Off Leash
Only now did the family tree of the Seomoon clan unfurl in Hae-soo's mind, scrolling into view like a late-arriving memo. Seo Moon-yeol's grandfather was Seo Moon-hwan, Chairman of Seomoon Electronics; his father, Seo Moon-gyu, President of Seomoon Construction; his mother, Lim Hee-ryeong, CEO of Seomoon Hotel. Beyond them, an army of relatives occupied key posts across the large and small affiliates of Seomoon Group.
After graduation, Moon-yeol would be no different, presumably. Whether he'd start at the bottom, minding the world's watching eyes, or swagger in with a team-lead title from day one, she couldn't guess.
Employee Seo Moon-yeol.
If it were the former, he'd be the most uncomfortable new hire on the face of the earth, she thought vaguely, extending her hand toward him.
"Right. Now that I think of it, I've heard about this before — your mother's an executive at Seomoon Hotel. If she's here, go pay your respects. And give me back my shoe. This is the last time."
It was time for her to start preparing her own exit. Forty-five minutes until the interview, and she'd only just noticed. Arriving early to wait was Interview Basics 101.
"Young Master!"
Just then, a man shouldered his way through the café door, both arms festooned with shopping bags. He looked to be in his late thirties, hair disheveled, glasses perched so precariously on the tip of his nose they seemed one breath from plummeting to the floor. Everything about him screamed that he had run here.
"I told you, just call me by my name."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly presume."
Watching the two exchange greetings, Hae-soo grasped it at once. Those bags — that's the shoe he phoned in for.
He'd been told thirty-five minutes, and he'd beaten it by ten. The Seomoon Department Store stood directly across the street, but even so, the speed was almost impossible to believe.
God, this is driving me crazy.
Hae-soo fidgeted with her lone shoe. She should have sent Moon-yeol off to find its missing pair ages ago, but she'd let herself get swept up in some argument she couldn't even classify as a fight or a joke, and wasted far too much time.
"You didn't need to pick up this many, sir."
"Oh no, this is nothing. If my heart had its way, I'd have stopped at every branch and brought back a pair from each, but — alas — my poor arms are short, so this is all I could manage."
"Thank you, Manager Yoon."
A man carrying eight shopping bags, four hooked over each forearm, who somehow still looked apologetic — Hae-soo could feel the quiet sorrow of the salaried worker radiating off him. The more she looked, the worse she felt. Barefoot, she shuffled over on blistered feet and stood beside Moon-yeol.
"Give it up. I really have to go now."
"Ah, so this is the shoe—"
The moment Moon-yeol glanced down at her, the quick-witted man smoothly inserted himself between them. He set the bags down with practiced speed and, with the mechanical precision of a well-drilled soldier, produced a business card from his inner pocket and presented it to Hae-soo.
"How do you do. I'm Yoon Sung-ho. Please, feel free to call me Manager Yoon."
"Oh — no, really, you don't need to give me this, I'm just—"
"This is Cha Hae-soo. Iron Wall Cha Hae-soo."
A curse nearly leapt out of her before she could stop it.
Hae-soo, who had been waving off the card Manager Yoon was politely offering, shot him a pointed glare instead. Moon-yeol tilted his head with a faint smirk, the very picture of a man who found none of this remotely troubling.
"Oh — no, my mistake. Was it kind Hae-soo?"
"Yah, Seo Moon-yeol."
"Sit. Try them on."
Utterly indifferent to her murderous stare, he gestured at the shopping bags lined up on the floor. Hae-soo planted herself where she stood, making it abundantly clear that there was no chance in hell.
"No need. Just give me my shoe back."
"Don't be stubborn."
"You're the one being stubborn. Who goes around commandeering other people's—"
"Poor Manager Yoon must be so hurt."
"...What?"
"He went to all that trouble to bring these over, and you won't even try on a single pair."
Changing tactics, Moon-yeol came at her from a fresh angle. Manager Yoon, who had been spectating the two of them like a man watching a breathless tug-of-war, sized up the situation and cut in at precisely the right moment.
"Ah — yes, yes, that's right. I really did suffer carrying these here. If not for anything else, do it out of respect for my effort. Eh?"
"That's — well — I'm grateful, truly, but I can just wear my own shoes. You're busy, and he's gone and stirred up trouble for no reason, putting you out like this. I'm really sorry."
"No, no, putting me out, she says. Looking after the Young Master is my job, so don't give it a second thought — just try a pair on. I only brought ones I can personally vouch for as comfortable. And if nothing catches your eye, I can dash right back out and fetch other models."
Despite her polite refusals, Manager Yoon's attitude never wavered. When a man who looked a good several years her senior clasped his hands together and all but begged, Hae-soo's expression darkened in a hurry.
What on earth is any of this supposed to be? Standing there in the middle of a Seoul café in broad daylight. Barefoot, no less.
