During Kim Dokja's tenure at Minosoft, the QA team worked under one principle: Itemise, optimise, and internalise. Itemise all issues, optimise your time, and internalise workaround strategies in a well-developed, well-rounded manner. Something or other.
So, here were three things Dokja observed:
Han Sooyoung, bestselling author of the gritty apocalyptic novel, Ways of Survival (abbreviated), was his favourite author.
In an unexpected twist, Han Sooyoung pivoted into dark romance, publishing the staggeringly-divisive Love on the Clock.
Han Sooyoung was now his least favourite author.
And not for many reasons. As a matter of fact, there was only one reason — and it wasn't something Dokja could rightfully ignore either, given that he was ripped straight from reality and dropped right into the heart of it:
Kim Dokja, who had presumably died in an accident involving the subway, had somehow transcended all planes of existence to end up in another world. Evidently, that world was the one of Love on the Clock.
I must be mistaken. Had he missed the transmigration subplot, or was Han Sooyoung's writing more subtle in this particular work?
The fact was, Dokja was not of this earth. At least, not this particular earth. The moment Dokja awoke, the train doors were just cracking open, and he was forcibly shoved onto the platform by the morning stampede. Amidst the tingling aftereffects of a full-body resurrection, everything looked, felt, and smelled exactly the same.
The overhead fluorescents with the busted tube lights. The permanent vomit stain on the exit stairs. The second turnstile from the left that always took an extra second to turn.
Everything felt so real, in fact, that Dokja briefly assumed that he had entered some sort of workplace-induced limbo. Halfway up the stairs, he'd even begun to accept the sweet embrace of death. This lasted all of 5 minutes until he reached the top of the exit, finally breaching the sunlight.
Across the subway station was a behemoth — not one of flesh, but of steel and concrete, fitted suits, and the shattered will of the occasional out-of-town hopeful. Here lies your hopes and dreams: BSENT, a subsidiary of N'gai Group, and what he considered his second home.
It could no longer be a mistake. Dokja rubbed his eyes twice, gave his face a light slap, and even dashed down the stairs to come back up again to verify what he was seeing was true. Itemise, optimise, and internalise.
BSENT, short for Breaking the Sky Entertainment, was a place of many horrors.
Upon closer inspection, Dokja was wearing the company colours — black and gold — down to his socks. The words Personal Assistant were stamped beneath the name President Yoo.
President Yoo, and the He mentioned in the excerpt, was none other than Yoo Joonghyuk, President of BSENT, and the overbearing male lead who would eventually win the hand of his childhood sweetheart.
Dokja was itemising everything. Dokja was not internalising any of it.
Not that he had the time to, anyway. A shove in his shoulder jolted Dokja back to life. In his pocket, a phone rang. When he scrambled out of the way to pick up the call, he was undeniably stumped.
The caller ID read Secretary Lee, whom Dokja vaguely recalled as an important side-character in the novel — namely, Yoo Joonghyuk's secretary.
This can't be what I think it is. He pressed Accept.
"You're late, Kim Dokja."
The shrill voice shot straight past Dokja's eardrums to the base of his temples. Immediately, a punishing ache gripped his skull. It was as though he wasn't supposed to hear the voice that spoke to him. As though he wasn't supposed to be here.
Wasn't I dead just a moment ago? the thoughts bellowed in his head. Now I'm alive, in some sort of alternate universe, and late for work. Is this my personal hell?
"The driver called. President Yoo is arriving in two and a half minutes, and he's in the worst of moods. Where are you?"
For some incomprehensible reason, this was what spurred Dokja into action. He speed-walked towards the pedestrian crossing where a four-way congestion held traffic in a gridlock. Up ahead, large digital billboards ran flashing ads and film trailers far too foreign for Dokja to recognise. The sight of all this only worsened the strain in his eyes, eliciting a dull ring of pain.
Maybe it was the tone of voice, or maybe it was Dokja's inherent fear of failure. At the very least, the ceaseless months of slaving away at the bottom of the food chain had trained him well enough to not disintegrate under such sudden and immense pressure.
It was fight-or-flight that pushed Dokja through traffic. Although the sheer incomprehensibility of it all screamed at him otherwise, he felt the need to answer, "S—Sorry! I was crossing the street. I'll be right up!"
I can't believe it's come to this. Dokja glanced at his watch. I'm conversing with a fictional character.
