Dayo was already inside the room when Min-Jae walked in.
He was seated casually on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, phone in his hand, scrolling through something without much interest. The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed in private company offices—soundproofed, expensive, deliberate.
Min-Jae shut the door behind him.
"Bro," he said, dropping into the chair opposite Dayo. "What's up?"
Dayo glanced up. "I'm good," he replied simply. "You dragged me in here, though, so I'm guessing this isn't a social visit."
Min-Jae smirked. "Straight to business as always."
"That's why you called me," Dayo said. "So what's going on?"
Min-Jae leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "There's an artist. Female. She's giving me a headache."
Dayo raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
Min-Jae didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his bag, pulled out his tablet, and handed it over.
"Look."
Dayo took the tablet, glanced at the screen, and froze for half a second.
