My Boss is a CHICKEN?!

Golden spirals surrounded Mr. Jeon like he was Sailor Moon mid-transformation- except instead of becoming a magical girl, he turned into a chicken.

A whole,

feathery,

beady-eyed,

bok-bok-ing chicken.

I gasped so hard it could've summoned a wind god. Somewhere in the Himalayas, a monk probably dropped his tea.

And then I woke up—choking on my own spit and the sheer trauma of seeing my terrifying, gucci-suited boss morph into poultry.

Was it a dream?

A prophecy?

A cry for help from my subconscious mind?!

My heart thumped like I'd just run a marathon with BTS.

WHAT KIND OF DREAM WAS THAT?!

I mean— I can tolerate JYP Papi making another shirtless comeback, I can even survive S.Coups doing that dangerous pelvic thrust.

But MR. JEON TURNING INTO A CHICKEN?!

What in the K-drama multiverse kind of nightmare was that?!

Nope.

Cancel the Netflix subscription.

Too unrealistic.

even for me.

I looked around, eyes darting like I was in a horror movie teaser.

This was not my cozy little apartment filled with pink Hello Kitty plushies and half-eaten takeout containers.

Marble floors.

Silky drapes.

Plants that were very much not fake.

A chandelier that looked like it cost more than my entire college education.

And the faint scent in the air?

Money and stress.

This wasn't even my neighborhood.

I turned my head slowly…

and made direct eye contact with a glaring, sleep-deprived, and disheveled Jeon Jaehyuk.

I gulped.

Then slowly rotated my head forward again like a malfunctioning robot.

Okay, Mira. Process. Breathe. Do NOT scream.

"H-How am I here, Mr. Jeon?" I squeaked, my voice barely above a whisper— like a mouse who accidentally walked into a mafia meeting.

"You trespassed" he said flatly. The emotional range of a toaster.

"Oh" I replied. So eloquent. Truly a scholar.

He crossed his arms tighter. "I'm calling the cops."

I IMMEDIATELY dropped to my knees like a rejected K-pop trainee on elimination night.

"NOOO PLEASE! I already lost my job! You want me to go to jail too?! What's next?mopping prison floors while singing trot songs in key of despair?!"

Honestly, if my mom saw me on the 9PM news arrested for Chicken-Related Trespassing, she'd disown me and adopt my cat which she hates.

He looked deeply unimpressed.

"One last chance, Mr. Jeon. Please" I begged, palms pressed together like I was about to join a monastery.

"Don't make me say something absurd" he muttered.

My face burned.

But desperate times = Desperate Mira.

Brain: Now Rebooting.

Loading: Panic Protocol

Running: Damage Control Mode

"I won't tell anyone your secret!" I blurted.

He blinked. "What secret?"

"You know what secret…"

I gave him the look.

"…You're a chicken."

"I'M NOT A CHICKEN!!" he roared, like I just insulted three generations of his ancestors.

"You are!" I shot back, standing up like a revolutionary about to launch a protest in the streets of Seoul.

"I'M NOT!"

"YOU ARE!!"

"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!!" He stormed toward me, every syllable a thunderous stomp, like a hot villain in a cheesy romcom.

"I KNEW IT! SO YOU ARE A CHICKEN!!"

"I SAID I'M NOT!!

I'M CURSED!!"

Silence.

Wait.

WHAT NOW?!

"…Cursed?" I echoed, blinking like a goldfish.

"You heard nothing," he muttered, clearly regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

"You're cursed? Like… Maleficent-style? Or like grandma's 'evil eye' curse after you didn't eat the curry she made?"

"Shut up."

"What?"

"You're in no place to ask."

He wasn't wrong.

I was jobless, homeless, and probably smelled like anxiety and panic cologne.

But still—

"I know your secret though."

He groaned like I was a human migraine.

"I'm going to kill you."

I gulped. Honestly? I'd believe it.

"I'm serious, Mira. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into…"

This was the first time I ever heard my name come out of his mouth.

Not 'YOU,' not 'HEY,' not 'ASSISTANT KIM'. He said Mira.

Am I hallucinating from caffeine withdrawal?

He was close now.

Inches away.

His cologne smelled like expensive lawsuits and generational secrets.

But I didn't flinch.

Why?

Because I had been personally trained by the man himself in the ancient martial art of "Maintaining a Stoic Face While Dying Inside."

"I don't care. I-I'll tell everyone you're a chicken before I die" I said, trembling but defiant.

"I SAID I'M NOT A CHICKEN!"

"You are."

"Even if I am, you can't say that! You've got the facial structure of an orangutan, did I taunt you for that?!"

EXCUSE ME, WHAT DID HE JUST SAY.

DID THIS MAN JUST—

ORANGUTAN?!?!?!

My jaw dropped like a trapdoor.

"Are you calling me a monkey?!"

"I'm being honest."

"You're being rude."

"I'm being factual."

Ohhh, it was ON.

"Fine. You want war? I'll go public. I'll make a YouTube exposé: 'MY CEO IS A CHICKEN – LIVE FOOTAGE INSIDE!' Featuring: MR JEON JAEHYUK"

"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!!"

A loud, dramatic, unfamiliar voice thundered from above.

My brain did a full loading screen— spinning wheel and all.

The voice felt… weirdly familiar.

Like someone who once scolded me for double-dipping fries.

Or cursed me in a past life for stepping on their silk robes.

I turned slowly—like the final girl in a horror movie who knows the ghost is breathing down her neck and still turns around anyway.