Yoo Joonghyuk often clocked into work at a quarter to 9, three cups of iced americano already on his desk — the first for his morning meetings, the second for lunch, and the third to toss at an intern.
By his rough estimation, Dokja had only 60 seconds to make it all the way up to the President's Suite.
"I'm entering the lift now," he said, decidedly out-of-breath.
Something crackled faintly from the other side. "50 seconds."
And that was all he was told before the line went dead.
Somewhere in the universe, Kim Dokja must've died a peaceful death. He didn't have a lot to his name, nor much of anything else besides. For 28 years, Dokja dragged on a pitiful life: burying his father, sending his mother to prison, and with no friends to mourn him. He was only grateful that he didn't have any pets waiting for him at home.
The only thing Dokja could recall before the impact were the lights — bright and blazing, till all he could see were the veins on the backs of his eyes. When it hit, Dokja was flung to the back of the carriage. A split second later, he was instantaneously crushed.
In the end, Dokja sank beneath metal rungs and plastic seats and a mound of bodies. The book would've been found by his head had they found him under the rubble.
And then, everything was undone. Dokja awoke once more, and had miraculously arrived at the station — living and breathing, as though he had quite literally been given a new lease on life. The space Minosoft occupied was now the BSENT headquarters. Dokja had on a new suit. The air was clean again.
"...First impressions are important. You should be grateful that HR had even an ounce of sympathy to look over your application. Twice. And here I thought you were a stray animal that wandered in from another planet."
Well... In a way, she wasn't wrong.
Lee Seolhwa led Dokja to his desk, right outside the double doors that opened into the suite. She was as stern as Dokja had envisioned — all perfect posture, tall heels, and an omnipresent smile that did not quite match her tone. Long, platinum locks twisted into a bun, with the perfect red lip. There was no denying that Seolhwa was a classical beauty, worthy of holding the title of the 'Goddess of BSENT'.
If this is the level of upkeep he expects for those who work under him... Dokja was going to be in a world of trouble.
"Then again, I should count my blessings." She placed the coffee tray on the desk. When she swung around to face him, her eyes scrutinised Dokja from top to bottom. "It's a good thing you remembered to put on the new suit."
Dokja adorned a half-hearted smile. "Like you said. First impressions."
His hands fiddled with the metal buckles on his suitcase. There was a plaque on the table, which did indeed bear his name. Kim Dokja, Personal Assistant. He struggled to remember.
Yoo Joonghyuk had two assistants: one was Secretary Lee, who did all the paperwork, and the other was the new hire, who did everything else. Such a minor character was never mentioned past the first few chapters, and it was assumed that they had been laid off halfway through the story due to some measure of incompetence.
Dokja swallowed a sigh. It was only fitting that out of all characters to transmigrate as, it had to be the nameless PA who didn't even survive until the end of the story. It seemed that even in his second life, Dokja was still working to lick the sole of his boss' boot — and worse yet, this one was described to be even more tyrannical than the last.
"Here's your first order of business," said Seolhwa, handing him a black card and a face towel. "Ever since the previous PA was fired, God bless his soul, a lot of the usual tasks have been handed to the interns. This has led to a number of issues."
Tentatively, Dokja accepted the proffered items. He couldn't help but find the combination worrying.
"They finally got the shop correct, but the order's all wrong. It should be half-ice with no sugar," she continued as she tucked all of Dokja's papers away. A bottle of spritzer was propped on the corner of the table, followed by an empty glass. "Instead, they got a quarter ice, and the brown paper napkins. The coffee's going to be lukewarm by the time he gets here!"
"So...I'm expected to clean up after their mess and put in a new order?"
Seolhwa neither confirmed nor denied. Instead, she rooted through her pocket and produced a bottle of perfume, motioning for Dokja. He lifted his wrist in response.
A subtle amber scent suffused the air. "Hence, why you were already late. Actually—"
Ding!
The elevator slid open, and a sliver of light spilled onto the marble floor. Instinctually, Seolhwa's back straightened, spurring Dokja to follow suit.
Down the warmly-lit hallway were the muted steps of polished shoes. The lingering perfume on Dokja's collar was instantly swallowed by a strong woodsy musk. Within moments, shadows long and dark crept towards their feet, accompanied by a low voice.
A bodyguard walked ahead, nodding at Seolhwa in recognition. His eyes flickered past Dokja inconspicuously.
