I. The Corporate Tradition Under Threat
The Annual Employee Review (AER) at Taewon Group was a sacred, terrifying ritual. It was a precise, metrics-driven process where careers were made or broken based on objective performance indicators, stacked rankings, and emotionless quarterly reports. It was the epitome of the rigid corporate world that the Chairwoman Ha-eun had once ruthlessly enforced and that the Poet Eun-ji had utterly rejected.
The review season was approaching, and Chairman Kim Taehyung was focused on implementing the new, fair ranking system. But Ha-eun had intercepted the internal memos.
"This is unacceptable, Taehyung," Ha-eun declared, brandishing a highlighted copy of the AER manual, which she had annotated with colorful sketches of weeping managers. "This entire process is predicated on the Tragedy of the Linear Scale!"
"The linear scale is what ensures we compensate people fairly based on documented results, Ha-eun," Taehyung countered, trying to remove a crayon smudge from his tie. "It's called objectivity."
"Objectivity is a comforting illusion! You use numbers to avoid looking at the complexity of the soul! It's fear disguised as fairness!" she shot back.
"It's a necessary tool for talent allocation and resource dedication," Taehyung argued patiently.
"It is a suppression of the human spirit!" she countered, blending the language of finance and art seamlessly. "You are judging a complex, chaotic artistic performance with a simple, boring binary code!"
"And your proposal?" Taehyung asked, already dreading the answer.
"My proposal is to apply poetic justice! We must review the heart of the employee, not just their quarterly profit margin!"
Ha-eun, leveraging her Co-Chairwoman status and the general fear of crossing the Chairman's unpredictable new wife, issued a unilateral mandate: The AER was being temporarily paused for a "Lyrical Audit."
II. The Poetic Performance Review
Ha-eun's new review structure was shocking in its simplicity and profound in its implications.
She introduced two primary new metrics:
The Emotional Yield Score (EYS): Replacing the standard performance ranking, this measured the net emotional contribution an employee made to their team (e.g., laughter generated, genuine collaboration inspired, or simply creating a feeling of safety).
The Unsent Limerick Index (ULI): Replacing the "Areas for Improvement" section, this was a required, anonymous submission from the employee detailing the most frustrating, absurd, or heartbreaking moment of their work year, written in the form of a limerick.
"The ULI is brilliant," Ha-eun explained to a skeptical manager. "It doesn't just identify a problem; it packages the frustration into a five-line, structurally constrained art form. By forcing them to create, you neutralize the malice!"
Managers were instructed to judge employees based on their "Courage to Create," meaning their willingness to think outside the metrics.
"This will ruin our metrics traceability!" the Head of HR protested.
"Metrics traceability is what ruined our company's soul!" Ha-eun declared. "I want to trace the trajectory of inspiration, not just the column of revenue!"
Taehyung's executive team was in open revolt, but the employees themselves were quietly fascinated.
III. The Breakthrough
The system was immediately implemented in the Legal Department, a bastion of structured, dry professionalism.
The results were instantaneous. The senior partner who consistently ranked highest on the old system—a man known for his cold efficiency—scored a zero on the EYS and was the subject of several anonymous, highly creative limericks detailing his emotional tyranny.
**One limerick read: The partner whose gaze was like ice, / Gave orders with zero advice. / Though his billing was high, / Our souls longed to fly, / Away from his corporate vice. **
The breakthrough came with a junior paralegal, Ms. Han, who consistently ranked low on "output metrics" but had an astonishingly high EYS. Her final review was delivered by her manager with tears in his eyes:
"Ms. Han's legal analysis remains only satisfactory, but her ability to decorate the breakroom with whimsical drawings of the judge in a sombrero has increased team morale by 30%. She has a high Courage to Create. We recommend a raise."
Taehyung stared at the report. The old metrics had missed Ms. Han's true value—her ability to stabilize a high-stress environment. The new metrics rewarded it.
IV. The Lyrical Justice
Taehyung found Ha-eun in the mansion library, surrounded by AER documents that she was thoughtfully drawing on with crayons.
"Ha-eun, the Legal Department's efficiency has actually increased," Taehyung admitted, leaning against the doorframe. "You predicted that rewarding joy would lead to loyalty, but I didn't foresee the immediate increase in productivity. Why?"
"You have achieved something the old system never could: you found the human capital buried beneath the reports."
Ha-eun looked up, her expression satisfied. "Justice must be poetic, Taehyung, not procedural. The linear scale is a lie. The human being is chaotic, therefore the review must be chaotic. The most important metric is joy, because joy leads to loyalty, and loyalty is the only unbreakable asset."
Taehyung walked over and kissed her forehead, a sincere gesture. "You consistently find value where I only saw risk. You are an indispensable Co-Chairwoman, Ha-eun."
She then picked up the final review form—Taehyung's own.
"Your Annual Spousal Review is now due, Chairman," she declared, handing him the form.
The form had only two questions:
EYS: (Fill in your score on the scale of Slightly Amused to Deeply Lyrical Joy).
ULI: (Write a limerick about the most absurd part of being married to a Corporate Poet).
Taehyung smiled, picking up the blue pen. "I assume my bonus is tied to achieving 'Deeply Lyrical Joy'?"
"Naturally," Ha-eun confirmed. "And your ULI must be perfect, structurally sound, and emotionally honest."
Taehyung sighed, a gesture of absolute, loving surrender. He had won the corporate war, only to commit to a lifelong marriage governed by lyrical justice.