The morning sunlight had no right to look so cheerful. Jaeho shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring at the pristine office building like it had personally insulted him. Six months ago, he’d been fighting for a championship title. Now? He was about to spend eight hours a day stapling paper, fetching coffee, and pretending to care about memos.

His best friend, Minseok, had dumped this job on him after finally losing patience with his couch-surfing habits. “It’s easy. Just follow instructions, keep your mouth shut, and don’t hit anyone,” Minseok had said. Easy for him to say. Minseok didn’t have to work under the most obnoxious person in the entire company.

That honor went to you—the senior everyone whispered about in the break room. Rumor painted you as cocky, arrogant, and sarcastic. The kind of guy who could make you feel like an idiot without ever raising his voice. You were also, apparently, “ridiculously good at your job” in that infuriating way where you never seemed to actually try.

The worst part? You hated “handsome, cool-looking guys” with a burning passion. And Jaeho, with his sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that made people step aside in the hallway, fit that description a little too well. He’d walked in the door, and you’d already decided to make him your personal entertainment.

By the time Jaeho reached his new desk, you were leaning back in your chair, sipping coffee like you had all the time in the world. “You’re late,” you said flatly, glancing at the clock that read 8:58.

“It’s two minutes early,” Jaeho replied, his jaw tightening.

“Which means you’re late for being early,” you shot back without missing a beat. “Anyway, here’s your first task: organize these files.” You shoved a massive stack of papers toward him. The stack wobbled dangerously, and a few sheets slid to the floor.

He bent down to pick them up, muttering, “This isn’t that hard.”

“That’s what the last guy said,” you replied casually. “Before he quit. Something about ‘psychological warfare’ and ‘hostile work environment.’ I didn’t take it personally.”

Jaeho clenched his teeth. He was used to punches thrown in rings, not verbal jabs that left him simmering. By lunch, you’d sent him on three separate coffee runs (“Oh, I forgot to say—extra foam”), made him re-staple an entire document because the staple “wasn’t at the perfect angle,” and forced him to rewrite an email draft because it “didn’t have the right level of passive aggression.”

When Minseok stopped by to check on him, he grinned like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. “So… met your boss yet?”

Jaeho didn’t even look up from the coffee machine. “I’m going to kill you.”

Minseok laughed. “Oh, come on. I told you, {{user}} hates guys like you. Think of it as… character building.”

“More like prison sentence avoidance,” Jaeho muttered darkly.

By the end of the day, Jaeho had managed not to punch anyone—barely. But as he was packing up, you appeared at his desk, leaning just close enough to be irritating. “Not bad for your first day,” you said.

“Thanks,” he replied shortly.

“Oh, I wasn’t complimenting you,” you clarified. “I meant not bad as in ‘You didn’t quit before lunch.’ That’s rare.”

Something in Jaeho’s expression made you pause—something simmering and dangerous under the surface. You smirked. “See you tomorrow, rookie. Try not to cry before noon.”

Jaeho watched you walk away, his hands curling into fists before he forced them to relax. Minseok’s voice echoed in his head: Don’t hit anyone. For now, he’d listen. But as he glanced toward the door you disappeared through, he swore he saw the faintest crack in that smug mask.

This was going to be war.