And then, the man stood aside, giving way to the object of Dokja's nightmares—
Black hair tousled by the wind. Golden skin kissed by the Sun. His eyes were a gemstone dark, full lips dressed with a handsome frown. Yoo Joonghyuk stood tall and broad, like an anchor in the ocean. Where he stood, he cast a shadow, and it was the kind that would enshroud you whole.
"Good morning, President Yoo." Seolhwa bowed.
Dokja bowed a half-second too late; and before he knew it, Joonghyuk had already stepped past. At this distance, his intoxicating cologne gathered thickly at the root of his nose. For a split second, Dokja was besieged by the realisation that Joonghyuk's scent was never once described in the book — and to behold it now, all on his own, was an overwhelming sensation.
The thumping in Dokja's head returned, stretching him thin. Fortunately, there was only one voice that brought him back to earth. Unfortunately, that voice belonged to Joonghyuk.
"Tell Chief Jang to push back the board meeting to 10:15." Joonghyuk tossed his coat aside as Seolhwa offered him a glass of spritzer. "The driver was late."
"My apologies. I was only informed this morning that—"
"Then make sure he knows to leave the keys at the reception. I have no need for such poor services."
Dokja suppressed a gasp. By his side, Seolhwa sounded unfazed. "Noted."
"And RSVP 'No' to Director Han's boat show. Send his wife the porcelain gift set from Monaco, and leave a note that I am booked through March. I won't make time for his daughter's birthday banquet."
The clink of the glass upon the coaster was like a death knell. Unbeknownst to Dokja, even as Joonghyuk's words were addressed to Seolhwa, his gaze strayed to the crown of his head, hung low. The glare was palpable, burrowing into his scalp. There was no other choice but to meet his eyes.
Destructively handsome, unexpectedly charming, and gruesome in love and life, as it was written in several chapters since Joonghyuk's introduction, could not do him justice. If anything, Dokja could only ascribe the term unreal to the face Joonghyuk had.
If this was what Han Sooyoung had in mind when she wrote the male lead, she undoubtedly had direct insight on her readers' tastes. Dokja's, more specifically.
"And you are?"
Dokja couldn't help but startle. "Good morning, President Yoo. I'm Kim Dokja, the new assistant."
"Kim Dokja," he echoed. "I was told you'd be a fresh new face for the company. I suppose they meant this kind of fresh."
Ah.
The fear that previously bogged Dokja's better judgement quickly dispersed. Blinding rays of sunlight peeked through the storm clouds, the skies slowly clearing. How could he forget? The sole reason as to why the novel had such mixed reception in the first place was contained within all 1.84 metres of the devil standing before him.
This bastard. If he knew Dokja had just perished from a traumatic crash, would he have made such a callous remark? And what did he mean by fresh and new?
Joonghyuk did not break his gaze even once. The tip of his right brow twitched minutely as he slanted his head. "Come with me."
As Joonghyuk turned on his heel and headed towards the double doors, he casually grabbed a cup of iced americano. From the corner of Dokja's eye, Seolhwa frantically gestured at the items in his pockets, appearing overly concerned. Without sparing another word, Dokja gave an appreciative nod before trailing after Joonghyuk, the doors closing silently behind him.
The only positive trait that could be attributed to Yoo Joonghyuk was his face. And his body. And his scent. Everything else about him, however, left much to be desired. Although he was the deuteragonist, his swift character decline from brooding love interest into irredeemable bastard by the end of the story turned half the readers against him. The resulting divide split the fanbase into those who believed the female lead deserved better, and those who wanted Joonghyuk for themselves.
Dokja was neither. He finished the novel out of a combination of spite and intrigue.
In the prologue, Joonghyuk was written to have returned to the country after 13 years of living abroad — a point the author highlighted as being the root of his problems. The problems being his sociopathic tendencies.
The lengths Joonghyuk went to claim the main character might as well have been replaced by a list of crimes. These included, but were not limited to: stalking, harassment, financial abuse, multiple instances of breaking-and-entering, and abduction. Yet, amidst all the shenanigans he managed to pull off without police involvement, the one that irked Dokja the most was his shameless mistreatment of virtually everyone who wasn't his one true love.
And with Dokja currently inhabiting the body of his troubled assistant, he was essentially bound and gagged, stripped of his will, and thrown to the gallows as a sacrifice. At which chapter did the unnamed PA disappear from the novel? If Dokja could hazard a guess, if he survived until then, he'd be able to leave the story unscathed — and possibly, pass on peacefully to the afterlife.
