My Boss is a CHICKEN?!

Some say people either have maturity or common sense.

My boss?

He has neither.

Both concepts filed restraining orders against him years ago.

Imagine this:

After fainting for precisely 47 seconds (yes, I counted) six hours ago, the great almighty Mr. Jeon now demands he require a wheelchair to reach the hospital entrance.

Guess who's pushing his designer-suited backside around like Cinderella pushing a pumpkin?

Me.

"What if my brain fuses off again and I collapse?" he asked me, dead serious.

Sir.

SIR.

You do not have a brain to begin with.

Nothing to fuse.

Here I am, standing at the hospital billing counter, paying his medical expenses—with his money, obviously.

Meanwhile, he's sitting in the wheelchair, glaring at me like I've committed treason against his royal lineage.

I smiled politely at the cashier, ready to bolt for freedom—

Then glanced at the bill.

Ten.

Thousand.

Dollars.

Excuse me—WHAT?!

I blinked.

Checked again.

Yep. $10,000.

THAT'S MY TWO MONTHS SALARY.

For what?

Luxury oxygen? Designer stitches? Golden bandages? Imported air from the Himalayas??

I gulped, feeling like I'd just swallowed a brick. Then shuffled towards him with the hospital bill clutched in my trembling hands like it was my resignation letter.

Every step felt like walking towards my own funeral.

"What's the total?"

His Majesty asked, casually, like he's asking the price of an ice cream.

He saw my expression—and of course, snatched the bill from my hand like a K-drama villain collecting evidence.

I wanted to bang his head against the billing counter.

Genuinely,

With love.

He scoffed.

"Only $10,000?"

ONLY?!

I transcended reality.

ONLY TEN THOUSAND?!

Why did he say that like he tips beggars more?

I'm convinced this bill isn't even 0.00000000000000000000001% of his daily income.

I rolled my eyes. Internally, of course.

Externally? I still wanted to keep my job.

With the casual grace of someone who's probably bought private islands for better Wi-Fi, he whipped out his infamous black card.

"Pay." He extended the card to me like I was his butler.

This time, I rolled my eyes for real.

And snatched it from his hand like a fed-up raccoon.

I stomped to the counter and handed the card over, dead inside.

Meanwhile, behind me, His Highness sat in his wheelchair like a king waiting for peasants to bring him grapes.

I paid the bill.

Grudgingly.

Emotionally.

Spiritually.

Financially? Well, not my money, so that part was fun.

I glanced at my wristwatch.

5:14 PM.

Then, I turned to look at His Royal Uselessness, still lounging in his wheelchair like he invented the concept of sitting.

Did he glance at me?

No.

Did he care?

Absolutely not.

I took a long, dramatic inhale. The kind you take before committing crimes. Partly to calm my inner rage, partly to avoid committing a crime.

I walked towards him.

Dramatically, like a heroine in a low-budget soap opera.

All while staring at his face.

His annoyingly perfect, dangerously symmetrical face.

God, I wanted to punch it.

So Bad.

Preferably until his nose job cracked.

Did he have work done?

Hmm. Maybe not. His father has the same nose.

Wait. Did they both visit the same plastic surgeon?

Family discount?

"Buy one get one rhinoplasty free"?

I was so busy contemplating his possible face modifications, I didn't notice the human obstacle in front of me.

BUMP.

I walked straight into someone.

Ouch.

I cursed in five different languages internally as I looked down at the mess.

Then I looked up.

My soul quietly left my body and hovered near the ceiling as I processed the horror standing in front of me.

No.

NO.

This cannot be happening.

Hanuel?!

Of all people.

Of all places.

Of all alternate timelines—

HANEUL?!

WHY IS HE HERE?!

The universe clearly hates me..

I need to sit down.

Or maybe lie down.

Preferably in a coma.