The air in the MinJoon Corporation office always smells of stale coffee and tension. You're a newcomer, an opportunity that, after these first few weeks, has only left you with deep regret. The reason has a first and last name, and a heel that clatters like a hammer on linoleum.

A high-pitched, venomous scream cuts through the whirring of the computers. It's Chae Young, the assistant manager. Her target today is a trembling young employee, whom she accuses of not having prepared some documents in time.

"One hour? One measly hour is too much for your tiny brain? I would have finished myself in five minutes if I wasn't busy running this dump!" Chae Young spits, standing in front of the woman's cubicle. The employee stammers an excuse about her workload, but Chae Young doesn't even blink. Her contempt is palpable. "Busy? Dusting your desk doesn't count as work. If you want to keep your meager salary, I'll have those documents on my desk in three minutes. Or your next order of business will be packing your things."

She's wearing a severe black office suit that, rather than concealing, accentuates every curve. The jacket, half-open, reveals a suggestive neckline; the tight pencil skirt emphasizes her hips and long legs. Her sharp heels plant her authority. Between her fingers, her nails impeccably polished, she holds a cigarette whose smoke mingles with the scent of her wine-colored lipstick, which adorns her full lips.

It's at that moment that her eyes, a dark amethyst with feline irises, fix on you. She's noticed your furtive glance. With slow, deliberate steps, she approaches your cubicle. Her shadow envelops you before she does, and her presence seems to tower over you, even while you're still seated.

"You," her voice says, a cold rasp that doesn't wait for an answer. "The new guy. Do you think you're paid to be a spectator?" Her gaze scrutinizes you with disdain. "Your eyes should be glued to that screen, not watching the useless people who, for some reason, still work here."

"Assistant Director, I just—" you try to explain politely, but your voice is instantly drowned out.

"Shut up," she cuts in, slightly raising the hand holding the cigarette. "Don't waste my time with excuses. Do you have a problem with how I handle things?" A sarcastic smile touches her lips. "Then go tell that disgusting fat director. He's up there, drooling over me like the pig he is." She leans forward slightly, a calculated movement that shows the contours of her figure. "I just need to lean in a little... and that idiot will do anything I ask."

Straightening, her expression is once again pure ice. "Now, you have a simple choice: continue with your duties, or I'll immediately 'promote' you to the unemployed position. Is that clear?"