"And that's all the briefing you need to know about the upcoming programs. So, what do you think?" I asked, watching Hong Soo-Jin's face as she read the final pages of the contract.
The actress looked up from the papers, her gaze meeting mine before a serene smile touched her lips. "Is that all of it? Where do I sign, then?"
I smiled back, relief washing through me.
I held out a hand toward Secretary Roh, who immediately placed a sleek pen in my palm. "Of course. The standard clause about scandals nullifying the contract is in there, but..." I glanced at the profound woman before me. "I don't think that will ever be a problem for us with you involved."
'Hopefully,' I prayed silently.
"Right here, please." I motioned to the signature line.
Hong Soo-Jin took the pen without hesitation and signed her name with a graceful, flowing script.
"And... we're finished," I said, my smile feeling more genuine now. We exchanged a few more polite words—Thank you for your trust, we'll be in touch soon—before she gathered her things and left the conference room.
I watched her retreating back, my mind whirring. 'Hmm. I don't know how any of this is gonna play out. After all, this wasn't part of the main plot. She seems so well-mannered, so grounded... I doubt any kind of boy-scandal could erupt from her side. So... is she not a trap, after all?'
"Mrs. Hong is very elegant, isn't she, Director?" Secretary Roh remarked beside me.
"Mrs.?" I asked, turning to him.
"Oh, yes, I guess you said you don't know about her since you were abroad at the time. She just got married about four months ago to another actor. To think she's back in the working field so soon! I heard she and her husband were childhood friends or something."
A sigh of relief almost escaped me. 'Well, if she's newly married, doesn't that mean I don't have to worry about that kind of drama, at least?'
I mumbled an agreement, my attention already drifting back to my phone as Secretary Roh continued tidying the table.
He murmured something else—"...considering the rumors about her staying single for so long, I guess it was a nice time for her to marry, though..."—but I didn't catch it.
My focus was locked on the new text notification.
Info_guy: They have arrived at a small, old amusement park. Private property—can't follow further. Will maintain position and wait.
I stared at the screen, confusion knotting my brow. 'Amusement park...? Wait, could it be—'
My thumbs flew over the screen.
Me: Wait, what's the name of the place?
The reply came instantly.
Info_guy: Dotoragon Park.
The name confirmed it like a punch to the gut. My breath hitched.
Dotori. Acorn.
"So," I whispered to the empty, sunlit room, the signed contract suddenly feeling insignificant. "The childhood connection arc is already starting."
* * *
The gift shop was a time capsule, its shelves crammed with faded plush toys, dusty key chains, and rows upon rows of animal ear headbands. The kind of place that hadn't been updated since the early 2000s, and somehow that made it more charming.
Yoon-Ah picked up a little koala ear-shaped hair tiara from a display rack near the mirror. She turned it over in her hands—soft, synthetic fur, slightly crooked ears. Charming in its imperfection.
She placed it on her head and studied her reflection.
'What are we even doing here? An amusement park on a weekday? The whole place is empty except for us and a handful of employees. And what does he even mean by "checking if it's fun"? Since when does the CEO of Han Group conduct... fun audits?'
She adjusted the headband, tilting it this way and that, her mind circling the same bewildering questions.
"Are you finished?"
The voice came from behind her, smooth and familiar. Yoon-Ah spun around so fast the koala ears nearly flew off.
Han Eun-Woo stood just inside the shop entrance, his posture as rigid as ever, his face a mask of stoic patience. Beside him, the elderly shop attendant beamed like she'd just been gifted the world's most interesting customers.
But it wasn't his presence that made Yoon-Ah falter.
It was what sat on top of his head.
A headband. With animal ears. Tiny, rounded, impossibly out of place above that sharp jawline and those calculating grey eyes.
Yoon-ah blinked. Once. Twice. The image didn't change.
"U-um, Sir..." she managed, her voice catching. "What... what animal is that supposed to be?"
Eun-woo touched the ears as if he'd forgotten they were there. "The attendant insisted it was required for the full 'immersive experience.'" He said the last two words like it was so important.
"It appears to be a representation of the Ailurus fulgens. The red panda. An endangered species native to the eastern Himalayas and southwestern China. Known for its solitary nature and bamboo-based diet."
He delivered this with the same clinical precision he'd use in a boardroom presentation.
Yoon-Ah stared at him. At the CEO of Han Group. Explaining red panda taxonomy through animal ear headbands.
A tiny, traitorous smile tugged at the corner of her lips before she could stop it. She quickly looked down, hiding it.
"It... suits you, I suppose," she murmured, barely audible.
"What?"
"I said it looks good on you, Sir." She said it louder this time, meeting his eyes with a carefully neutral expression.
He blinked. Once. That tiny crack in his composure. "Thank you."
The shop attendant, who had been watching this exchange with undisguised delight, clasped her hands together. "Oh my, what a lovely couple you two make! So handsome and pretty together! You're here on a date, yes? Very romantic, very romantic!"
