— Cheon Tae-seong.
“What? Say that again….”
— Cheon Tae-seong. Cheon Tae-seong. Cheon Tae-seong. Are you deaf?! How are you struggling with something this simple? And come on, you know the name—he’s famous, even among dominant Alphas. I met him in person and the pressure he gives off is insane.
Cheon Tae-seong. Cheon Tae-seong. Cheon Tae-seong… His name echoed in Ha-jin’s ears like a curse.
His gaze drifted to the desk calendar on the kitchen table. The moment his eyes landed on the red-circled election day, Kwak Mari’s voice rang out again through the receiver, almost like she’d been waiting.
— You’re free in the afternoon on election day, right? He has an interview that day too, and afterward, he said he’d like to meet with you.
“……”
— Ha-jin? Why aren’t you answering?
Yushin walked up to him, waving his hand in front of his face. He mouthed, “I’m making ramen. You want some?” But Ha-jin didn’t even register it. He was too stunned to respond.
Cheon Tae-seong… had asked to meet him. On election day. Just like before he returned.
“…How did he know…?”
— Huh?
“How did he know to ask for me? I’m registered anonymously. Did you leak my info?”
— N-No… I mean…
Ha-jin’s expression hardened with suspicion.
“Anonymous managers can’t be requested directly. That’s the rule, CEO. Care to explain?”
Since coming back, Ha-jin had followed the rules of anonymous employment to the letter. Revealing his information on the open market would’ve gotten him higher pay and better conditions, sure—but he’d chosen anonymity for one reason: to avoid Cheon Tae-seong.
Even though his betrayal never technically happened in this life, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he must not meet him again. It wasn’t something he could logically explain—just an overwhelming instinct.
“I’m not going to the interview.”
He rejected it flat-out, not even waiting for Mari’s reply.
A wave of unease and dread surged through him, making him tremble. He thought it was just a nightmare—but was it a premonition? The violent clanging of the shovel Tae-seong had once slammed into the ground… the stench of blood that had filled the air… the cold wind against his forehead as he’d fallen from the cliff—those sensations came rushing back.
Too vivid to dismiss as the past. The feeling of saltwater rushing into his lungs was still fresh, as if it had happened yesterday.
— I mean, there were a lot of Alphas who liked you, Ha-jin.
“What the hell does that mean? Who even likes me? I’m hanging up.”
— Cheon Tae-seong was the one who found you!
Mari blurted it out in desperation just as Ha-jin moved to hang up. He collapsed into a chair at the dining table, legs buckling. His heart was pounding in his chest like a war drum.
— He said he spent a decent chunk of money searching for you.
“…He was looking for me? Why? How did he even know who I am?”
— Apparently, he picked something up at an Alpha networking event. There are supposed to be confidentiality clauses, but you know how it is. There are more people who ignore them than follow them. And let’s face it—you’re pretty damn memorable.
“……”
— He came in here like he knew everything. Glaring and barking at me like a freaking attack dog. I was scared shitless, Ha-jin.
Ha-jin felt the blood drain from his face.
At first, he’d suspected Mari had sold him out for cash. But the reality was worse—far worse.
He’d been marveling at how the world after his return was playing out just like he remembered. He’d even kicked himself for never having paid attention to stocks. The world was like a rewound tape playing the same footage again. And now Cheon Tae-seong, too, was trying to claim Ha-jin as his pheromone manager—just like before.
It sent chills down his spine how everything lined up, as if Tae-seong had been waiting for this exact date.
From Ha-jin’s point of view, this wasn’t fate—it was a goddamn horror story.
“This is just… too creepy. Too weird.”
— Oh, come on! What’s so weird about it?! He heard you’re good at what you do. That’s a good thing! You need the money, Ha-jin.
Then Mari launched into a full-on spiel about why he had to meet with Cheon Tae-seong. She couldn’t understand why he was working low-paid jobs under anonymous contracts. She told him the amount Tae-seong was offering was triple the usual rate.
“Why are you pushing this so hard…?”
— He said if I don’t send you, he’ll shut down our entire company. Please, just meet with him.
“……”
The more Mari rambled, the stranger it all sounded.
It felt like Tae-seong had a very specific reason for wanting to meet him.
Like… he already knew Ha-jin. Like he’d met him before.
No. No way. That’s impossible.
