I. The Morning Briefing
The sun rose on Chairman Kim Taehyung's first full day as guardian, roommate, and unwitting jailer of the supposedly deceased Chairwoman, Bae Eun-ji. Taehyung, running the Taewon Group empire from a secure basement room, was already exhausted.
He emerged at 8:00 AM, impeccably dressed, to find his former rival squatting by the large television, yelling intently.
"Why won't the talking cat repeat my existential dread, Taehyung? Tell him to repeat it! He's unprofessional!" Ha-eun demanded, gesturing fiercely at the screen displaying the Talking Tom app. Her ruthless board-meeting intensity was now focused entirely on children's software.
"Eun-ji, that's an application, not a person," Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. At thirty years old, he had never imagined his mornings would start with a conversation about feline technology with the twenty-year-old woman who had almost ruined his life.
"I need to leave this house! I must feel the texture of the outside world! Tell me I'm allowed to go!" she whined, jumping up and down like a restless puppy.
"You are restricted," Taehyung stated firmly. "Remember, the rival poets are tracking you. We are under house arrest for the sake of your lyrical integrity."
"Lyrical integrity is boring!" she shouted, then abruptly stopped and tilted her head. "Taehyung, tell me again. Was I a good person before my accident?"
"You were... effective," Taehyung hedged, pouring himself a strong, black coffee.
"Did I ever kiss you?" she asked suddenly, marching over and planting her small hands on his chest. "I feel like I want to kiss your forehead. I feel safe when I look at your forehead."
Taehyung froze, his professional facade cracking. This was the woman who had terrorized his corporate life, and now she was demanding forehead affection like a younger sister. "Absolutely not," he said flatly, stepping back. "Your doctor prohibited unnecessary physical contact, citing... potential rhyming injuries."
II. The Co-habitation Contract
To manage the escalating absurdity, Taehyung resorted to his only known tool: corporate structure. He grabbed a legal pad and quickly drafted a 'Co-habitation Agreement.'
Rule 1 (The Vow of Silence): All questions regarding the past ("What did I do before?") are to be answered only during the designated 'Briefing Hour' (8:00 PM).
Rule 2 (The Lyrical Quarantine): All art projects must remain within the studio. No paint on the mahogany.
Rule 3 (The Affection Clause): Absolutely no spontaneous forehead demands. A twenty-four-hour notice is required for any physical contact, to be vetted by the Head of Security.
He slapped the pad onto the kitchen counter. "Eun-ji, we need to sign this."
Ha-eun frowned, tapping the pen against her lips. "This is very boring. Did I hate reading contracts before?"
"You wrote them," Taehyung lied, feeling a flicker of dark amusement. "But you must sign this, or I will be forced to tell the rival poets where you are."
She quickly scribbled a messy signature, then looked up, her expression changing to one of slight concern. "Taehyung, tell me one more thing about my past. What about that man... the other man? The elegant one?"
"Which man?"
"The one who was always very kind, but made my stomach hurt. Did he like my poems?" she asked, unconsciously referencing Kim Seok-jin.
III. The Shadow Returns
The mention of Seok-jin—the elegant man who made her stomach hurt—snapped Taehyung back to the real danger. Ha-eun's subconscious was still linked to the betrayal.
The high-security phone buzzed—a direct line from the security chief.
"Chairman, we have a breach. Not physical. Financial. A huge, strategic move just liquidated three of our key subsidiary holdings in Singapore. The move was meticulous and untraceable. Only one person had the knowledge and the motive to strike this fast and hard."
"Seok-jin," Taehyung muttered, crushing the phone against his ear.
The Architect had returned to dismantle the empire piece by piece. He was sending a clear message: The Chairman may have the throne, but I control the board.
Taehyung looked from the phone, back to Ha-eun, who was now busy trying to teach the Talking Tom app a complex poem about corporate espionage. He had a ruthless, cunning fugitive to hunt and an amnesiac, emotionally demanding rival to hide and protect—a monumental, impossible task.
"Eun-ji," Taehyung said, his voice flat with sudden gravity. "Your Briefing Hour starts now. I need to tell you about your life, starting with the fact that the elegant man who liked your poems is trying to kill us both."
The Eight O'Clock Lie
The Briefing Hour commenced at precisely 8:00 PM in the secure basement room that doubled as Chairman Kim Taehyung's war room. Ha-eun, now 'Eun-ji,' sat cross-legged on a leather couch, clutching a novelty stress ball shaped like a tiny corporate drone. Taehyung stood before a holographic display showing the financial fallout from Seok-jin's attack.
