* * *

After sipping his drink, he shifted his crossed legs, a relaxed yet deliberate movement.

“What about you, Writer Seo? Tell me about your family.”

Caught off guard, Jungyoon hesitated.

His gaze dropped to Taerim’s perfectly straight legs, stalling.

Taerim waited patiently, his demeanor steady and unwavering.

“My parents passed away when I was young. I have no siblings. My grandfather raised me until his death eight years ago.”

“And this… family-like person you mentioned?”

Jungyoon lifted his eyes slowly.

For such a casual question, Taerim’s expression was devoid of humor.

It was unnervingly earnest.

The weight of the moment made Jungyoon’s throat tighten.

He took a deep breath to steady himself.

“A close… older brother.”

“Must be very close. Most wouldn’t call an unrelated person ‘family.’”

Ignoring the implication, Jungyoon lowered his head, fixing his gaze on the open diary.

If their eyes met now, he feared he’d be drawn into Taerim’s pace.

“What’s your usual schedule like, CEO Yoon?”

“I wake around 6 a.m., exercise, skim the news, and start work around 8. My end time varies.”

Workaholic. It was incredible that someone with such a packed routine showed no signs of fatigue.

“And weekends?”

“Packed with meetings and events. Hardly restful.”

“Do you ever have free time? Like meeting friends?”

“Friends.”

The word rolled off Taerim’s tongue as if it were foreign.

He chuckled, covering his mouth with the glass.

“I have acquaintances from the U.S. Quite a few are in Korea now. Most are from prominent families, so we run into each other often enough at gatherings. I suppose they count as friends.”

“Your life seems… relentless.”

“Boring, you mean. I agree.”

Taerim’s lips curled into a soft smirk as he murmured the words, his sharp gaze landing squarely on Jungyoon.

“What about you, Writer Seo?”

“…Me?”

Faced with the return question, Jungyoon reflected on his own life. Unlike the CEO, his days were unstructured and aimless.

He was more of a night owl, rarely exercised, and often skipped meals.

Most of his time was spent holed up at home, buried in books—his sole pastime and escape.

“Thinking about it, my life’s duller than yours. Not relentless, just boring.”

“Isn’t your twenties a time for hanging out with friends and enjoying romance?”

“I dropped out of high school early. Thinking back, I don’t think I had anyone I could call a real friend.”

“Then I suppose your older brother figure is your only friend?”

“…”

Why was the conversation heading in that direction again?

Jungyoon couldn’t handle the gaze locked onto him, so he bowed his head low.

On the open notebook before him, he scratched out the section titled “Romance? Partner?” with heavy lines.
Asking about this might just be like throwing himself into a trap.

Sensing the discomfort in the air, Yoon Taerim smoothly changed the topic.

“How long does it usually take you to write a book?”

“It varies.”

“What about your most recent work?”

“I think it took about a year and a half, including the preparation phase.”

“Was becoming a writer always your dream?”
“Rather than a dream, I think it was just the natural path I ended up on. I lived with my grandfather when I was young, and our house was always filled with books. My uncles were apprentices in writing too, so wherever I went, the environment always revolved around writing.”

“Having people around you who write doesn’t necessarily shape your taste. Besides, you’re also talented.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to call it talent.”

“Having three annual bestsellers isn’t talent? Then what is it, luck?”

Jungyoon was at a loss for words.

Arguing further would likely fail to convince Yoon Taerim, but admitting it felt embarrassingly self-congratulatory.

Jungyoon busied himself with aimless doodles in his notebook to avoid the gaze fixed on him.

“What about you? Did you have a dream?”

“It’s similar to your situation. The path I had to take was already laid out for me from the moment I was born. I just followed the carpet the adults rolled out for me, and here I am, a manager. I never thought of anything else.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“I don’t dislike it. It suits me well enough, and I think I’ve seen some results proportional to the skills I’ve built.”

“Not ‘well enough’—you’ve clearly excelled.”

After graduating from an Ivy League university in the United States, Yoon Taerim joined the Royal Peak Hotel in Chicago as an entry-level employee.

He climbed the ranks rapidly, eventually becoming the vice president.

