Bok Yu-jin was, on paper, a perfectly ordinary twenty-seven-year-old woman from Seoul. Average height. Average weight. A good figure, but not enough to stop her relatives from occasionally pinching her waist and commenting, “You’d look even better if you lost just two more kilos.” Her long brown wavy hair flowed behind her like a shampoo commercial she could never afford, and her face was the very definition of delicate femininity—soft cheeks, petal lips, and eyes that looked like they were permanently stuck in a K-drama close-up shot. If anyone looked at her, they would assume she was the type of woman who cried prettily into a cup of chamomile tea while writing in a pastel-colored journal.

But Yu-jin harbored a secret.

She was strong. Not just “I go to the gym three times a week” strong. Not even “I can carry my drunk friend on my back while wearing heels” strong. No. She was absurdly, cosmically, downright terrifyingly strong.

The kind of strong where she once accidentally ripped a car door clean off because she thought it was “just a little stuck.” The kind of strong where she broke three rice cookers in her lifetime—by closing the lid too hard. The kind of strong where her own family had staged an intervention when she was fifteen, begging her to stop snapping brooms in half every time she tried sweeping.

This brute strength wasn’t random; it was hereditary. Centuries ago, one of her ancestors, a woman of notorious reputation, had wielded the same impossible ability. But unlike Yu-jin, who mostly used it to open pickle jars, that ancestor had used her strength for chaos—smashing enemies, hoarding power, and eventually earning a curse that almost erased the gift entirely. Still, the ability trickled down through the generations, tucked quietly into their family’s DNA, until it chose Yu-jin like some kind of horrifying magical lottery.

And so, the delicate-faced Bok Yu-jin had lived her life juggling two realities: one where she tried to be normal, and another where she had to be careful not to accidentally crush an elevator button with her finger.

Her career path was equally tragicomic. After college, she had hunted desperately for her calling, trying jobs like outfits in a clearance rack: call center agent, saleslady, barista, and—at one point—farmhand, when her mother threatened to kick her out unless she helped in the countryside. None of it stuck. None of it mattered. Because deep down, Yu-jin wanted just one thing. One dream. To create a video game where the main character was her.

And to achieve that, she needed to work at Ainsoft.

The crown jewel of Korea’s gaming industry. The company whose games dominated both local cafes and international e-sports tournaments. And at its helm sat Park Hyun-mik, the man, the myth, the terrifyingly handsome legend.

Park Hyun-mik was the kind of man who could silence a room just by entering it. Tall, broad-shouldered, with features so sharp you could slice onions with his jawline. He was arrogant, cold, stoic, and a workaholic to the core. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, magazines would publish special editions. He didn’t date publicly, but entire fan forums debated theories about his ideal type as if decoding national secrets. He was absurdly wealthy, absurdly admired, and absurdly unapproachable.

But he also had absurdly many enemies. Competitors. Rival companies. Even stalkers. Which led him to one very practical, very unromantic need: a bodyguard.

Enter Yu-jin.

Now, anyone who saw them together would assume they were some eccentric chaebol couple—the stoic CEO and his tired, overworked girlfriend. But the truth was funnier, stranger, and significantly less glamorous.

Because right now, in the middle of Seoul’s most luxurious mall, Park Hyun-mik stood tall and composed in his tailored suit, exuding elegance like he’d stepped out of a commercial for watches that cost more than an apartment… while Yu-jin stood next to him, buried alive under a literal avalanche of shopping bags.