That was the end goal. Until then, Dokja had to keep himself still, safe and sane.
"It says here you graduated from a third-rate university in an unrelated field," said Joonghyuk aloud. "Has everyone died and you were the only applicant who made it past pre-screening?"
Indeed, Joonghyuk had his ways of getting under one's skin. In a similar vein, Dokja was just as skilful at running his mouth:
"Please, don't misunderstand," he began, steadily attempting to talk his way out of this one. "As you can see, I was clearly hired due to my experience in various fields prior to entering the entertainment industry."
Joonghyuk continued flipping through his file, seemingly unenthused.
"This isn't something that can be forged, regardless of my educational background. Perhaps—"
"Ah, but you have a referral from Director Han. You've previously worked with TLS Group?"
Dokja drew a blank. He supposed he did.
Joonghyuk's eyes darted towards Dokja, catching the hesitant nod he gave in the affirmative. He brought the plastic straw to his lips, and said, "Then I have high expectations for you. Not many can survive under the brutal conditions of that old croak's company."
If Director Han was brutal, what was he?
Dokja lit up with a less-than-honest smile. "Well, I do have a knack for survival."
"Hm," Joonghyuk intoned as he took his first sip. "Your looks are average, and you dress plainly. Even your posture needs improvement."
Dokja digressed; Joonghyuk was worse than the devil. "I don't see why that matters in my line of work. Aren't I supposed to work in your shadow?"
"But you are expected to follow me everywhere."
"President Yoo, I'm your assistant, not your talent. Attending to you during events is just a part of my job. You won't even notice I'm there."
Joonghyuk let out a short chuckle. "Switching from tech to entertainment is a huge jump. How are you so sure that the tricks you've learned in other places would work here?"
"I can prove it to you. I can give you what you need."
Emboldened, Dokja wracked his brain for any semblance of help from the endless paragraphs he'd read about Joonghyuk. It was understood that, above all else, Joonghyuk loathed the state of constancy.
Constancy led to stagnancy, and stagnancy led to inaction. Once, it was offhandedly mentioned that Joonghyuk had a tumultuous upbringing, one that encompassed everything wrong with chaebol families as was typically portrayed in fiction. Childhood abandonment, sibling rivalry, and a dead mother — all the markings of a doomed love interest, wrapped in a handsome package and delivered straight into the female lead's arms so she could play therapist and heal his trauma with love.
In hindsight, there was clever writing hidden beneath the hogwash of tropes stuffed into the book. Dokja had always inferred that Joonghyuk's long-held feelings for his childhood friend were simultaneously his highest honour, and greatest folly.
So, what Joonghyuk needed by his side was not a lapdog. No, what he needed was someone more. It should be someone who knew him inside and out. One who had read him until the end. A rational, unrelated being who still found reasoning behind his flaws.
It should be Dokja, because no one in the world knew Joonghyuk as well as he did.
"What I need?" Joonghyuk's lips curled into a lopsided smirk.
Ah, it's simply unfair. Joonghyuk was truly too good-looking.
"Give me time," said Dokja. "You still have use for me yet."
"Well," Joonghyuk inclined his head, and wrung his wrist, "how can I when you've already disappointed me?"
There was a time where Dokja wondered why Seolhwa had handed him a face towel. Now was no longer that time. With the precision of a seasoned pitcher, Joonghyuk withdrew his right arm, before flinging the cup all the way across the room in Dokja's direction.
Shit—
Although Dokja had managed to step out of the way, he was still too slow. The cup hit him dead-on, right on the centre of his chest. Aghast, Dokja could only stand and stare. Lukewarm coffee dripped down his chin onto the collar of his button-up. The stain was a hideous brown. Where the cup laid on the floor, half-melted chunks of ice had pooled.
First, it was cold. Then came the silence. Only Dokja's rapid-fire pulse broke through the torrent, a violent rush of heat soaring up his nape.
Remember, Kim Dokja. Still, safe and sane.
"Do you want to know why the previous PA was fired? He got my measurements all wrong."
Still.
"Three days. If you can find a tailor who can fix that fool's mistake before Saturday, I'll consider keeping you on."
Safe.
