The 25-Year-Old Director from My Past

"Third-rate university GPA 3.4. TOEIC 750. OPIC IM2. MOS Level 1. And... military service."

Staring blankly at my resume on the screen, I barely stop myself from chucking the mouse across the room. My specs are smack-dab average for Korea—no, considering the brutal liberal arts job market these days, they're way below average. The reality of being a third-year business major returnee student is ice-cold. While my peers are jetting around stacking big-company internships and exchange student credits, I'm sweating next month's one-room rent and student loan interest, pulling all-nighters at the convenience store. When I'm choking down triangle kimbap that's ten minutes past expiration while crunching Excel sheets, the despair hits hard. My life—where the hell did it all go so wrong?

And every time that thought creeps in, one random memory pops up out of nowhere. Fifteen years ago, back when we were snot-nosed kids. That little girl from the neighborhood playground, Han Seol-ah, messing around in the dirt sandbox. She'd trip and skin her knee every five seconds, bawling her eyes out until I'd run to the tteokbokki joint and shove a Pikachu pork cutlet in her mouth to shut her up—that hopeless crybaby.

"Jinwoo-ya! When we grow up, you have to marry me, okay? No looking at other girls, or you're dead!"

We'd split a Choco Pie, pinky-swearing and thumb-stamping the deal. Looking back, it's enough to make me kick the blankets a thousand times in embarrassment... but honestly? Back then, I was pretty serious about it.

But Seol-ah vanished from the neighborhood during fourth-grade winter break. Rumor had it her grandpa's business went bust, and they fled in the night to dodge debt collectors—no proper goodbye. That was the pathetic, pure-hearted end to my first love.

"Hey, Kang Jinwoo! You done fixing the PPT fonts? The youngest-ever director's coming today. If we screw this up, no full-time offers for any of us—you know that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, chill. I pulled an all-nighter matching all the numbers."

Today marks the final presentation for my rotten lifeline: the Taesung Group industry-academia winter internship. Nail this, get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stamped as an outstanding intern, and maybe I can claw my way out of this dirt-poor rut.

My teammate's shaking like a leaf from the back row of the presentation room, making a fuss. Word is, the new parachute hire for Strategy Planning Director is a whopping 25—same age as us. Turns out she's the chairman's hidden youngest granddaughter or something. Here I am at 25, riding the job-hunt struggle bus with cup ramen, and she's got a director title playing executive. Life is so fucking unfair.

Screeech—

As I'm inwardly lamenting my fate, the heavy conference room door swings open. The wide room's air turns frigid in an instant. Taesung execs file in, and at the center strides the rumored "25-year-old director."

Black bespoke suit so luxurious I'd have to sell my entire net worth for one button. Skin pale and flawless to the point of chill-inducing, beauty so breathtaking it suffocates—but that overwhelming aura that crushes people underfoot, those lethal eyes... no one dares look straight at her.

I gulp and bow my head deep. Only after the presentation kicks off do I sneak a peek forward.

...Huh?

Brain freeze. I blink three times. Han Seol-ah? Must be a coincidence. Korea's crawling with Han Seol-ahs. But that faint cheek curve hidden under the icy sharpness, and that tiny mole under her left earlobe. Fifteen years later, no way I wouldn't recognize that face.

My first love—the girl who trembled clinging to my shirt on the playground jungle gym, terrified of falling—is now a director at Taesung Group, top-five chaebol contender?

Oh... shit. This is a disaster.

Joy? Romantic reunion? Not a shred of room for that. Look at me—knees poking through my ten-buck slacks, stretched-out shirt, lowly intern. I'm so mortified I wanna smash a window and jump.

Front teams' presentations start getting shredded one by one.

"Your group targets MZ gen, but the data's paper-thin. You think this is a game? Redo it."

Words from Seol-ah's red lips pierce like ice picks. Pureblood chaebol third-gen, no mercy. Where's that sniveling kid from 15 years ago? A total demon sits there now.