This rise could certainly be attributed to his family background.

But his abilities were not to be underestimated.

During his time as vice president, a project he led reportedly boosted operating profits by 45%.

Perhaps due to this track record, the stock price of Royal Peak had steadily climbed since Yoon Taerim assumed the position of CEO.

“Let’s stop flattering each other here.”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

The conversation concluded neatly, which was a relief.

Being the first meeting, neither of them intended to delve too deep.

Jungyoon skimmed through his notes to ensure he hadn’t missed anything important.

“Have you ever been to the Presidential Suite before?”

Suddenly, Yoon Taerim spoke up. Jungyoon slowly shook his head.

“I’ve never stayed at a hotel before.”

“Would you like to take a look? We still have some time left.”

“Sure.”

There was no reason to refuse. He was admittedly curious about the luxurious hotel interior.

The experience of exploring the much-talked-about Presidential Suite was rare indeed.

The expansive living room overlooked a stunning view of the Han River, and the suite boasted multiple bedrooms, a dressing room, a fully-equipped open kitchen and dining room, a spacious jacuzzi bathtub, and a dry sauna.

So this is what a luxury hotel is like.

Jungyoon was quietly awestruck by the endless series of lavish spaces.

While his expression barely shifted, he was visibly impressed.

Though not all hotel rooms were like this, the Presidential Suite was far grander and more opulent than anything he had imagined.

The sheer level of affluence was enough to make him feel intimidated.

Even so, he mentally recorded every detail, hoping to use it as inspiration someday.

The furniture and lighting all exuded extravagance, and every inch of the suite was perfectly immaculate, constantly reminding him he was in a hotel.

“How much does a night here cost?”

Walking beside him, Yoon Taerim answered nonchalantly.

“It varies by season, but right now, about 20 million won.”

“I could never even dream of affording that.”

“It’s usually reserved for state guests or foreign VIPs. Occasionally, some rich folks book it out of vanity, but we typically decline.”

“…I see.”

There was an identical suite next door, which Taerim reportedly occupied.

The other Presidential Suite remained deliberately empty, unused by guests.

“Is that really okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“Leaving such an expensive room vacant. Isn’t that a loss?”

Taerim suddenly stopped walking.

“Are you worried about the hotel’s revenue?”

His low chuckle resonated, slipping into Jungyoon’s ears.

Feeling embarrassed for his unsolicited concern, Jungyoon rubbed his warming earlobe.

“The Presidential Suite isn’t operated for profit in the first place, so it’s fine.”

“Got it.”

“For the record, I pay for my stay as well. Just so there’s no misunderstanding.”

“I think you’ve teased me enough for today.”

After completing their tour, the two moved to the dining room.

Taerim handed over a glass bottle of water with a casual gesture.

Parched, Jungyoon accepted it gratefully.

Seated across the wooden bar table, they continued their conversation.

The topics revolved around the hotel—its usual clientele, their age demographics, financial brackets, and professions.

While the subjects were professional, Taerim explained them with such clarity that Jungyoon had no trouble keeping up.

When a lull in their talk arose, Jungyoon’s gaze wandered to the pristine kitchen.

He was intrigued by the idea of a hotel suite equipped with a full kitchen, something he’d never encountered before.

“Do you cook yourself?”

“I can handle simple dishes, but I prefer not to in the suite. The lingering smell bothers me, and room service is always an option.”

It was said that the wealthy paid attention to every detail, even their food.

Rumor had it that children from such families weren’t allowed instant food or street snacks.

Curious, Jungyoon asked, “Have you ever eaten… ramen?”

“Do you like ramen?” Taerim responded with a question.

With a faintly ambiguous expression, Jungyoon replied, “I wouldn’t say I like it. It’s just convenient for quick meals.”

“I see.”

“And you enjoy alcohol, but have you tried soju?”

“Once or twice. I recall it didn’t suit my taste.”

“I see.”
Jungyoon imagined Taerim, in a chaotic bar or his private space, with a pot of ramen and a green soju bottle.

It was such an ill-fitting image that it made him chuckle softly.

* * *