Quiet After the Weekend

Outside the building, it was a quiet weekend morning.

The wide alley was empty of cars, and tall walls stretched along both sides.

There were hardly any people walking.

I moved slowly, heading toward the main road where the sound of traffic could be heard.

Passing a calm-looking café at one corner, the next alley revealed a select shop.

Then, a wide boulevard appeared.

I noticed a bus stop on the right with a few people standing.

As I approached and read the route map, I found a bus that went to my house.

The number I hadn’t even expected to see was wedged between unfamiliar routes, and strangely, that made me hesitate.

If there hadn’t been a bus, I would’ve just taken a taxi.

While I was still thinking, the bus arrived and stopped in front of me.

I was the only one who boarded through the open front door of bus 483.

The inside was just as empty, and I leaned back into a seat at the rear.

Each time the bus stopped and started, my head resting against the window swayed slightly.

I brushed away the hair poking my eyes and dozed off briefly.

When I woke up, the bus was already close to my house—well, close enough.

After getting off, I stood at the end of a long line for the village bus and finally checked my phone.

There were messages—from my older sister back home, from the former team leader asking if I was okay yesterday, and from friends scattered across school and work.

Messages had piled up over the weekend.

I tapped on the top message and replied.

It was a simple text from a friend in graduate school asking what I was doing.

It didn’t seem like something that needed much thought.

The conversation continued without much meaning after I replied that I was doing well.

Then, at one question, my finger paused over the screen.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Getting off work.”

It was a slightly impulsive answer.

Well, technically it was true. It was overtime work, after all.

I got off the village bus that had climbed the steep incline of Namsan and crossed the pedestrian crossing.

Passing the park and a nearby convenience store, I entered my gray stone studio apartment.

As I climbed the stairs, I tapped my aching lower back a few times before gripping the railing again.

The room was just as I had left it yesterday.

I collapsed face-down onto the bed and read the incoming messages.

“Damn, I was gonna ask you to find me a spot, but what the hell, did you stay up all night?”

“Almost.”

“Crazy work life.”

“How’s the lab?”

“Same as always. I’m even doing assistant work now.”

“Isn’t that basically like the part-time job we used to do?”

“It’s different, idiot.”

As I read my friend’s long rant about their struggles, my eyes began to close.

Even when I turned onto my side to stay awake, drowsiness crept back in.

I hadn’t expected to feel this relieved seeing my familiar one-room apartment.

Six pyeong of space.

Across from the bed, a sink and washing machine.

At the edge of my vision, laundry hanging to dry.

Just that kind of place.

Lying here after everything that had happened, the day felt like a dream.

Even now, I felt strangely detached, as if floating.

Meanwhile, everything below my waist felt unfamiliar, as if it didn’t belong to me.

I wriggled my feet, scratching the blanket, shifting positions.

To relax, I deliberately took deep breaths in and out.

Only then did the stiffness in the back of my neck ease slightly.

No one was watching, yet I was tense all by myself.

Because of everything I had done.

When I closed my eyes, it was vivid.

A few phone calls, hearing his voice only a couple of times.

Then one day, a well-dressed man in a sharp suit suddenly entered the department office.

It was lunchtime, so the office was quiet, and I had to assist him.

Even as I stood up from my seat, leaving the documents I was sorting, he was taller than me.

“Is Professor Choi Jong-man here?”

“He’s not in at the moment. Did you have an appointment?”

At the sound of my voice, he shifted his dark gaze slightly and looked straight at me.

Then, his cold expression softened into a faint smile.

I, on the other hand, barely maintained a stiff smile.

“Oh.”

“Yes?”

“You’re the student who answered the phone.”

“I probably was. What is this regarding?”

“Have you thought about my offer to join the company?”

It took me a moment to understand what he meant.

During that time, he leaned slightly closer—just about a centimeter—and looked at me.

Just meeting his eyes left behind a strange feeling that still lingered.

I thought I had only taken a short nap, but when I opened my eyes again, the room was completely dark.

My phone was vibrating beside me.

An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen.

Just as I was about to answer, it stopped, and a message came in.

“Are you alright, Yoon Seogyeong?”

“You didn’t take your medication.”

Was it him?

More than that, how did he know?

It was impossible to imagine him personally checking the trash.

Someone from cleaning must have told him.

Why would they report something like that?

Half-asleep, I felt torn between wanting to reply and not wanting to move a finger.

What was he thinking when he sent that message?

Did he think I was being defiant?

Or was he worried whether I’d handle overtime properly next time?

Or maybe—just maybe—it was simple concern.

For my condition.

It was ridiculous, overanalyzing a single text like this.

I forced myself to think simply and slowly typed a reply.

“Is this the executive director?”

“Save my number.”

I decided not to think about what that meant.

Maybe it was just so things wouldn’t look strange if someone saw us contacting each other.

Even so, I couldn’t save the number.

I spent a long time staring at the empty name field, unsure what to write.

On the surface, nothing had changed.

Even though nothing physically hurt, I spent all of Sunday lying sick.

If someone asked what hurt, I wouldn’t be able to answer clearly.

It wasn’t a cold, nothing was broken, and there was no bleeding.

But I still felt unwell.

Skipping meals, sleeping all day—I barely managed to answer my sister’s call.

Eventually, when there was still no contact, I informed the former team leader, who sounded almost resigned.

I told him everything was fine and that the director had returned safely that day.

Then Monday morning came.

Out of habit, my body got up and headed to work.

Crossing the lobby and taking the elevator down, the secretary’s office was right there.

As I greeted everyone and sat down, the director walked in immediately after.

He nodded at us and said one thing.

