle.
The man in question was disheveled and tired. His jet-black hair hung messily over his eyes, long untrimmed bangs doing little to hide the hollowness in his expression. It looked as if neither a comb nor a proper night's sleep had touched him in weeks. His white dress shirt was a wrinkled mess, the collar slouched as though defeated. His tie sat crooked on his chest like a noose poorly tied, and his slacks were too short, as if he'd borrowed them from someone younger—or smaller.
This man's name was Devon. And he was the main character.
"Hey, Devon."A voice rang out behind him—smooth, cheerful, laced with cruelty. The speaker approached confidently, each step calculated. He had glossy blond hair that shimmered under the fluorescent lights and wore an immaculately pressed suit. His shoes clicked with authority.
He looked like a model employee. No, a model human.
"Why are you here again looking like you slept on the sidewalk?"He chuckled through a hand that half-heartedly attempted to hide his smirk.
'This man's name is Ben,' Devon thought.
Without missing a beat, Ben snatched a coworker's coffee cup and casually let it fall to the floor, the hot liquid spilling in an ugly puddle.
"Clean it up," Ben said, his voice taking a threatening edge.
'If it was that he was an ordinary worker, I would've walked away. However, he's the Chairman's son,' Devon thought grimly.
Without protest, Devon dropped to his knees, pulling a few paper towels from a nearby desk. He began to wipe at the floor.
'But I need this job... so I can't do anything about it.'
Ben, clearly not satisfied, stepped onto Devon's hand with one polished shoe, applying just enough pressure to sting.
"No, not that, idiot. I meant clean it up with your tongue," Ben sneered.
Still, Devon didn't flinch or resist.
'This is one of the best options,' Devon thought, not with acceptance—but with numb resolve.'They've forced me to go to company celebrations and drink until I passed out. They stripped me naked and took all my belongings. They even visited my mother in the hospital and messed up her ward...'
There was a faint, dying warmth in his internal tone as he added,'Even after that, Mother still forgave them.'
"Hey!! Are you deaf?!" Ben shouted, irritated at Devon's silence.
Devon looked up slowly, meeting Ben's gaze with eyes that reflected nothing—no hate, no sorrow, just hollowness.
"Tch," Ben clicked his tongue and turned away. "You got off lucky today. I'm not feeling it."
'You may be wondering why a young master like him is working in the company he's supposed to own,' Devon thought as he quietly stood.
'This company is called VXN Group—better known as 'Vision and Nexus.' It specializes in the research and development of new technologies and software,' he narrated internally, his tone detached.
'This young master was meant to stay confidential until he earned his position... but his pride couldn't let him act like 'any other worker.''
"Hey, Devon! Where are the client documents I asked you to take care of yesterday?!"A shrill voice called out from across the office, cutting through the buzz of conversations.
Coworkers murmured among themselves."The section chief's really mad now..." one whispered.
A man approached with a scowl—a balding figure with glasses perched on his nose and a high, shiny forehead. His steps were loud and rushed.
'This old man, who is also my section chief, is called Manager Wook,' Devon narrated.
Manager Wook slapped more documents onto Devon's cluttered desk."**I want these done by today—**including the ones from yesterday!" he barked.
Devon said nothing. He simply stared at the stack, unmoving, expressionless.
'As most, if not all, the work flows through to me,' he thought with mechanical coldness.'But I need this job—not because I love it, but because there is another reason.'
Scene Change
A sterile hospital room bathed in dim light.
Devon sat at the bedside of a frail woman, unconscious, her breath shallow. Machines beeped steadily around her, the rhythm slow and foreboding.
'Mother's condition has been getting worse as of late,' Devon thought, eyes lingering on her thinning face.
'She was diagnosed with chronic leukemia just a year ago... They told me she had five months to a year at most.'
He stood slowly, ready to leave, when a fragile voice barely above a whisper broke the stillness.
"Is that you, Devon...?" the woman wheezed.
Devon didn't turn. He stood by the door, hand on the knob.
"You shouldn't exert too much strength," he replied, calm and distant.
He stepped out and closed the door softly behind him.
Later, Devon stood alone at a train stop, staring into nothing as the wind tugged at his shirt. A memory stirred within him.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind:"You feel like quitting? You don't know how difficult it is to get jobs nowadays. I know my son's no quitter."
'I just wanted to make her proud for once,' Devon thought.
"But if it's too much for you," her voice had continued softly, "I'll respect your judgment."
Devon had answered, cold yet tender in his own way:"It's not that, Mother. It was just a thought of quitting."
Then his phone rang.
No voice. Just silence on the other end. He knew what it meant.
He returned to the hospital, walking with quiet dread. The hallway was too silent. When he arrived at his mother's room, the lights were dimmed, and two men in white coats stood solemnly by the door.
The machines were off.
Inside, she lay motionless.
"My only and last family member," Devon thought.
"Is gone."