Finally, our Team 4's turn. The ace intern from a top uni presenting in front of me goes ashen in seconds.

"S-sorry. We'll fix it immediately."

Even her frozen voice gets no glance—just tablet-staring. The dropped file slapping the desk echoes like thunder; the room's sub-zero, not a breath to be heard. Seasoned middle-aged execs avert eyes, swallowing dryly to dodge the splash zone.

That's really the Han Seol-ah I knew?

Head throbs. The girl who'd squat and sob over a rain-soaked stray cat is now coolly pulverizing people's pride.

By now, any wistful first-love vibes have evaporated. Survival instinct screams warnings in my skull. She radiates an untouchable aura befitting her Taesung director title—we're worlds apart, sharing the same air feels embarrassing.

"Next, Team 4, please present."

Damn ladder game screwed me—I'm the presenter.

"H-hello. I'm... Kang Jinwoo, business major, handling Team 4's presentation."

My mic hand shakes. Please don't recognize me. Just see a generic bespectacled returnee and move on. I mentally sing the anthem through verse four.

But the second I open my mouth and say my name, Seol-ah's head snaps up from her tablet. Our eyes lock dead-on mid-air. Her emotionless icy gaze shakes wildly. Her luxury fountain pen clatters off the table, rolling away.

...She knows.

I dodge her eyes to the projector, rattling off my all-nighter script like a robot. Cold sweat pours like rain down my back. Don't even remember how I finished.

For those 10 minutes, Seol-ah says nothing—just bores into me like she's devouring my soul.

"Th-that concludes it."

I bolt-finish. Heavy silence flows. Other execs eye the new director, gulping. Seol-ah rises slowly.

"Presentation ends here today. Good ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠work, everyone."

Survived. Sighing relief inwardly, packing my laptop—she turns to leave, but her voice echoes.

"Ah. Team 4 intern Kang Jinwoo."

Heart plummets.

"About the proposal... I have personal questions. Follow me to my office. Now."

Inside the director's office. Drama-level huge—like five of my one-rooms smashed together. I stand like a criminal, eyes glued to the plush carpet.

Heavy door seals behind me with a click, locking.

"D-Director, if the targeting has issues, I'll overhaul it by tomorrow..."

I'm fumbling business talk to defuse when—

"Jinwoo-ya."

A faintly trembling voice. Not the razor-sharp one that froze the conference room.

I look up slowly.

"You're... really him, right? Kang Jinwoo."

It's Han Seol-ah. Her big eyes brim with clear tears. Perfect poker face crumbles; lips quiver, fists clenched—just like that 10-year-old crybaby.

"Uh... long time no see, Seol-ah-ya."

I grin awkwardly, scratching my head. Pretending not to know now is dumb, and this feels too surreal for my brain to process.

"Heard you made director. Total success st—gah!"

Before I finish, she charges in her heels, crashing into my arms.

"You idiot... hic... Do you know how much I searched for you...!"

Eh? Brain freeze again. Amid top-shelf perfume wafts that sweet soda scent from way back.

Buried in my chest, she sobs like a kid, face pressed hard.

"Why didn't you say hi! Leaving me alone, running off—do you know how I survived 15 years? Every day, every single day, thinking only of you... I endured like a beast."

My shirt soaks through. Her small hands grip my cheap collar, knuckles white.

"To protect you, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to never lose you again if we met... I lived like an animal. Reclaiming Dad's company, clawing here—do you even know what I did?"

Shoulders heaving, she looks up through reddened eyes. In that fierce gaze burns the blind pure love from 15 years ago.

"I... I've got tons of money now. The company's mine. So, that promise from 15 years ago... keep it. Now."

"Huh?"

"You promised to marry me. You didn't forget, right? Answer me. Kang Jinwoo."

All sense of reality evaporates. 25 years old. Broke-ass job hunter with 300k in the bank, zero specs, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stressing rent. But my first love—the top-tier chaebol heiress director—is crying and proposing to me.

Fuck, maybe my life... isn't as screwed as I thought?