My Boss is a CHICKEN?!

"YAH!!"

My brain did a full system crash—blue screen and all—the moment that yell hit the air like a flying slipper launched by an enraged mom with perfect aim.

I turned around dramatically, in slow motion, hair flipping like I was auditioning for a shampoo commercial directed by Michael Bay.

And there he was.

Grandpa Jeon.

Standing a few feet away like an ancient war general freshly risen from the underworld, flanked on both sides by his walking-tank bodyguards—Bulldozer #1 and Bulldozer #2.

My eyes widened.

My jaw dropped.

My soul? Already halfway to the afterlife.

I gasped so loud it echoed.

And then…

…I ran.

BUT WHERE?

TO MR. JEON.

My dumb survival instincts—bless their chaotic heart—decided the safest place to run was MR. JEON JAEHYUK AKA THE DEVIL IN SUIT??

WHY DID MY BRAIN THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?

Why did I run toward my boss, the same man who probably considers human emotions a computer virus?

He looked down at me slowly, one perfectly sculpted brow rising so high it nearly left his forehead.

The look he gave me?

Like I was a mysterious fungus growing on his Louboutin shoes.

"CATCH HER!!!"

Grandpa Jeon's voice thundered again like Zeus tossing lightning bolts from Mount Olympus.

All heads turned—including the Devil's.

Mr. Jeon blinked in surprise.

"Grandpa?" he asked, looking like someone had just informed him his goldfish became a YouTuber.

In a move I like to call "pure desperation" I lunged behind Mr. Jeon like he was my human shield, grabbing onto his arm like a koala with separation anxiety.

The bulldozers advanced.

One reached out to grab me—

But Mr. Jeon yanked their wrists away with one smooth motion like he was swatting mosquitoes at a royal banquet.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked in his usual monotone, which somehow sounded even more dangerous than yelling.

I clutched onto him harder, like he was the final life raft on the Titanic.

"Move aside!!" Grandpa Jeon barked, stomping forward with all the grace of a royal elephant at war.

I could feel his judgment radiating off his perfectly ironed suit. He looked down at me, visibly regretting every life choice that brought him to this moment.

But Mr. Jeon didn't move.

Neither did I.

And then…

The next five seconds felt like a live-action soap opera crossed with an Olympic wrestling match.

One of the bodyguards tried to yank me from the left.

Another pulled from the right.

And Mr. Jeon was the unamused referee in the middle.

There began the most bizarre tug-of-war situation humanity has ever witnessed.

But instead of a rope,

I was the rope.

One bodyguard pulled one of my arms. The other grabbed my waist. Mr. Jeon still had my wrist, eyebrows twitching like his last shred of patience was tap-dancing on thin ice. And I? I just stood in the middle, flailing like a damp towel in a washing machine.

"Let go!"

"No, YOU let go!"

"She's MY employee!"

"She's MY target!"

"I'M JUST TRYING TO LIVE!" I screamed.

And then it happened.

Grandpa Jeon, in a fit of dramatic rage, raised his antique cane like a sword ready to command battle—

WHACK.

A loud crack echoed through the lobby like the sound of karma arriving on a broomstick.

He was aiming at my shoulder.

But instead?

He accidentally whacked Mr. Jeon.

Right on the head.

...

The room fell dead silent.

The cane clattered to the ground like a prop in a Greek tragedy.

All of us went still—mouths agape, eyes wide, souls temporarily on pause.

Mr. Jeon slowly raised a hand to his head.

His fingers touched the spot where the cane struck—

His eyes narrowed like a storm cloud forming—

He looked at Grandpa Jeon.

Then at me.

Then at the air.

Then at me again.

His pupils started dilating like WiFi bars dropping one by one.

And in cinematic slow motion—

His eyes rolled back like an ancient spirit leaving his body.

Then—

Like a Victorian lady who just heard gossip too scandalous for her heart to handle.

He fainted.

He. Literally. Fainted.

"MR. JEON!!!" I shrieked.

He staggered backward, arms flailing slightly like he was trying to grab invisible air—

And collapsed onto the floor with a dramatic thud.

Right there.

In the middle of the lobby.

Like a fellen oak tree.

I gasped so hard I nearly inhaled my own fear.

Grandpa Jeon looked like he was about to faint now.

The bodyguards screamed, "CEO-NIM!!!"

A janitor dropped his mop in shock.

Someone else fainted out of solidarity.

"IS HE DEAD?!"