The mall deal closed clean, every signature in place, every number on the estimate matching what Mr.
Cho had agreed to weeks earlier.
Ishaan sat in the room for the whole thing, watching Jihoon walk through the timeline point by point until Mr.
Cho finally nodded and signed the last page.
“That’s it,” Mr.
Cho said, setting the pen down.
“It’s actually happening.”
“It’s happening,” Jihoon confirmed, shaking his hand.
By lunchtime, the whole team had gathered around the break room table, riding the kind of easy relief that came after closing something that had nearly gone sideways more than once.
“And then,” Junho was saying, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks, “I fought off three of them single-handed, no talismans, bare fists only—”
“That’s not what happened,” Yuna said quietly, not even looking up from her food.
“I’m telling the story.”
“You’re lying in the story.”
“There was one guy,” Somi said, grinning.
“One.
And Baek’s the one who actually dealt with him.”
“I do remember that part,” Baek said.
“Vaguely recall being useful, unlike some people.”
“Slander,” Junho said, entirely unbothered.
The company phone buzzed against the table before Ishaan could enjoy the bit any further.
He checked the screen.
Front desk.
“This is Ishaan.”
“There’s a client here,” the receptionist said, voice tight.
“Very insistent.
Wants to see Mr.
Kang right now, no appointment.”
“Can you hold for a second?”
Ishaan set down his chopsticks and pulled out his planner, scanning the afternoon.
“There’s exactly one open slot,” he told her.
“Right after lunch.
I don’t know if he’ll go for that.”
He heard her relay it, muffled, then a man’s voice cutting through sharp enough to carry through the phone anyway.
My time is valuable.
I don’t wait around.
A pause.
Then, grudgingly, “Fine.
I’ll wait in the lobby.”
“He’s agreed to wait,” the receptionist said.
“You should probably come get him yourself.”
“On my way.”
Ishaan knocked on Jihoon’s office door and stuck his head in.
Jihoon looked up from a report, unbothered.
“Important visitor downstairs.
No appointment, but he’s not leaving.”
“Bring him up,” Jihoon said, already turning back to his paperwork.
Downstairs, the man in question stood near the front desk in an expensive coat, arms crossed, radiating impatience.
“I’m Mr.
Kang’s personal assistant,” Ishaan said, bowing slightly.
“I’ll take you up.”
The man looked him over like he was something stuck to the bottom of a shoe.
“Fine.
Let’s go.”
Ishaan led him to the elevator without another word, sizing him up along the way.
Mid-forties, maybe pushing fifty, the kind of confidence that came from decades of people flinching when he raised his voice.
At Jihoon’s office, Ishaan knocked once and opened the door.
Jihoon stood the second he saw who it was.
“Mr.
Yang.” His voice stayed even, professional, but something tightened at the corners of his eyes.
“You took one of our clients,” Mr.
Yang said, not bothering with a greeting.
Ishaan hovered near the door, unsure whether to sit, glancing at Mr.
“Please, elaborate,” Jihoon said.
“The mall property.
Your company’s about to get all the credit for the redevelopment, and my firm did significant work on that site before you ever showed up.”
What work?
Ishaan thought.
He genuinely didn’t remember any mention of it, not once, not in any file he’d read.
“I understand your frustration,” Jihoon said, calm as ever.
“But the client came to us specifically.
He told us your firm hadn’t accomplished anything in six months.”
Mr.
Yang’s face darkened.
“Nothing accomplished?
We ran a full survey.
We had expansion plans in motion.
Our interior team had already started conceptual work.” He leaned forward, hands flat on the desk.
“And at the last possible moment, he pulled everything and walked straight to you.
You should have some business integrity.
You don’t just take another firm’s client out from under them.”
Ishaan blinked.
He hadn’t realized there was an actual ethics code in an industry this cutthroat.
Jihoon caught the look on his face and said nothing about it, turning his attention fully back to Mr.
Yang instead.
“Mr.
Yang,” Jihoon said, deliberately dropping the honorific most people used with him.
“The client approached me directly.
He wanted speed, and he prepaid for our assessment before we agreed to anything.
Once that assessment’s complete, the job is ours.
If a client leaves your firm for mine, that’s not something I’m responsible for managing.”
Mr.
Yang stood so fast his chair scraped hard against the floor.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“Keep that in mind.”
He swept out of the office as sharply as he’d arrived, his assistant trailing behind him without a word.
Ishaan let out a breath once the door clicked shut.
“So is real estate just…
whoever claims it first, it’s theirs forever?”
Jihoon laughed, the tension draining out of his shoulders all at once.
