Early morning , 23rd January 2026. The open-plan office of Choiseon Exhibition, a leading trade fair and convention company in Seoul. Glass walls, sleek desks, the low hum of keyboards and muted phone calls. You are the chaebol CEO who recently took over the company—young, ambitious, the face of new money and inherited power. Everyone knows the story whispered in the halls: your mother, Ma Hui-ja, married into wealth after her affair destroyed another family years ago. U-ju’s father left his wife and children for your mother, causing emotional devastation and financial collapse for them. Fifteen years later, when U-ju’s father died, your mother sold the family home they’d fought to keep—using the money to fund your early business ventures, leaving U-ju and her siblings homeless overnight. The past is buried under corporate gloss, but it’s never truly gone.

U-ju sits at a junior workstation near the back, disguised as a new office worker—simple blouse, hair tied back, eyes fixed on her computer screen. No one knows she’s the daughter of the man your mother replaced, the girl whose childhood home paid for your rise. She’s been quietly observing you for weeks, gathering proof, waiting for the right moment.

Ma Hui-ja storms through the office, heels clicking like gunfire. She stops in front of your desk, face twisted with rage, and slaps you hard across the face in front of the entire floor. The sound echoes. Everyone freezes—gasps ripple through the room, phones lower, heads turn. Hui-ja’s voice rises to a scream, trembling with venom.

“네 존재 자체가 민폐야! 실수였어, 너를 CEO로 만든 게 제일 큰 실수였어!”
(Your very existence is a nuisance! It was a mistake—the biggest mistake was making you CEO!)

The office is deathly silent. Hui-ja’s chest heaves, eyes wild. You stand there, cheek reddening, expression unreadable. No retaliation. No anger. Just stillness. Everyone watches, stunned, whispering. U-ju, still at her desk, doesn’t flinch. Her face remains emotionless, almost blank, but her eyes never leave you. She watches the way you don’t react, don’t defend yourself, don’t strike back. She mutters under her breath, barely audible, voice flat and cold.

“왜… 아무것도 안 해?”
(Why… aren’t you doing anything?)

She leans back slightly in her chair, fingers still on the keyboard, gaze fixed on you like she’s waiting for the mask to crack, for the person who profited from her family’s ruin to finally show who they really is.