Yoon-Ah's face went hot. "Ah, no, we're not—we're actually—"
"We appreciate your kind observation," Eun-Woo cut in smoothly. "Thank you for your assistance."
He wasn't denying it. He was just... accepting the compliment. On their behalf. As a couple.
Yoon-Ah's brain short-circuited.
Before she could form a coherent protest, Eun-Woo's hand closed around her wrist—gentle, but firm—and he was pulling her toward the exit. The shop attendant waved cheerfully behind them.
Once they were outside, under the pale afternoon sky, he released her immediately.
"My apologies," he said, not quite meeting her eyes. "It would have been... tedious to explain our actual relationship. A CEO and his secretary at an amusement park alone together. The assumptions would have invited more questions than we could reasonably answer."
"Oh." Yoon-Ah rubbed her wrist where his warmth had been. "Right. Of course. That makes sense."
She wasn't sure why she felt vaguely disappointed.
They walked through the empty park, the silence between them different now—charged with something Yoon-Ah couldn't name. She forced herself to focus on her surroundings, to catalog the rides and stalls they passed.
'This place. It's exactly the same as it was back then, isn't it? The last time I came here was...'
The world tilted as memories took over.
Suddenly, the empty park wasn't empty anymore. Color flooded back—vibrant, overwhelming. The roar of crowds, the shrieks of children, the tinny melody of carnival music. People pushed past her in a blur of laughter and motion.
And there, on a bench near the fountain, sat a small boy.
Alone.
His shoulders were hunched, his face buried in his arms. People streamed past him without a glance, a river of indifference, and he just sat there, small and still and utterly lost.
'Who is he? Oh isn't he the little boy from—'
"Yoo..a...Y..n-ah...YOON-AH!"
She gasped, stumbling back. The crowd vanished. The music died. She was standing in the empty, silent park again, and Eun-Woo was right in front of her, his grey eyes sharp with concern.
She was staring at an old, weathered bench. The same bench from her memory.
"S-Sorry, Sir." She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pound. "I'm just... I'm not feeling well today. That's all."
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper.
"Follow me," he said, already turning and striding forward, his eyes scanning the paper.
"Yes, Sir." She hurried after him, grateful for the excuse to move, while still wondering why saw that memory now of all times.
Eun-Woo muttered to himself as he walked, low enough that she almost missed it. "First is... this one? Hmm." He folded the paper and tucked it away, his pace never slowing.
Soon they reached a towering structure that loomed against the gray sky. A massive pirate ship, suspended by enormous chains, designed to swing back and forth in a dizzying arc. It was the kind of ride that promised both thrill and terror.
Eun-Woo stopped before it, tilting his head up to take in its full height and gulped.
"Let's try that one first," he said, his voice stuttering slightly. "Shall we?"
* * *
[ One Day Ago... ]
The executive floor of Han Group had long since emptied for the evening. The only light in Kang Minjae's office came from the amber glow of a single desk lamp and the distant glitter of Seoul beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Han Eun-Woo sat across from his best friend, a crystal glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. Minjae lounged on the leather sofa opposite him, his tie loose, his sleeves rolled up—the picture of a man who'd stopped pretending to be on duty hours ago.
"You've been staring at that glass for twenty minutes," Minjae observed, swirling his own drink. "Either you're contemplating the molecular structure of aged whiskey, or something's eating you."
Eun-Woo didn't answer.
Minjae sighed, setting his glass down on the low table. "Let me guess. It's about her."
Still nothing. But the slight tightening of Eun-Woo's jaw was answer enough.
"You know," Minjae said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, "for someone who runs a conglomerate and makes decisions that affect thousands of lives daily, you're remarkably paralyzed when it comes to one woman."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is. But here's the thing, Eun-Woo." Minjae's voice lost its teasing edge, settling into something quieter, more serious. "That bastard Minhyuk? Sooner or later, he's going to marry her. Walk down the aisle, say the vows, and lock her into a life with someone who doesn't deserve to breathe the same air she does."
Eun-Woo's grip on the glass tightened.
"You've been watching over her for years. Hiring her, protecting her from the shadows, making sure she never wanted for anything you could provide. And she doesn't even know why. She thinks she earned her position through hard work—which she did—but she doesn't know the real reason you chose her that day."
Minjae paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"Someone like her," he continued quietly, "someone who's been through what she has—losing her mother, carrying that debt, dealing with that excuse for a father—she deserves to know the truth. At least some of it. Not because it'll change anything. But because you owe it to her. You owe her the honesty of why she's always mattered to you."
Eun-Woo finally looked up, his grey eyes unreadable but focused.
"And if you don't?" Minjae shrugged, leaning back. "Then you watch her marry a fraud, spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if,' and carry that guilt on top of everything else you're already buried under. Your choice."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and contemplative.
Eun-woo set his untouched glass on the table. He stood, straightening his jacket with precise, mechanical movements.
"Thank you for the advice," he said, his voice quiet.
Minjae watched him walk toward the door. "Eun-Woo."
He paused.
"Don't thank me. Just... do something. For once."
The door clicked shut behind him.