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In-ho stared at the resignation letter like it had personally insulted him, his ancestors, and the entire concept of corporate loyalty. Hell, the whole universe too. It was printed on high-quality paper that cost at least fifty cents a sheet. (No expense spared when stabbing someone in the back, apparently.)
Across the desk, Gi-hun stood with his usual infuriatingly cheerful expression, as if he had just informed In-ho they were out of coffee creamer and not, in fact, shattered the very foundation of his professional existence.
“You can’t be serious,” In-ho said, holding the letter like it was a cursed artifact.
“I am,” Gi-hun replied, then smoothly added, “sir” with a bow. In-ho could not help himself; he rolled his eyes. “I’ve been your secretary for nine years. I believe it is time for me to move on.”
Move on? Move on? The words echoed in In-ho’s head like a thunderstorm in a rainy sky. “Move on to what?” Another company? He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so.”
Gi-hun, as always, remained unflappable. “With all due respect, I think I have earned the right to—”
“You have earned nothing,” In-ho interrupted, slamming the letter onto his desk like it was a losing poker hand. “Do you have any idea how difficult you are to replace? The last time I had to hire a secretary, it took six months, four recruitment firms, and one disastrous ‘coffee incident’ to find you. And now you want to leave me?”
“Yes,” Gi-hun said simply, because of course he did. He probably thought this was hilarious. Another Wednesday or whatever. Meanwhile, In-ho was on the verge of an aneurysm.
He stood abruptly, looming over Gi-hun despite them being on opposite sides of the table. It sometimes had the added benefit of sometimes making Gi-hun lose his train of thought (one of his core skills really). Maybe it would work this time too. “Do you think I’ll just let you walk away?”
Gi-hun tilted his head as if considering. “Yes. That’s generally how resignations work.”
His looming skills had grown rusty, it seemed. Oh no.
Oh no, no, no. In-ho wasn’t going to let this happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he declared, rounding the desk so quickly he nearly knocked over a very expensive paperweight. “Do you hear me? Not. Anywhere.”
Most people would have been at least a little intimidated by an angry CEO storming toward them. Not Gi-hun. He was utterly immune to In-ho’s outbursts, and—judging by his expression—had mentally prepared for this as well.
“Again…with all due respect, sir,” Gi-hun said, in the tone of someone who didn’t mean it, “you don’t own me.”
In-ho froze. Wow. Okay. yeah. That...err, those words felt like a slap in his face. He recovered quickly, pasting on his most diplomatic smile. “Don’t I? I pay you monthly. Generously, I might add. That counts for something.”
“Nope,” Gi-hun replied, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis.
“So you’re just going to leave? And what happens to me?” In-ho demanded. “Who organizes my meetings? Who keeps my schedule running like clockwork? Who orders my custom suits in the exact shade of ‘fashionable gray’?”
“That would be me,” Gi-hun admitted.
“And who,” In-ho continued, “prevents me from making terrible decisions on a daily basis just because someone annoyed me?”
Gi-hun pursed his lips. “Also me.”
“Exactly!” In-ho threw his hands up like he’d just solved world hunger. “You’re indispensable. You can’t leave.”
Gi-hun paused, probably debating whether or not that was a rhetorical statement. Then he sighed. “You’ll manage.”
“Manage?” In-ho let out a laugh that probably sounded slightly unhinged. “Manage? Gi-hun, do you remember what happened the last time you took a vacation?”
“That wasn’t my fault. You told me you could handle a week on your own.”
“Exactly. I nearly ended up in Oh Il-nam’s scheme!”
“And I fixed it when I got back.”
“Yes, but I was traumatized!” In-ho was vaguely aware that he was yelling, but it felt justified. “You’re not just my secretary. You’re my…” He trailed off, waving a hand because he lacked the words. “My person. My… whatever. The point is, I need you.”
Gi-hun blinked. In-ho never expressed himself like that. He felt his composure faltering—just a little. “That’s… nice of you to say.”
“Nice? This isn’t nice.” In-ho exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment before fixing Gi-hun with a steady gaze. “This is me groveling. And I don’t grovel.”
“You really don’t,” Gi-hun noted dryly.
“And you’re not helping!” In-ho snapped. He stepped even closer, well into Gi-hun’s personal space now. “You can’t leave me. End of discussion.”
It was Gi-hun’s turn to sigh, long and slow. “Or,” he said, dragging the word out, “I could leave, and you could learn to function like a normal adult.”
“Oh, please,” In-ho scoffed. “I’m a CEO.” The unspoken functioning like a normal adult is beneath me hung in the air.
“That… explains a lot.”
In-ho ignored that because honestly, he had bigger problems right now. Like the fact that his favorite (and only) secretary was trying to abandon him.. He reached out, grabbing Gi-hun’s wrist before the other man could make a run for it. “You’re staying.”
Gi-hun glanced pointedly at In-ho’s hand. “You do realize you can’t physically stop me, right?”
“Watch me,” In-ho said.
And that’s when things got complicated.
Because Gi-hun, for all his cheery professionalism, did something unexpected—he dropped his smile. There was no trace of his usual polite, secretary-like expression. This time, the curve of his lips was genuine, but it was something softer. Almost… sad.
In-ho’s brain promptly short-circuited. How could it not?
“In-ho,” Gi-hun said quietly, and wow, hearing his name like that did things to him. “I appreciate everything we have built here and coming to this decision was not easy for me. But this isn’t about you… It’s about me.”
In-ho opened his mouth to argue, but the words died before he could say them. He hated this. He hated the way Gi-hun was looking at him, like this was some kind of bittersweet farewell. He hated the way his chest felt tight, like someone had sucker-punched him right in the heart. And most of all, he hated that—for once in his life—he didn’t know what to say.
“You are really leaving?” He asked finally, his voice quieter and his hold on Gi-hun’s wrist tighter than he intended to.
“I have to,” Gi-hun replied. And there it was again... that look.
In-ho sighed, releasing Gi-hun’s wrist. “Fine,” he muttered. “Go. See if I care.”
Gi-hun didn’t respond, but there was something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe?—as he bowed once. Low and deep. Then he turned and walked toward the door. Just like that…
And as In-ho watched him go, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was slipping away.
But hey, he was a CEO. He’d figure it out.
Probably.
…Maybe.
(Or, more likely, he’d fire Gi-hun’s replacement within a week and go find him personally. But that was a problem for future In-ho.)