“No, nothing like that.
Just old rivalry.
His firm’s been competing with ours for years.
Whenever a client switches sides, it stings a little more than it probably should.”
“That happens a lot?”
“Often enough that the old receptionist used to announce him like he was some kind of natural disaster.
New girl doesn’t know him yet.” Jihoon smiled slightly.
“Give it time.”
“So are we actually building a mall there?” Ishaan asked, settling into the chair across from him.
“Not anymore, actually.
After the assessment, there’s basically no foot traffic out there.
We’re pivoting to residential, an apartment complex instead.
Gives the district an actual reason to exist again.”
“Wait, I thought the whole point was rebuilding the mall specifically.”
“The mall’s moving to a separate plot.
Client’s negotiating that piece on his own for now.
We don’t have to worry about it.” Jihoon leaned back in his chair.
“Don’t worry about Yang either.
He’ll be back the next time one of his clients decides we’re the better option.
It’s basically routine at this point.”
Ishaan glanced at his planner, something catching his eye.
“There’s a block from three to five.
“Him?” Jihoon actually laughed at that.
“No.
Give the man a name at least.
That one’s Chairman Oh.
One of the biggest tech conglomerates in the country.
We should use the other meeting room for him.”
“The better one?”
“The one with the actual couch, yeah.”
Ishaan spent the next half hour arranging it properly, tea prepared fresh, an extra batch set aside in case more guests than expected showed up, every cushion straightened twice out of nerves he couldn’t quite explain.
Chairman Oh Seokhoon arrived a few minutes past two thirty, an older man with silver hair and sharp eyes that didn’t miss much.
His son walked in half a step behind him, tall and composed in a dark suit.
“Chairman Oh,” Jihoon said, standing to greet them both.
“And Taejin.
Good to see you again.”
“Look at you,” Chairman Oh said, taking Jihoon’s hand warmly.
“You’ve grown so much since I last saw you.”
“That’s entirely thanks to my parents,” Jihoon said.
“Still humble as ever.” Chairman Oh chuckled, settling onto the couch while his son took the seat beside him.
Ishaan poured tea for both of them with careful precision, setting a cup in front of each in turn.
“I have a factory up north,” Chairman Oh said, once the small talk had run its course.
“I want it demolished.
Clear the land completely, so I can hand the property to one of my grandsons to build on.”
“Of course,” Jihoon said.
“We’d be glad to look into it.”
“I won’t lie to you.” Chairman Oh’s expression shifted, something more careful settling in.
“That place has always felt wrong to me.
Cold some days for no reason.
Hot other days, same way.
Sometimes I can barely catch my breath standing in it.”
Taejin cleared his throat.
“Please don’t mind him.
He’s gotten a little superstitious in his old age.” He glanced at his father, something fond but exasperated in the look.
“We just want the land back in usable condition.
It’s overgrown now, there’s debt attached to it, and public protests eventually got the factory shut down entirely by the government.
We’re still deciding what to build there.
Office space, maybe another company facility, or residential.
Nothing’s final yet.”
“We’d like to assess it properly before we commit either way,” Jihoon said.
“Take your time,” Taejin said.
“No rush on our end.”
Chairman Oh’s eyes drifted toward Ishaan for the first time since sitting down, studying him with open curiosity.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a foreign personal assistant,” he said, tilting his head slightly.
“He’s efficient,” Jihoon said simply.
Chairman Oh hummed, low and thoughtful, gaze drifting toward the window for a moment before settling back on Ishaan directly.
“I don’t want this to sound strange,” he said slowly, choosing his words with obvious care, “and I don’t mean to be negative about my own property before you’ve even looked at it.
But there was one time, walking the factory floor alone, when I saw someone standing at the far end of the building.
A person.
Just standing there, watching me.”
The room went quiet.
“I called out.
Nobody answered.
When I walked closer, there was nobody there at all.” Chairman Oh’s gaze stayed fixed on Ishaan, like he was searching his face for some kind of confirmation.
“I’ve never told anyone that.
It sounds foolish, saying it out loud like this.
But something about the way you carry yourself makes me think you might actually understand what I mean.”
Ishaan’s mouth went dry.
He didn’t know what it was yet.
He didn’t know if it was small or massive, contained or spreading, one of the low, flickering things he dealt with on an ordinary Tuesday or something closer to what had been waiting inside that mall.
But something in the old man’s voice told him it wasn’t nothing.
“I’d like to take a look,” Ishaan said quietly, before he’d even fully decided to say it.
“If that’s alright.”
Chairman Oh studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, like that answer had told him something too.