"And the coffee was warm. Get me a new one before my first meeting, which," Joonghyuk checked his wristwatch, "starts in 10 minutes."
Sane. Fuck it.
"Fine," Dokja answered through clenched teeth, exhibiting the greatest display of patience in history. "Three days is more than enough time. In fact, I could almost say you're being generous, President Yoo."
Joonghyuk arched an amused brow. Standing opposite him, Dokja was drenched in coffee, dripping all over the carpet. His chest felt wet and sticky, and the heater did little to suppress the chill on his clothed skin.
"Where can I get your—?"
"Bore someone else with the details, please." Joonghyuk waved his hand dismissively, conveying to him, in not so many words, to Get the fuck out my sight.
"Right. Apologies." Dokja gave a curt bow. He hoped his emotions hadn't slipped through the cracks. "See you in 10."
("Well, colour me unsurprised," greeted Seolhwa as soon as Dokja exited the President's Suite, wiping furiously at his suit lapel.
Like this, there was no way the stain was getting off without ruining the material. Dokja huffed loudly. "Please, don't laugh. Is this a normal occurrence for his PAs?"
"Well, not this early. You set a record, Assistant Kim." Seolhwa chuckled anyway. "Get your suit dry-cleaned. There's a place two blocks away that does it in 3 hours," she added, with the expertise of having seen many employees in a similar state.
This gave Dokja pause. He stopped right before Seolhwa's desk. "Is that what the card is for?"
"Mmhm. He only gives it to his PA. I was only holding on to it until you officially signed on," she explained, before glancing at the doors and leaning close. "If you're wondering, it's credited to President Yoo's personal account."
"Well, about that..." Dokja trailed off, unable to finish the damning thought. At that moment, an idea sprouted in his head. "Ah! So what you're saying is there's little to no chance of me being chased by the audit team if I use the card?"
The look on Seolhwa's face could not have been more perplexed. "I believe so."
"I see." Dokja affected a casual smile. "Thanks, Secretary Lee."
And with an unreadable glint in his eyes, Dokja swept towards the elevators in a flurry, and vanished. Left to the wayside, Seolhwa pinched her chin in thought. Somehow, she felt a foreboding sense of doom looming on the horizon; but quickly discarded it.
It's not my problem, she reminded herself. Yet the pitiful image of Dokja limping out of the president's office like a wet dog was ingrained in her mind. Though I hope he stays.)
The Black Card, as Dokja christened it, could be his first chance at redemption. He'd briefly entertained the idea of stacking on more charges than his stipulated expenditure, just to chip away at Joonghyuk's ridiculous inheritance. Small steps and microaggressions, and all that.
Except, in the grand scheme of things, this wouldn't really add up to anything.
As the younger son of the Yoo Dynasty, Yoo Joonghyuk was born into a life of infamy. He earned more than the bottom half of Korea's most affluent combined, and chose to spend it all on earthly pleasures most could only dream of. His wealth was only usurped by his older brother, the head of N'gai Industries, and a shoe-in for Chairman of N'gai Group, a position currently held by their father.
But until Chairman Yoo dropped dead by the third act, Joonghyuk would continue to move on puppet strings, tugged and towed along by the threat of mutiny, contract marriages, and the eventual power struggle. For now, Dokja was merely satisfied with living vicariously through Joonghyuk's unlimited wealth, despite his long life of frugality begging him otherwise.
Old habits die hard, after all.
At the café, Dokja decided to utilise his God-given omniscience to grab Joonghyuk's favourite breakfast pastry. In a later chapter, the female lead reintroduced his love for cinnamon streusel danishes, a childhood favourite of his, by baking him a batch in the early days of their relationship. When Dokja saw them on display by the counter, fresh out of the oven, he couldn't help but add them to the order.
By the time he arrived at the 64th floor, Dokja hadn't expected to bump into Joonghyuk right then and there. He had this most displeased look on his face, his eyes instantly drawn to the faded coffee stain on Dokja's shirt. Seolhwa boarded the elevator behind him, and she shot him an apologetic look on Joonghyuk's behalf.
Dokja had this urge to cover his chest as though he was scandalised.
"Do you seriously expect to show up to the meeting looking like that?"
Dokja watched the numbers drop as a way to centre himself. 63, 62, 61... "You can insult my looks all you want, President Yoo, but there's nothing I can do about my face."