Fatigue came crashing over her. If this had been a foreseeable disruption, the worst she'd have budgeted for was a delayed train — this was something else entirely. Above all, the clock was what worried her, each minute and second ticking away mercilessly. A rising anxiety pressed in on her: what if she ended up late to the interview because of this?
"Shall I show you this one first?"
Reading the conflict on her face, Manager Yoon swiftly lifted a single bag. The logo of a luxury house everyone would recognize gleamed up at her. Hae-soo started and waved both hands in front of her.
"No. Absolutely not."
Thirty-seven minutes to the interview now. Factoring in the walk across the street to find the venue, it wasn't exactly a generous cushion of time. Moon-yeol looked prepared to die before returning her shoe, and Manager Yoon was sweating bullets trying to read his young master's mood.
In a state of half surrender, Hae-soo picked out the bag that looked to contain the cheapest pair and sank into a chair.
"I'll do it."
"No, please — I've got it."
Fending off Manager Yoon's helpfulness, she drew a pair of shoes from the box. From the very first touch, the weight alone set them apart from her own. The leather, when she pressed it, was remarkably soft, and the heel bore no resemblance to something hastily glued together.
Fine. Let's just say I'm treating myself to one proper pair while I'm at it. Something I can wear for years to come.
She'd accept the shoes, yes — but she had no intention of taking them for free with a grateful curtsy. She intended to pay, whether it was Moon-yeol she owed or Manager Yoon.
Having talked herself into the wisdom of good things are good things, Hae-soo slid her foot into the new shoe. It wasn't quite a sneaker, but the cushioning was pleasingly plush. She stood and marched in place. With every step, the hammer-blow ache that had been pounding the soles of her feet was simply gone. Her already-raw heels still stung, unavoidable as that was, but at this rate she could have run a race.
"I'll take this one."
"Oh? You won't look at the others?"
"I have somewhere urgent to be right now. I'm sorry, but there won't be time to try the rest on."
When she apologized once more with all the courtesy she could muster, Manager Yoon just waved it off with a good-natured smile.
"Um — forgive me for asking, but the price of these—"
"Finish up, and we'll get a meal."
Only now did Moon-yeol step forward, having spent the entire shoe-fitting session wandering around the table with his hands clasped behind his back. As if the meal were payment for the shoes, his watchful eyes held a brazen confidence — the look of a man who had deposited a dinner with her and fully expected it honored.
It was a childish, forced demand. Hae-soo ignored it entirely and turned stubbornly back to Manager Yoon, demanding an answer with her eyes alone. She raised her brows in a silent how much?, but no manager drawing a Seomoon paycheck was going to incur his young master's displeasure just to be courteous to her.
"If it's difficult to say, I'll look it up myself. Thank you."
"Ah — yes, yes, of course."
Leaving behind Manager Yoon, who ducked his head with an awkward shuffle, Hae-soo approached Moon-yeol, her solitary shoe still in hand.
"You're not giving mine back, are you."
Moon-yeol answered with silence. Hae-soo dropped the remaining shoe into his arms — thrust it at him, more like.
"Take 19,900 won off what I owe you. Consider that settled."
And with that, she scooped up her bag, spun on her heel, and walked out of the café without a backward glance.
Every step felt wrong as she moved out of his line of sight. If she didn't consciously watch what she was doing, it seemed entirely possible her same-side arm and leg would swing forward together. An act as natural and automatic as breathing had turned abruptly, unbearably strange. Like a toddler taking her very first steps.
New clothes, new shoes... that's why. That's the reason. That has to be it.
Even as she scraped together excuses, some part of her knew the truth. She was doing it because she was aware of the back of herself he was watching.
The assembly point was the convention center on the third floor of Seomoon Hotel. She arrived with twenty-two minutes to spare, and already a crowd of candidates had gathered, every one of them wearing the same rigid expression.
Hae-soo, whose face was little different from theirs, found an empty seat and sat down. A staffer who looked to be from the HR team soon came around confirming attendance against a list.
As her name went onto the roster, her stomach growled. It figured — the only things she'd eaten all day were a grain-porridge shake at the crack of dawn and the Americano she'd just ordered at the café.
Watch it, stomach.
At first she resolved to simply endure it. Then it dawned on her — what if it rumbled in the middle of the interview itself? Hae-soo made her way to the refreshments laid out at one end of the banquet hall and selected something modest enough to take the edge off: a chocolate bar the size of her thumb.
"Oh — here they come, I think."
"Whoa. Is it because they're executives? The aura on all of them is—"
As she made her way back to her seat, the candidates around her began to stir, visibly unsettled.
Six or so people — an even mix of ages and genders — were filing through the entrance of the convention center. They chatted and laughed among themselves with an easy, practiced familiarity, and the aura of unshakable composure radiating from them stood in perfect, suffocating contrast to the breathless tension on this side of the room.