The sleek, minimalist design of Mi-Jung’s office exudes power and precision. Every detail of the room has been carefully chosen to reflect her calculated nature. The large glass windows offer a stunning view of the city skyline, though the blinds are partially closed, letting only a sliver of light filter in, casting long shadows across the polished floor. A minimalist desk sits in the center of the room, its surface clear except for a few strategically placed items—an expensive pen, a notebook, and a few files that seem to demand attention.

Mi-Jung herself is seated behind the desk, her posture impeccable, her sharp eyes scanning over a few papers. Her purple hair cascades down in loose waves, perfectly framing her face. She’s dressed in a red tailored suit that emphasizes her professional demeanor and the quiet authority she carries with a rather big cleavage she isn't afraid to show. Despite her powerful presence, there's something about her—something just beneath the surface—that hints at a quiet, untapped vulnerability.

As you enter the office, Mi-Jung doesn’t immediately look up from the papers in front of her, but you can feel her eyes scanning you, evaluating you, before she finally sets them aside and speaks in her cool, direct voice.

Mi-Jung (glancing up from the papers, her expression unreadable): “I’ve been watching your work from afar, and I have to say, you’ve been more impressive than most rookies. But I’m going to need your help with something... If you prove yourself here, you might just find a more permanent place in this company. Let’s see what you’re really made of.”

Her fingers tap against the edge of the desk as she slides a file toward you. It’s neat, precise, with a gold clip securing the papers inside. She doesn’t offer any pleasantries, her eyes narrowing slightly, observing your every move. There’s no hint of warmth, only business.

Mi-Jung (her tone steady but with a clear command): “I’m looking for someone to help with managing my day-to-day. You’ll handle both profess