“Good morning.”

He seemed to be in a better mood than usual.

When it was time for him to glance my way, I slightly lowered my head in greeting.

As the door to his office closed, I straightened my back and fidgeted with the files on my desk.

In a cutting-edge IT company, we still had to prepare physical reports by hand.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just send them digitally?

As I hesitated, the former team leader called out from across the office.

“Secretary Yoon, why do you look so down?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t mess up over the weekend, did you?”

“I said it’s nothing.”

I wasn’t even sure if it was a mistake.

I thought it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, so I took it—but was it a mistake?

Was it madness?

Would life return to normal after this?

Forcing a smile, I walked toward the director’s office.

From behind, I heard Nara’s voice quietly.

“What is it? What did Secretary Yoon do over the weekend?”

“The director called, but I couldn’t go, so they went instead. Honestly, nothing works without me.”

I knocked on the door and waited for the voices inside to stop before opening it.

Partly to block out their voices, but also because I needed a moment to prepare myself.

I’ll just hand over the documents and leave.

With that resolve, I opened the door.

He was just sitting down, his back to the window covered by blinds.

I felt better than I expected.

I approached, placed the documents on his desk, and turned to leave.

“Wait a moment.”

“Yes? Is there something you need?”

“There is. Sit over there.”

“Over there” was vague.

Should I pull a chair right in front of his desk or sit on the sofa against the wall?

Watching him flip through the documents, I chose the sofa, hoping to keep some distance.

As soon as I sat down, he looked up to check where I was.

Was this not where I was supposed to sit?

His gaze lingered on me.

Then he set the documents aside, stood up, and walked over in long strides.

He sat in front of me.

Even on the large sofa, his long legs seemed slightly cramped.

As I stared at the smooth fabric folding over his knees, a hand suddenly entered my view.

He tapped the table lightly.

“Secretary Yoon. Look at me.”

“Yes.”

I raised my head with a slight smile.

He let out a small sigh.

“Don’t look at me with the expression you use for my friends.”

“This is my usual expression.”

“Fine. Let’s go with that. Give me your hand.”

The request was so unexpected that I lifted both hands and asked, “My hand?”

He leaned forward slightly and grabbed my left hand without hesitation.

Before I knew it, I was pulled to the edge of the sofa.

Then he lowered his head slightly and brought his nose close to my wrist.

It wasn’t exactly a sight that was good for my heart.

I could feel his breath against my skin—uncertain whether it was ticklish or warm.

Even after pulling my hand back and sitting properly, I remained dazed.

“It seems like there’s still some pheromone left. Did you use the neutralizer?”

“…Yes. Of course.”

“How much?”

“After showering, I sprayed it all over.”

“And at home?”

“That…”

Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t even remember where I had put it.

Maybe I had left it in my pocket.

I had gone straight to bed and slept the whole time—so I definitely hadn’t used it.

Had he noticed?

Even betas could sense it, apparently.

Thinking about the team members outside made my skin prickle.

I lowered my stiff neck and apologized.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never experienced this before… it was my first time, so I didn’t know. If the team noticed anything, I’ll think of an excuse.”

“This level is fine. Not enough for a beta to notice clearly—just enough to think you picked something up somewhere. Yesterday?”

“Yesterday?”

“There might’ve been some left. Did you go out?”

“No. I stayed home the entire time after coming back that morning.”

It was a relief I had stayed home sick.

Truly fortunate.

At my answer, his eyes curved slightly.

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

“You stayed home all weekend, then.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Because of what happened with me?”

His expression remained the same, but his lips stiffened slightly.

The conversation was getting harder.

I gave an awkward smile instead of answering.

Talking about this on a Monday morning at work was still too much for me.

“Secretary Yoon.”

“Yes.”

“One time can be a mistake.”

“…What?”

The words made my heart pound.

“That’s not what I meant. It can still be treated as a mistake—for now.”

“…I see.”

“If it happens two or three times, would you still make that face? Once a week. No interference otherwise. If there’s a risk of being found out or if something needs to be said, I’ll step in. Can you continue?”

It sounded like a negotiation.

Watching him after he finished speaking, I realized—this was my last chance to turn away.

My fingertips trembled slightly.

If I refused, there would be no more overlap between us.

Just a normal life as his secretary.

A life where we’d never cross paths like this again.

Even knowing I shouldn’t, another question slipped out.

“Were you alright that day?”

“I told you, I was fine.”

“What happens if I refuse?”

“I’ll arrange things comfortably for you.”

“Arrange.”

Would it be a personnel decision?

Whatever it was, if he handled it, it would be clean and precise.

Someone I would never have had a chance to be involved with otherwise.

How did things end up like this?

Meeting him.

Liking him.

Sitting here.

Accepting his offer.

“…I’ll continue.”

“Good. That’s a clear answer.”

The pressure from earlier eased.

My clenched hands were damp with sweat.

As I stood to leave, he added—

“Next time, ride back in my car after it’s over.”

“I can handle that myself…”

It felt too personal.

Seeing my hesitation, he spoke firmly.

“You’d have been careful about where you went on your way back, right?”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“You can’t even sense it.”

He said it lightly, but it stung.

“That’s within my scope of interference. Take the car.”

“…Yes.”

For someone who said he wouldn’t interfere, he seemed to care quite a lot.

Maybe it was because I didn’t know anything.

The conversation ended, and I returned to my desk, staring blankly at the monitor.

Searching about alphas and omegas here would be ridiculous.

The company probably tracked everything.

I moved the mouse aimlessly.

Maybe I should ask my sister.

Once a week.

A sexual partner with the executive director.

There was no turning back now.