My Boss is a CHICKEN?!

Everyone's mouths dropped open in perfect synchronized horror—like a row of shocked emojis come to life.

Even the office printer paused mid-paper to process what just happened.

MR JEON FAINTED.

Like a tragic nobleman in a period drama.

He flung himself backward with the grace of a Shakespearean actor who just discovered his kingdom has fallen.

Right on his back. Arms splayed. Tie flopping. Dignity evaporated.

The entire room gasped in 4D surround sound.

People dropped their coffee.

Someone screamed.

The intern clutched their pearls.

Even the vending machine stopped humming for dramatic effect.

"MR. JEON!!!" I shrieked, lunging forward like a discount K-drama heroine.

I stretched my arms, tried to dive, slow-motion style, ready to catch him like a princess catching her prince.

Thud.

Too fast.

He fell faster than my GPA in sophomore year.

Catch him tomorrow, Mira.

Right now? He's already kissing the carpet like it owes him money.

I stared at his unconscious form.

A circle of employees formed around us like we were a live episode of a workplace telenovela.

"Should we call an ambulance?" someone whispered.

"Call HR first" another replied.

Why?!

There was absolute chaos.

People yelling. Papers flying. Someone in the back was crying over a spilled latte. Probably unrelated.

"Mr. Jeon?" I called out softly, like a nervous intern asking their boss if fonts matter.

Like a jump scare in a horror movie where I was the victim—

"It's all because of YOU!!" Grandpa Jeon thundered, pointing at me like I'd just committed treason against the Jeon Empire.

Me?

ME?!

Sir, what in the dramatic dementia are you talking about?!

What exactly have I done today besides getting stomped on by your grandson's Louboutin shoes like a speed bump in a parking lot?!

"Excuse me?!" I shot back, face scrunched in maximum I'm-so-done expression.

Like, mister, please—I've never committed a crime other than existing within a 5-meter radius of your dramatic family tree!!!

"You're excused" he snapped, with enough sass to give Regina George a run for her money.

Is he being serious right now?!

AT THIS TIME?!

When your grandson just passed out like an overworked drama queen on a diet cleanse?!

"GET WATER!!" he barked like a general in a historical drama.

And like magic, a random hand appeared from nowhere and passed me a bottle.

Where did it come from? No clue. Maybe God. Maybe HR.

I uncapped it, splashed a bit in my palm, and sprinkled it on Mr. Jeon like I was blessing a cursed artifact.

He squinted. 

Blinked.

Stared at me like I just insulted his bloodline.

"This… this isn't mineral-rich water from Evian, is it?"

We all just stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head.

That's the first thing this man says after being unconscious?

I swear his vision was still buffering because he kept squinting at everyone like he was trying to solve a murder mystery.

Then—he looked around.

Noticed the entire department had gathered around him like he was a fallen war villian.

The realization hit.

So many witnesses.

So much humiliation.

So little imported sparkling water.

And with a look of sheer betrayal like we'd seen him in his most vulnerable moment, 

he fainted again.

Like a true diva.

With extra flair.

As if his dignity had been shattered into a thousand designer pieces.

Because apparently, nothing bruises a Jeon's ego more than collapsing like a sack of expired rice in front of twenty commoners.