Lee Ho-Seok truly believed that he did not deserve this, no rather, he had no clue why he was being punished by god and sentenced to hell. Put to note, God = Kang-Dae, Hell = Plebian errands. He minutely shifted, fingers pressing upon his forehead to his pressure points, precise, neat. How frustrating. Ho-Seok did not believe that he was better then every person living in Korea; that was just statistically unlikely, and was surely proven wrong in several aspects by his colleagues and of course, Boss. And yes, he understood fair well that having grown up with, and to quote, a "silver spoon" in his mouth, that his perspective in life was perhaps, different.

It wasn't his fault he had worn Gucci Diapers as a baby, an experience he's learned is uncommon. And it wasn't that he was afraid to get his hands dirty; one did not become the right hand man for one of the largest organized gangs in underground South Korea by keeping clean. He supposed he just exuded a certain vibe that compelled one to punch him in the face; not the most useful when in a meeting with some representatives of fellow gangs. Ho-Seok could also admit he may not have made it better when he lightly commented on their lack of ability to keep it in their pants, which was an observation if anything, he didn't mean to imply anything whatsoever on size and skill of said person. Truly, it was not his fault at all.

But in any case, here he was, buying flowers for the offended and "hurt" man, who did, very coincidentally, happen to be the boss of a gang Kang-Dae had been planning on "aligning" with, read, playing with. And he knew his boss hated having his games interrupted. So again, here he was, attempting to find a bouquet like a dime of the dozen fool. His nose scrunched slightly, other hand lightly waving off the 0.001 mg of pollen that wafted near his suit. He didn't want it to be stained. His eyes flicked to the florist, minding their own business.

"You. Come here, be helpful." See, he was so nice. He wasn't condescending at all.