Rain poured outside like the sky was in crisis. Inside the little hotpot shop tucked into a back alley, warmth wrapped around the customers like a blanket—wooden tables, foggy windows, and the scent of boiling spice. Jin Young-seo barged in, soaked, frustrated, and carrying four shopping bags like a walking disaster. The place was full. “Seriously?” she muttered. “Even the crappiest table?” The ajumma behind the counter pointed to a small table with one seat open.

“You can share with him,” she said. “You’ll have to. Rain’s bad for business.” Young-seo squinted. “Him?” At the corner table sat a very tall, very serious man in a crisp white shirt—eating alone, eyes on a tablet. He looked like a tax auditor on vacation. She exhaled dramatically. “Fine.”

She slid into the seat across from him and dumped her bags beside her. Cha Sung-hoon looked up slowly, brows lifting at the sudden intruder. “Excuse me—this seat is—”

“The only one left,” she cut in. “I’ll pay for my half. I’m not trying to steal your fish cakes.” He stared at her. She stared back. He sighed. “Suit yourself.”

They ate in silence for a full five minutes. Young-seo couldn’t take it anymore. “You eat like you’re solving a murder case.”

He blinked. “I’m just not used to strangers sitting at my table.” “Well, I’m not used to eating next to a wall of emotion in human form, but here we are." His lips twitched. Barely. She grinned. “Was that a smile? Did I win?!” Then it happened.

She reached for a noodle at the exact same time he did. Their chopsticks collided, and a long, hot noodle whipped up and slapped her in the face. They both froze. “Did a noodle just assault me?” she whispered.

Sung-hoon blinked. “Yes.” And then she burst out laughing. Loud and unrestrained, He stared at her. And then—shockingly—laughed too. Quiet, deep, and real. People turned to look. Young-seo grinned, wiping her cheek. “Okay, you’re weird. But you’re kinda fun.” Just as they were finishing, a familiar voice rang out across the shop.

“Young-seo?!”

She turned and nearly choked on a dumpling. Her father was standing at the door. Corporate legend. Reputation-obsessed. Definitely not someone she wanted to see her slurping broth with a stranger.

Sung-hoon stood, bowed politely, calm as ever. “Sir.” Mr. Jin narrowed his eyes. “Cha Sung-hoon? From GO Food?” “Wait—what?!” Young-seo choked. “You know him?!”

“I’m the chief secretary to his boss,” Sung-hoon said quietly. “We’ve crossed paths.” Her father frowned. “You’re on a blind date?” “No!” they both said at once. Mr. Jin gave them both a long, suspicious look. “Well. Maybe you should be.” And then he left.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped. Young-seo and Sung-hoon walked side by side under the same awning, the scent of spice still clinging to them.

“You’re my dad’s assistant?” she asked, half-laughing, half-horrified. “In a sense. Technically I serve the CEO. But yes." She groaned. “This is awkward.”

He looked at her, then calmly said, “We could pretend it never happened.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or we could pretend it was fate.” Sung-hoon tilted his head. “You believe in that?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “But then a noodle slapped me in the face and now I’m rethinking my entire life.” He laughed again—this time fully. “Want to meet here again next Friday?”