Hana would probably never be able to become someone like Junhwi. The one thing they had in common was that both of them had weaker academic credentials than most people at the company. But Junhwi's credentials were the *only* thing that wasn't impressive about him. Everything else was flawless — his results, his reputation, his attitude. So it would be a mistake to lump herself and Junhwi together just because neither of them had gone to a top school.
Still, Hana couldn't help feeling a little lift every time she found something they shared. *Junhwi said he used to get really nervous when he was new, too. Junhwi said he's never lived abroad either. Junhwi mentioned he made some embarrassing mistakes when he was junior-level…*
But honestly, those were the kinds of things that plenty of mediocre people could say about themselves. Most people with that kind of backstory had probably already washed out of the industry. It was only the one-in-a-thousand genius — someone like Junhwi — who shot up fast enough to make team lead. So the idea that *I'm rough around the edges now, but someday I'll be like Junhwi* was, if Hana was being honest, dangerously optimistic.
Not that she was even aiming for team lead. She just wanted to survive without getting fired. That was her one and only goal. The salary Dail Agency paid, the benefits, her parents' pride, the envious looks from people who knew where she worked — all of it was the best this life had to offer her, and she knew it.
To hold on to all of that, the only thing she could do was work hard. She wasn't sharp, and she didn't have the instincts for shortcuts, so if she wanted to keep up with everyone else, sheer diligence was her only option.
Maybe she'd overdone it, though. At some point, Junhwi had started paying attention to her.
At first she'd told herself it was just her imagination. New employees had a way of reading too much into the smallest gesture from a senior — *oh, he noticed me, I must be special* — and she knew better than to fall for that.
She'd briefly entertained the thought that maybe he'd recognized her work ethic, but she'd pushed it aside just as quickly. She knew that bosses at a company weren't like teachers at school — they didn't hand out gold stars for *trying hard*. At a company, you had to actually be *good*.
But Junhwi checked in on her progress so often, and went out of his way to help her so consistently, that other people started commenting on it. *Junhwi really does look out for Hana, doesn't he?* Every time someone said something like that, Hana would answer, "It's probably because I can't keep up on my own." She wasn't being falsely modest. She genuinely couldn't think of any other reason Junhwi would bother with her.
Then yesterday's presentation had made it official — the whole company now knew that Junhwi was giving her special treatment. The new-employee presentation at Dail Agency had a reputation that even people outside the company had heard of. The original idea had been to help junior staff develop their skills. Over time, though, it had quietly transformed into something else: a showcase where team leads sized up which new hires were worth pulling into their orbit.
There was a thing at every company people called office politics. You built your faction, and then you looked out for your people and they looked out for you. Having someone from your faction in a key position was an advantage, but pulling someone who was already in a key position over to your side was nearly impossible. So the real effort went into recruiting promising employees before they ever got there.
Team leads and senior managers used the new-employee presentation to figure out who was worth watching. After the presentation, they'd invite the standouts for drinks, or make a point of giving them noticeably warm feedback right there in the room.
The sharper, more plugged-in new hires already knew which factions had real power and who belonged to them. They spent weeks preparing for the presentation specifically to get noticed by the right people — even though the presentation had zero impact on their performance reviews. That was why new employees poured more energy into it than into their actual work.
Hana had prepared hard for it too. But her goal wasn't to get ahead. Her goal was to not embarrass herself. *Nothing special, but she held her own. Pretty average.* That was the feedback she'd been hoping for.
Instead, she'd somehow ended up with a long, detailed response from Junhwi.
It wasn't exactly a glowing compliment. But it meant more than that. It was the kind of thoughtful, caring feedback that could only come from someone who had listened to her presentation from start to finish, who already knew her strengths and weaknesses on the job. Someone who had been paying attention.
Junhwi was the company's ace — CEO Jang's most valued employee. And yet he didn't belong to any faction. Whenever someone quietly approached him with an offer, he'd apparently smile and slip away with something like, *What would you need someone like me for?* — smooth as anything.
That same Junhwi had shown open favoritism toward Hana in front of everyone.
Part of her felt a warm, almost dizzying rush at the thought that he'd seen something in her — her potential, her effort.
But at the same time, some animal instinct told her she was in trouble.
Up until now, nobody had bothered to see her as a threat. Everyone had assumed someone like Hana was just there to fill out the bottom of the org chart.
It stung, knowing that was how people saw her — but there was also a kind of safety in it. Like a rabbit hidden in tall grass. The hyenas were busy hunting more visible prey and hadn't noticed her. Now, though, she'd been placed on a bare hilltop with nowhere to hide. Every predator in the room had their eyes on her.
That was the tangle of feelings she'd carried through the rest of the presentation.
Colleagues who'd barely spoken to her before started sidling up with questions. *You must be close with Junhwi, huh? Why does he look out for you like that? Are you two related or something?* All Hana could say was *I honestly don't know* — because she didn't.
