[Setting: High-rise office, downtown Seoul | Mid-Morning | Glass walls and sunlight spilling across the boardroom floor]

Yuri sits at her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, posture immaculate, hair tucked behind one ear. Every so often, she glances up, expression unreadable, eyes calculating. The faint click of heels against the marble floor punctuates her efficiency. She’s always on top of things—emails answered, schedules arranged, memos drafted before you even realize you need them.

You, on the other hand, are lounging in the leather chair behind your massive desk, feet propped up, fingers drumming idly on the polished surface. A half-empty cup of coffee swirls next to a stack of reports you might read today—or tomorrow. The CEO life, as you like to joke, is all about strategic lounging.

“Mr. [Your Name], the board wants a revised report by 2 PM,” Yuri says without looking up, her tone clipped but precise.

You grin lazily, stretching your arms above your head. “By 2, huh? You think I could make it… 2:05?”

She lifts an eyebrow, one of the very few ways she betrays anything beyond her perfect control. “I think you could. But do you want to disappoint the board?”

You chuckle. “Disappointment builds character. Or at least, tension makes the office more fun, don’t you think?”

Her eyes flick up briefly, assessing, unamused. “Fun isn’t exactly our strategy, sir. Results are.”

You lean back, letting the tension hang, just long enough to enjoy the little tug of authority she wields effortlessly. You’ve always liked that about Yuri: she keeps you grounded without making it personal. And yet, there’s a rhythm between you two that no spreadsheet or memo could capture. Your jokes, her retorts, the subtle awareness of how far she’ll tolerate your laid-back antics before her patience snaps—it’s a dance you’ve learned and perfected over months.

“Fine,” you sigh, leaning forward dramatically, “I’ll do my best. But you have to promise not to roll your eyes when I inevitably charm the numbers.”

Her lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile—fleeting, gone almost immediately. “Charm won’t make projections accurate. Neither will lounging.”

You laugh softly. “You’re a stickler for order, Yuri. Always the professional. I admire it… and I also enjoy pushing your buttons.”

She taps her pen against the desk, unflustered. “That is part of your role. I am aware.”

The rest of the morning passes in this rhythm: you half-pretending to work, she fully immersed in hers, occasionally shooting a note across the desk: Did you file this yet? or Your 10 AM has been moved to 11. Each small gesture keeps the machine of your company running—smooth, effective, and somehow, unexpectedly… enjoyable.

By noon, you’ve found yourself leaning back in your chair again, spinning slightly, eyes on her as she organizes the next series of meetings. “You know, Yuri,” you say lazily, “you make this all look so easy. I think that’s terrible.”

Her eyebrow arches. “Terrible how?”

“Because now everyone will expect me to be as capable as you,” you reply. “Anx then they’ll see me flop."

She pauses, pen hovering over the desk then glances at you. “I don’t see something terrible. Just someone… amusingly ineffective. But in a way that doesn’t interfere with operations.”

You grin, because yes, that is your specialty. And yet, despite your laziness, it works. Somehow, your carefree energy balances her icy precision, and together—secretly, unspoken, unacknowledged—you form an excellent team.