They gathered in Ha-Joon's home office, the room quiet in that heavy, waiting way.
Ha-Joon sat behind his desk, posture straight, hands folded.
Seo-Jun and Kai-Wen stood to either side of the table, faces unreadable.
Do-Hyun and Nisa sat close together on the couch, Nisa leaning slightly into him, her fingers hooked into his sleeve.
Ji-Ah entered last.
She walked straight to Do-Yoon, placed a warm cup into her trembling hands, then stepped back to stand beside the couch.
She didn't sit. She watched.
Ha-Joon nodded once.
A silent command.
"Begin."
Do-Yoon swallowed.
"We weren't close," she said, eyes fixed on the cup. "Ji-Ah and I. We talked sometimes. Just… sometimes."
Her fingers tightened.
"I've worked at Hanryeon Tech for years. I worked hard. I stayed late. I followed rules."
Her mouth twitched, a bitter smile flickering and dying.
"But somehow… she was always closer to you, sir."
Ji-Ah stiffened slightly.
"You called her when you needed something. Trusted her." Do-Yoon's voice cracked. "And I hated that. I hated how easily she stood where I wanted to stand."
No one spoke.
"Hye-Rin noticed," Do-Yoon continued. "She said if I worked with her… with Do-Hea… I'd earn more. Enough to pay for my mother's treatment."
Her lashes fluttered fast. "She promised me everything. Money. Stability. A future."
Do-Hyun's jaw tightened. Nisa's brows pulled together.
"I agreed," Do-Yoon whispered. "I did what they asked. I took the pictures. I followed instructions."
Her voice dropped lower. "And when I found out Ji-Ah lived with you, sir… it only made it worse. I felt replaced."
She paused.
The silence pressed in.
Seo-Jun exhaled slowly.
Kai-Wen shifted his weight.
"Then Hye-Rin and I planned it," Do-Yoon said. "The framing. Everything."
She looked up then, eyes shining. "When you were fired… I was happy."
Ji-Ah didn't move.
"But I was also ashamed," Do-Yoon went on. "That happiness didn't fill anything. It only took things away. My loyalty. My dream job. The pride I had working at Hanryeon Tech."
Her shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry," she said, finally turning to Ji-Ah. "I hope you can forgive me."
The words hadn't even settled when Ji-Ah spoke.
"I forgive you."
Every head snapped toward her.
Do-Yoon froze. "You… what?"
Ji-Ah smiled gently. Not victorious. Not smug.
"You wanted money to treat your mom," she said.
"I understand that." She tapped her chest lightly.
"I have a family too. Everything I do is to make their lives easier. I know that kind of fear."
Do-Hyun let out a slow breath. "
She messed up badly," he said, voice firm. "But it doesn't feel like malice anymore. It feels like desperation."
Nisa nodded.
"People do stupid things when they're scared," she added softly. "That doesn't make it right. But it makes it human."
Seo-Jun adjusted his glasses.
"Legally, she's at fault," he said. "But intent matters. And we now have the full truth."
Ji-Ah turned to Ha-Joon then.
She bowed.
"I know I don't have the right to decide anything," she said quietly. "But please… don't fire her. Don't punish her harshly. She already lost enough."
The room held its breath.
Ha-Joon studied Do-Yoon for a long moment.
Then Ji-Ah.
His gaze was sharp, but something unreadable flickered beneath it.
Finally, he spoke.
"She will not be fired."
Do-Yoon's breath hitched.
"But," Ha-Joon continued calmly, "you will be transferred to the lowest floor. Reduced responsibilities. Reduced pay. That floor exists for those who broke trust."
Do-Yoon bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir."
"And," he added, almost as an afterthought, "your mother's treatment will be covered."
Her head snapped up. "Sir—"
"Hanryeon Tech takes responsibility," Ha-Joon said. "Even when its people fail."
Tears spilled freely then.
"Thank you," Do-Yoon whispered, bowing again and again.
Ji-Ah watched quietly.