"So," Ha-eun began, her expression serious. "The elegant man, whom I feel I should dislike, is trying to assassinate me because... he hated my limericks?"
Taehyung sighed, minimizing the flickering Singapore financial data. "Not exactly. We need a detailed briefing."
He framed the entire Taewon saga in ludicrous terms:
"Eun-ji, your job as the Chief Lyrical Officer was powerful. You held control over the company's entire morale budget. Your primary rival was Kim Seok-jin. He, too, was a poet—but a pedantic, highly critical one. He believed poetry should be serious and tragic, focusing only on the existential dread of quarterly reports. You believed in humor and accessibility."
"A stylistic feud!" Ha-eun gasped, her eyes wide. "He sounds dreadfully pretentious."
"He was," Taehyung confirmed, leaning into the lie. "He orchestrated a massive, public betrayal—he stole your most profound limericks and claimed them as his own. When you confronted him, he caused the 'accident' that led to your memory loss."
"And now he's liquidating our subsidiaries?"
"Yes," Taehyung said grimly. "He is trying to prove his poetic style (Tragedy) is superior to yours (Comedy) by destroying the company's financial base. It's... high-stakes literary criticism."
Ha-eun tapped the stress ball against her chin. "I still want a kiss on the forehead. It would settle my brain for strategy."
"Rule 3, Eun-ji," Taehyung warned. "Pre-authorization required. Focus. We are under attack."
II. The Double Strategy
While Ha-eun processed the "Rival Poet" threat, Taehyung discreetly reopened the Singapore data on a secondary screen. He placed a quick, encrypted call to his legal counsel, keeping his voice low and his words coded.
"Counselor, initiate Operation 'Crimson Pledge' immediately. Liquidate the remaining holdings in the Lion City before the serpent can strike again. I need the assets secured in a shell company, title it 'The Temple Fund.'"
Ha-eun, distracted by the holograph, pointed at the screen. "Taehyung, why are you calling your strategy 'The Temple Fund'? Was I religious before my accident? Did I write hymns?"
Taehyung's hand froze over the mouse. The 'Temple Fund' was a name derived from the most painful, personal truth—the place of their original vow and the crimson cut. He had subconsciously named his defense strategy after the wound that bound them.
"No, Eun-ji," Taehyung lied quickly. "It's a new marketing term. It sounds… deeply profound. Now, your past. Tell me, do you feel any lingering connection to painting?"
Ha-eun immediately brightened. "Oh, yes! I feel like I must cover everything in paint! Was I a good painter, or did I only paint my poems onto the corporate walls?"
Taehyung smiled faintly, remembering the truth of her childhood ambition. "You were excellent. You were the only one who truly mastered the brush."
III. The Unsolvable Riddle
As the Briefing Hour concluded, Ha-eun seemed slightly satisfied, if thoroughly convinced she was an endangered genius of corporate verse.
"Okay, I understand. I am Eun-ji, the funny poet, and the tragic poet Jin is trying to destroy my funny kingdom. You are my handsome protector who dislikes forehead contact." She stood up. "I need more supplies. I must paint a portrait of the existential dread of a middle manager."
"You are not leaving," Taehyung repeated.
Ha-eun walked up to him, her amnesiac mind calculating. "If I am not allowed to leave to buy supplies, then you must come with me."
"Absolutely not! I am running a multi-billion dollar corporation from this room!"
"Then I will scream," she announced simply, her voice carrying a terrifying hint of the old Chairwoman's firmness. "I will scream and tell the security guards that you are an imposter who banned my poems. I need blue paint, Taehyung. Blue is the color of corporate melancholy."
Taehyung stared at her. He had defeated the most powerful financiers in Asia, yet he was utterly powerless against an amnesiac woman demanding art supplies. The cost of running his empire and protecting this secret was quickly becoming unbearable.
He finally conceded, his face a mask of cold resignation. "Fine. We will go, but we will use the utmost operational security. You will wear a hat, and you will not, under any circumstances, engage the cashier in a limerick battle."
Plot Hook for Part 12: Taehyung must now leave the security of his fortress for a high-risk errand, taking the highly erratic 'Eun-ji' into the public, where a single slip-up could expose the conspiracy, or worse, expose the fact that the ruthless Chairman is secretly babysitting his dead step-sister.