"That's not what I'm referring to, Assistant Kim." You're being real snarky, he'd most likely meant to say; but propriety dictated otherwise. With Seolhwa in the same space, it would be uncouth to start an argument.
"I was sure I was only given 10 minutes—"
"You have arrived on the 51st floor," the mechanical voice announced, right before anything truly scathing could be exchanged.
Joonghyuk was the first to step out, followed by Seolhwa, and a quietly seething, obviously gloomy Dokja.
The 51st floor held the conference rooms. It was a rather open space, with wall-length glass windows admitting more sunlight than was optically necessary. It also bore a terrible fixation on a green-friendly environment. All of this meant more indoor plants than computers, and an overall higher quality of breathable air.
For Dokja, this was a rather cursed floor. Quite a number of Joonghyuk's transgressions transpired on the 51st floor; and if Dokja recalled correctly, this was where the underlying politics of the N'gai conglomerate was first hinted at.
In any case, meetings were often brushed over in the book, so Dokja wondered how it would go along if he were to attend one physically.
"Stop. I'm not bringing you into the meeting all..." Joonghyuk searched for the right word, "...disheveled."
"Excuse me?"
Joonghyuk's tone was firm. "Go and get changed. Secretary Lee will handle the minutes."
And then, he opened the door, swiftly leaving the conversation with no room to protest.
Seolhwa's eyes flickered between the door and Dokja. "He's giving you time," she translated, holding out a palm. "I know, it's hard not to read into his words. You can join me at lunch, and I'll debrief you on everything you need to know."
Not that Dokja needed it, but he appreciated the concern either way. Wordlessly, he handed the paper bag to Seolhwa, who took a peek inside.
"Oh, what's this? You got pastries?"
All of a sudden, Dokja felt irrevocably stupid. What was he thinking, going above and beyond to appeal to Joonghyuk only to be discarded without a second glance? And he hadn't even acknowledged him in any meaningful way, except to hurl the same insults to his face.
He got it. He wasn't the most attractive, nor was he the ugliest. Dokja supposed he looked pretty average — painfully so, rather — but was his whole entire being so insulting to Joonghyuk? Should he get a haircut? Should he wear his tie differently? Should he—?
"President Yoo doesn't usually take anything for breakfast, so this may be a pleasant surprise. Good thinking, Assistant Kim."
Dokja could only give a wry laugh. "I just thought it'd help brighten his mood."
Seolhwa shook her head in a way that implied that it was futile. "Well, he hasn't shown a genuine smile in over a year."
A year. Dokja could coerce one out of him in less than half. Just watch.
With a laugh, Dokja answered, "I believe you. Thanks, Secretary Lee. Good luck with the meeting."
A pretty smile adorned Seolhwa's face. Truly, such a pleasant expression from the Goddess of BSENT was enough to ease most of his worries. If the main couple's looks weren't described in such great detail in the original book, Dokja was sure Seolhwa could easily be mistaken for the female lead. But then…he wouldn't put Seolhwa through the terrifying ordeal of being chased by Joonghyuk.
He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy.
Dokja gave a short wave as he retreated to the elevator. As soon as he left the floor, the air came rushing back into his lungs.
After that minor setback, Dokja couldn't afford to let his outgrowing dread swallow him whole. Distantly, he believed this to be divine intervention — the sudden death, resurrection, and subsequent transmigration into a book he least expected. Some higher power must have given him a second chance at life, whether as a test, or as compensation for the shitty lot he was dealt with in the past.
Despite everything, Dokja was still alive. He was no longer Kim Dokja, 28, the distressed QA tester working to his death. He was Kim Dokja, still 28, with his living conditions already paid for, The Black Card at his disposal, and most importantly, a chance. These were all things he couldn't afford previously, so what was the use of turning back now? He knew the book front to back; therefore, he had all the power in the universe to turn the tide in his favour.
It just so happened that everything began and ended with Joonghyuk — because he was the hinge that kept Dokja anchored to this world. Naturally, Dokja created this simple formula:
Happy ending = Happy life.
And he had just the idea to hasten the process of earning Joonghyuk's happy ending. Dokja was given three days to find a tailor who could alter Joonghyuk's suit on such short notice — and he just so happened to know one whose expertise was beyond parallel, and whose destiny was inextricably bound to Joonghyuk's.
Yoo Sangah, a talented seamstress and the rising star of Celesse, an old tailoring house that was fated to bring the two lovers together.