Ha-Joon stood.
The movement alone straightened everyone's backs.
"Kai-Wen," he said evenly, "take Do-Yoon home. Make sure she gets there safely."
"Yes, sir."
Do-Yoon nodded quickly, relief still trembling in her shoulders.
She followed Kai-Wen toward the door, steps light but careful. Just before exiting, she stopped.
She turned.
Her eyes met Ji-Ah's.
Ji-Ah smiled first. Small. Steady.
Something in Do-Yoon broke loose. She crossed the room in two quick steps and wrapped Ji-Ah in a brief, grateful hug.
Not dramatic. Not desperate.
Just honest.
"Thank you," Do-Yoon whispered.
Ji-Ah nodded once. "Go home."
Do-Yoon stepped back, wiped her face, and left with Kai-Wen. The door closed softly behind them.
Silence settled like dust.
Seo-Jun cleared his throat, then smiled at Ji-Ah, the rare kind that reached his eyes.
"You did well," he said before heading out.
Do-Hyun stood, helping Nisa up carefully. "She needs her medicine," he said, already fussing.
Nisa laughed quietly, swatting his arm. They walked out together, voices fading down the hall.
The room emptied.
Only Ha-Joon and Ji-Ah remained.
Ji-Ah shifted, suddenly aware of how tired her body felt.
She turned toward the door.
Behind her, his voice stopped her.
"It's been a long day."
She paused.
Then, quieter, almost casual, "Wanna play?"
She turned back, surprised.
For a heartbeat, he stood there, composed as ever, but his shoulders were looser now. The sharp edge dulled.
Ji-Ah smiled.
"Yeah," she said. "Let's play."
---
The studio was wrapped in calm.
Ha-Joon sat on the stool with the guitar resting against his thigh, fingers moving with quiet precision.
He always played like this.
Controlled. Eyes lowered.
Focused on the strings, never once lifting his gaze.
Ji-Ah sat at the piano.
"At first," he said evenly, not looking up, "play calmly."
She nodded, fingers hovering over the keys.
The first notes of Still With You slipped into the room, soft and careful.
The melody flowed easily under her hands, gentle but aching, filling the space between them.
She played the way she always did when she forgot herself, honest, unguarded.
Ha-Joon kept his eyes on the guitar.
Always on the guitar.
Until she finished.
The last note faded.
Silence followed.
Then he looked up.
He paused.
Blinking once behind the thin rim of his glasses.
Sunlight spilled through the window at that exact moment, touching Ji-Ah's face, catching in her hair as if the room itself had decided to betray him.
She turned slightly, sensing his gaze.
Their eyes met.
She smiled.
Something inside Ha-Joon twisted.
Not gently.
Not quietly.
A voice slipped into his mind.
A woman's.
Not Ji-Ah's. Same softness.
Same smile.
A memory he had buried deep enough to forget the pain, but not deep enough to erase it.
He whispered a name under his breath.
It wasn't hers.
Ji-Ah frowned slightly. "Sir?"
He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping the floor.
The guitar hung forgotten at his side as he crossed the room in long strides and caught her wrist.
She gasped. "Sir—wait—"
He pulled her away from the piano and out into the hall, closing the studio door behind them.
Her hand hit the wall as he pinned it there, not rough, but urgent.
"Why—?" she started.
"Don't play it again," he said sharply.
She froze. "Play… what?"
"That song," he said, jaw tight. "Do not play it again."
"But you were the one who asked me to," she said, confusion bleeding into her voice. "I thought you liked it."
His grip loosened.
He released her hand and stepped back, running a hand through his hair, breath uneven now, the crack finally showing.
".....Sorry," he said softly, the words barely holding together.
Then he turned and walked away, leaving the hallway cold and silent.
Ji-Ah stared after him, heart pounding.
"…What?" she muttered.
She glanced back at the closed studio door, then down at her empty hands.
"Fine," she said under her breath. "I'll definitely ask Do-Hyun."
And with that, she walked away.