Ha-jin furrowed his brow tightly, violently shaking his head to rid himself of the terrifying thought. His fingers curled inward, stiff with fear.
***
On the morning of the interview, Ha-jin still hadn’t made up his mind. He sat silently in Mari’s office, undecided.
Ever since the offer came in, the days had gone on like normal—so much so that it almost felt like the call from Tae-seong had been part of the nightmare, not reality.
The only proof that it had happened was Mari sitting across from him, gnawing anxiously on her thick gel nails.
“It’s weird that he wants you this badly, right? Like… maybe you’re right. Maybe we really shouldn’t go.”
She chewed nervously, muttering under her breath. For all she knew, Tae-seong could be some twisted pervert. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
Just then, as if mocking her, all three of Mari’s phones started ringing at once.
— Boss, NOS Sports Agency just contacted us. They’re reconsidering their contract for all their athletes’ pheromone managers.
The first call was picked up and put on speaker. The voice belonged to a staff member in charge of overseeing client contracts.
— I explained that switching managers mid-season isn’t good for the athletes, but they kept repeating that they’re reconsidering. They don’t even seem to care about the penalty fees.
Ha-jin and Mari locked eyes.
The voice on the phone grew more urgent, calling her name repeatedly. But before either of them could respond, the office door slammed open.
The one who barged in—without even knocking—was a manager with five years of experience, usually the picture of professionalism. But right now, she looked completely shaken.
“Boss! I can’t get a hold of actor Kim Sun-hoo. He said he was heading out for a shoot today, I had everything prepped—but if this goes south, it’s not on me, right?!”
Before Mari could respond, Ha-jin shot up from his seat. There was no need for debate. Tae-seong’s threat to shut down the company hadn’t been an empty one—he was showing them what he could do.
Ha-jin walked past the confused manager and shut the office door behind him. Mari didn’t try to stop him—not even with a token, “You don’t have to do this.”
It had always been money that pushed Ha-jin forward.
He wasn’t heading to the meeting out of loyalty to Mari for taking him in when he had nowhere to go. He was going because the numbers told him to. Cold, clear, merciless numbers. That was reality.
Forget rent or daily expenses. Just the cost of Yushin’s medication for next month alone was over six million won. There was no alternative for Ha-jin. He’d have to destroy his body working three or four side jobs just to come close—and it still wouldn’t be enough.
And if he let it show how much he was struggling, Yushin would panic. He kept trying to find at-home work to help, but he always overdid it and ended up sick. That only made things worse.
On top of that, Tae-seong had proven that if he really wanted to, he could shut down Mari’s company—and cut off Ha-jin’s only means of income. So really, he didn’t have a choice.
The past is the past.
He’d run the whole way to the interview location. Ha-jin steeled himself. There were still 15 minutes to go before the scheduled time.
Money had killed him in his past life, and even now, it kept him trapped in the same cycle. But no amount of self-pity would change anything.
Know your enemy, know yourself. That’s what they say.
This was happening. And sometimes, the best way out was straight through.
And this time, unlike last life, the meeting wasn’t at Tae-seong’s house—it was in a nearby café. That was uncharacteristically low-key for him, and Ha-jin decided to take it as a good sign.
Since returning and reliving the past year, Ha-jin had started to play the part of a prophet. Countless little events repeated themselves exactly, and he’d begun tweaking them to his advantage, carving out small strokes of luck.
So if this meeting was inevitable—he just needed to steer it in his favor. He had knowledge of what was to come. If he used it right, he might even avoid death.
“Lee Ha-jin, today is the first time you’re meeting Cheon Tae-seong. Keep a straight face. Stay professional. Just treat him like any other client. You’ve got this.”
As he braced himself, his phone suddenly buzzed violently in his pocket.
He’d meant to silence it before the interview, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
[Web Alert]
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Below that, one unread message stood out.
[Notice of Interview Location Change]
Hello, this is the Executive Office of the CEO of I&CH Holdings.
We are informing you that the location of your scheduled interview has changed.
Please refer to the updated address below to avoid any confusion.
“…What?”
There was no point talking to the message window—it wasn’t going to respond. The timestamp showed the message had been sent forty minutes ago.
The new location was a well-known high-end Korean restaurant—at least 20 minutes away on foot from where Ha-jin was standing.
He’d just resolved to leave no openings, and now he’d already made his first mistake.
Biting hard on his lip, Ha-jin spun on his heel and broke into a run.
