I. The Insistence on Global Stage
The invitation to the Global Economic Leaders' Forum in Geneva represented the final seal of Taewon's recovery. It was an intensely formal gathering of central bankers and heads of state—an arena for cold, precise data and guarded statements.
Kim Taehyung planned to attend alone, but the Dual Chairwoman had other ideas.
"Taehyung, you must take me," Ha-eun announced, tapping a report on GDP growth with a paintbrush. "This is the ultimate stage for a Lyrical Critique. These leaders are suffering from acute Rhythmic Dissonance on a global scale!"
"Rhythmic Dissonance? Ha-eun, that's not a recognized term in macroeconomics," Taehyung countered, sighing.
"Of course it is! It's when the rhythm of their charts doesn't match the rhythm of human hearts! It's why they keep missing the forecast!" she insisted, dramatically stabbing the GDP report with her blue pen.
"Ha-eun, this is not an art exhibit. This is where we discuss monetary policy and systemic risk," Taehyung argued, trying to keep his voice level. "You are required to be silent, wear clothes without blue paint, and refrain from demanding forehead kisses from the G-20 delegates."
"The forehead kiss is a vital diplomatic gesture of mutual trust, Taehyung! It's highly unconventional but structurally sound!"
"Impossible!" she declared. "Silence is a compromise of my artistic integrity, and their systemic risk is a perfect metaphor for a bad limerick! If you don't take me, I will launch my own Competing Economic Forum in the lobby, featuring only CEOs made of clay and wearing sad expressions."
Taehyung rubbed his temples. "A competing forum? And who would be the keynote speaker?"
"Mr. Kwon's miniature CEO, of course. He understands 'Corporate Melancholy Blue' better than anyone in this entire institution!"
Taehyung knew the threat was real. He also knew Ha-eun's strange blend of insight could be an unconventional weapon. He conceded, but with strict, non-negotiable clauses.
"Fine," Taehyung surrendered. "You come. But one word, one unscheduled art project, and I leave you with the Swiss central bank to discuss the liquidity of performance art."
"Challenge accepted, Chairman," Ha-eun replied, her eyes twinkling. "But be warned: my silence may be the loudest art piece of the night."
II. The Customized Attire
On the night of the gala, Ha-eun walked out in a spectacular, expensive gown. However, the elegance was immediately subverted. She had strategically painted a thin, artistic line of "Corporate Melancholy Blue" running diagonally across the pristine white silk.
"The blue line represents the existential debt we all carry," she explained to Taehyung, spinning around. "It's an important statement."
Taehyung stared at the dress. "Ha-eun, you look like a beautifully wrapped package that someone took a marker to. Does the blue line also represent Taewon's stock price if you cause a diplomatic incident?"
"No, that would be neon orange," she said dismissively. "This is deeper. It's the wound of the soul left open by excessive quarterly reporting."
"It's a stain on a $20,000 dress," Taehyung muttered, adjusting his tie.
Her clutch was equally unconventional: a vintage, worn briefcase—the very one Mr. Kwon had carried—containing her notebook, her favorite blue pen, and the miniature CEO action figure.
As they entered the forum, the sea of dark suits parted, stares following the Co-Chairwoman. Taehyung felt the familiar mix of professional terror and proprietary pride.
III. The Lyrical Intervention
The panel discussion focused on 'Post-Crisis Fiscal Responsibility'. The atmosphere was dense with jargon and carefully measured optimism. Ha-eun sat quietly for nearly thirty minutes, scribbling furiously in her notebook.
**Taehyung kept a death grip on his own knee, watching her. He tried to telepathically communicate: Do Not Engage. Do Not Draw on the Tablecloth. Do Not Suggest a Group Singing Exercise. **
When a particularly rigid central banker finished a long monologue about optimizing the output gap, Ha-eun suddenly stood up.
"Sir!" she called out, her voice cutting across the room with surprising authority.
Taehyung closed his eyes, bracing himself.
"Your analysis is technically sound, but emotionally hollow!" Ha-eun continued, addressing the panel. "You speak of the output gap, but what of the input gap? The gap between the dream of the worker and the reality of the spreadsheet? That gap, gentlemen, is where the tragedy of global finance truly resides!"
The central banker looked utterly confused. "The... input gap? I'm afraid that term lacks definitional rigor, Co-Chairwoman."
"Rigor is what suffocates the soul!" Ha-eun retorted, undeterred. "You measure money, but you ignore motivation! You've treated the entire global workforce as a defective machine!"
She paused, holding up her small notebook like a sacred text.
"I propose a new metric for economic health: the Global Limerick Index (GLI)! If the average worker cannot craft a cheerful limerick about their job by Friday, your entire system is in fiscal absurdity!"
The entire room fell silent. The heads of finance looked genuinely stunned.
Then, a respected European finance minister—a man known for his dry wit—actually cracked a small smile. "An interesting... creative metric, Co-Chairwoman. You suggest that joy is a leading indicator?"
"I suggest that suppressed poetry leads to systemic risk!" Ha-eun declared firmly, earning a few scattered chuckles.
"Because the moment the human spirit is forced into a joyless, predictable structure," Ha-eun elaborated, her voice suddenly quieter and more intense, "it seeks unpredictable, chaotic release. That release is what you call a 'crisis'."
Taehyung stepped up, placing a firm, but loving hand on her shoulder, effectively ending her address. "The Co-Chairwoman is expressing Taewon's commitment to human capital optimization through unconventional methods. We apologize for the lack of charts."
He steered her gently toward the exit, whispering in her ear, "You realize you just called the world economy a bad poem?"
Ha-eun beamed. "A bad limerick, Taehyung. Limericks are short, predictable, and structurally embarrassing. Perfect fit."
As they were ushered out, the European minister approached Taehyung. "Your wife has identified the problem our models miss, Chairman. The human element. Perhaps we do need a little more absurd poetry in our policy."
Taehyung managed a strained diplomatic smile. He had survived the corporate chaos, but his life was now a constant performance art piece with billion-dollar stakes.