The next morning, she bought a nice box of cookies and brought it to the office. A small one, nothing conspicuous. She'd planned to thank Junhwi for the feedback and maybe, casually, find out why he'd done it.
Dropping it off at his desk would be too obvious, so she decided to wait until she caught him alone.
She spent the entire morning with half her attention on Junhwi, watching for her moment.
At noon, when everyone else headed out for lunch, Junhwi slipped into one of the conference rooms.
Dail Agency employees could check anyone's schedule through the internal calendar. She pulled up Junhwi's — no meetings blocked during lunch.
Maybe he was eating alone in there, she thought. A packed lunch or something.
It felt like now or never. She picked up the shopping bag with the cookies and followed him.
She was just about to step through the conference room door when she stopped.
"You really do pay a lot of attention to Hana."
Eunyoung's voice.
Then Junhwi's.
"A lot of people have been saying that to me lately. I didn't think I was doing anything out of the ordinary."
"Oh, really? I figured you were making a deliberate effort."
Hana's grip tightened on the shopping bag handle.
"It's not really like that. She just… works so hard. I find myself wanting to help where I can. I guess that's been more visible than I realized."
"Ah…"
He'd been watching all along, even when it didn't seem like it. He'd seen how hard she was working.
She'd told herself it didn't matter whether anyone noticed — but knowing that someone had, especially someone like Junhwi, made something tighten in her chest.
She couldn't keep standing there eavesdropping. She started to turn away.
Then Eunyoung's voice came again.
"But is that really okay?"
Hana went still.
Junhwi said, "…What do you mean?"
"I completely get where you're coming from, honestly. We have someone on my team — you know Hyowon?"
"Yeah."
"She works incredibly hard. So I keep finding myself wanting to help her, wanting to teach her things. But here's the thing — when I explain something to Hyowon, she gets maybe half of it. When I explain the same thing to other people, they run with it and get twice as far on their own."
"So… you're asking whether it makes sense to spend time on someone with a low return on investment."
*Low return on investment.*
Hana felt her stomach drop.
"I mean… it sounds kind of cold when you put it that way… but it's work, so I end up thinking about it like that. And like the CEO mentioned before, your time is valuable…"
"…That's a fair way to look at it. You should spend your time according to your priorities."
"Right… So I was thinking, maybe it makes more sense for you to focus more on the team lead level than on junior staff."
"Team leads? …They're all doing fine without me, though. Same with you, Eunyoung."
Eunyoung's voice brightened.
"Oh, really? …Though I am a little worried about the LoveLemon promotional campaign. It's such a big account…"
"Is it? I've been following up on everything — Planning Team 4 looks solid to me. I might have missed something, but as far as I can tell, there's nothing to worry about."
"Oh, you've been keeping tabs on all of it."
"Of course. Did you think I was just sitting around doing nothing?"
Junhwi said it lightly, teasing.
Eunyoung sounded flustered.
"What? No, no. You just have so much on your plate…"
The two of them kept talking, easy and warm.
Hana took one slow, silent step back. Then another.
Once she was far enough away, she turned and walked quickly.
"Oh — gosh, you scared me."
She'd been staring at the floor and nearly collided with a colleague rounding the corner.
"Sorry," Hana said.
"…You okay? Something happen?"
Hana shook her head.
The colleague looked at her, puzzled. "You didn't go to lunch. Where were you?"
"Just… wasn't that hungry."
She said it and kept walking, toward the emergency stairwell.
She sat down on the cold steps.
*So you're asking whether it makes sense to spend time on someone with a low return on investment.*
It was such a precise description of her. The slow kid in class. The problem soldier in the unit. That was what she was.
Junhwi had felt sorry for her — watching her struggle and work so hard, he'd felt pity. So he'd handed her a little attention the way you'd press a few bills into a homeless person's hand and say *hang in there*.
She hadn't thought she'd earned Junhwi's notice through talent — she'd never believed that. But hearing it said out loud by someone else, clearly and plainly, made it so much worse. She could see her own position, her own situation, with a terrifying, merciless clarity.
She couldn't even pull her own weight, and on top of that she'd been eating up the time of Junhwi — the company's most valuable person. Like a virus that wasn't content to just make itself sick, but had to spread to everyone around it.
Something surged up in her chest.
*Who asked you to care? You could've just left me alone. I would've either washed out or figured it out on my own. Why did you go out of your way to pay attention to me, and then talk about it like I'm the one who stole your time?*
*I didn't want that kind of attention anyway. I just want to fly under the radar at this company for as long as possible.*
She brought her fist down on the cookie box. The cardboard caved in.
She sat on the stairs for a long time.
Eventually she stood up, pushed open the stairwell door, and walked back into the hallway.
She dropped the cookie box into the trash can by the corridor and went back to her desk.