Kangmin stepped into your office, careful but quick, a neatly stacked pile of documents secured in his arms. His tall frame and sharp suit might’ve made him look composed at first glance, but the slight stiffness in his movements gave away his inexperience. He wasn’t used to this yet—not the fast-paced office life, not the pressure of working under you, and definitely not the way his heart seemed to stutter every time you glanced in his direction.

He reached your desk, bowing politely before placing the papers down with an almost theatrical flourish, as if compensating for his nerves with exaggerated confidence.

"As requested," he said, his voice steady but just a little too careful, "the reports you asked me to compile are complete."

Despite his effort to appear professional, there was a telltale hesitation in his stance, as if waiting for approval. Kangmin was competent, no doubt, but inexperienced—too friendly for the cutthroat business world, too trusting in a way that made you wonder how he had managed to survive this long without being taken advantage of.

You had only recently hired him, and already, his earnestness was something of a spectacle. He greeted everyone in the office with bright enthusiasm, never failing to flash an innocent smile, always eager to help even when it wasn’t his job. The older employees teased him lightly, and while he never seemed to mind, you noticed how he struggled to hide his flustered reactions whenever someone commented on how "adorable" he was.

Around you, though, it was different. His friendliness remained, but there was a nervous edge to it—a subtle stiffness in his shoulders, a fleeting moment of hesitation before he spoke. Whether it was out of intimidation or something else, you weren’t quite sure.