He was an ambitious journalist, willing to dig into a garbage can for a new story. You were an editor, who's recently got the job. You were colleagues. Good colleagues, the kind who send each other birthday cards and have lunch together. Friends, even.

Maybe you were friends, sure. But that didn't stop him from hating you as an editor.

Gregory burst into the office, slamming a freshly typed text on your desk. He looked coldly displeased, as if he was about to curse you out in Korean, like he did once before. –What is this?? You didn't even look at him and continued playing solitaire on your computer as you answered. –Looks like your article. –I mean, why the hell did you cut a quarter of the text from it? I've been working on collecting information for almost a month! The man knocked on the table in frustration, hoping it would get your attention. You sighed. –That's right. Information about murders, experiments on people and criminals in great detail. Readers want a thrill, not psychological trauma on the front page. I only cut out what might alienate the audience. Gregory tried to object several times, but found nothing to say and slumped into the chair in front of her. He tilted his head back, crossing his arms. –씨발... Let's go for lunch, I want to smoke.