IDMPYU 33

33. I Came to Take What’s Mine.

The moment Seungho’s eyes met hers, Ji-hyun’s heart plummeted endlessly.

She often had dreams. In those dreams, Ji-hyun returned to the large mansion where she had spent part of her teenage years.

When she opened the sturdy iron gate, a familiar face would be there. A boy, youthful and expressionless, stood in the garden where flowers spoke and butterflies fluttered, staring at her. In her dreams, Seungho was still eighteen.

“It’s been a while? Wait… you two know each other?”

Sooyoung’s cheerful voice snapped Ji-hyun back to reality. She looked at Seungho standing before her—the cold and beautiful face that would often surface in her memories. He was looking down at her.

The boy from her dreams had become a twenty-six-year-old man.

Perfectly drawn brows, deep black eyes, sharp jawline…

His features had grown more defined, but his striking looks remained the same. The black sweater he wore accentuated his pale, thick neck and broad shoulders. The sensitive noble boy she faintly remembered had grown into a man brimming with undeniable charm.

Overwhelmed by the pressure emanating from his presence, Ji-hyun couldn’t even utter a basic greeting.

The sarcastic curve of his lips and the cold glint in his eyes made it clear—this encounter wasn’t a coincidence.

“…We used to know each other a bit.”

Seungho answered without taking his eyes off Ji-hyun.

“Oh, I see. That’s great.”

Sooyoung laughed heartily and stood up.

“You must’ve been shocked to see how young the director is, right?”

Ji-hyun stiffly turned her head to look at Sooyoung, who was gently patting her shoulder.

“Director…?”

Sooyoung scrunched her nose and smiled.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, he’s a board director at the Whale Scholarship Foundation. It’s mostly a formal title, though.”

Thud. Her chest tightened.

Considering Seungho’s family background, it wasn’t entirely surprising—but the fact that it involved the foundation was a problem.

The Whale Foundation—the very place that had sponsored her tuition throughout school—was related to him. Ji-hyun was utterly confused. Unaware of the situation between the two, Sooyoung continued cheerfully.

“It’s even better when someone you know is helping out. There’s not much to do anyway. You’ll just be assisting him—Director Shin Seungho.”

“Ah, unni, I…”

Ji-hyun looked hesitant, but Sooyoung, missing her expression, went on.

“The terms in the official notice were just too good to pass up. And since you’re affiliated with the Whale Foundation, it’s perfect.”

She had to speak up now—otherwise, she would be the one to suffer.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do it.”

At her firm refusal, silence fell. Ji-hyun’s face flushed as both sets of eyes turned toward her.

“Why not?”

“I have some personal matters…”

Sooyoung reached out and held Ji-hyun’s hands. It was too good an opportunity to let pass, especially for someone in Ji-hyun’s financial situation.

“It’s such a waste to let this go. Won’t you reconsider?”

“…I’m sorry.”

At that moment—

“Pfft.”

Seungho, who had been silently observing the two, couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Excuse me, why are you laughing, Director?”

Sooyoung’s gaze toward him turned sharp. Seungho, stifling his laughter behind a large hand, looked at her and then back to Ji-hyun.

“This is such a cliché drama.”

Ji-hyun shivered under his sharp gaze. He raised a finger and pointed at the document envelope on Sooyoung’s desk.

“Why are you ignoring the documents I brought and playing this farce, Miss Assistant?”

Only then did Sooyoung hurriedly pull out the envelope and begin reading.

“I didn’t come here to ask for consent.”

His low, chilly voice echoed in Ji-hyun’s ears. As Sooyoung quickly scanned the contents, her expression became hard to read.

“Oh, this… hmm.”

Still unaware of what was going on, Ji-hyun squirmed. Seungho’s smile vanished as he looked down at her.

“I came to take what’s mine.”

His barely audible words struck Ji-hyun’s ears with startling clarity. Sooyoung, pale-faced, addressed Ji-hyun.

“Ji-hyun, it looks like you’ll have to do the internship.”

“What? But I clearly said I wouldn’t…”

She picked up the document. It was the consent form Ji-hyun had signed at twenty years old.

“Here—this absurd consent form has your signature.”

“What? What are you talking about…”

Ah…!

Holding the contract, Ji-hyun recalled the day she signed it.

When the Whale Foundation first contacted her, she hesitated, thinking it might be a scam. But with no other option and tuition to pay, she signed—wishing everything would work out.

Sooyoung pointed at the tiny print at the bottom of the document.

“The signee, upon request from the contracting foundation, agrees to comply at any time.”

“No way.”

Ji-hyun stared at Sooyoung in disbelief.

Sooyoung looked equally troubled. She continued speaking, clearly unsure whether this was a blessing or a curse for Ji-hyun.

“The terms are a bit forceful, but it’s in writing. Since you signed it, if you truly don’t want to comply, you’ll need to take legal steps.”

“Legal steps…?”

Her vision darkened. There was only one person she wanted to avoid: Shin Seungho. But now, there were too many obstacles.

“You’d better just go along with it.”

The light smile in his voice shattered her last bit of resolve.

“I’m very serious about the work the foundation does. About nurturing people.”

Sooyoung, Ji-hyun’s department assistant and friend, was apparently a distant cousin of Seungho. Unlike her wealthy relatives in business, Sooyoung pursued academia, working as a TA while preparing to become a professor.

Even she was surprised that Ji-hyun and Seungho knew each other—clearly unaware of their past.

“Here you go, Director Shin Seungho.”

Sooyoung handed over the completed recommendation letter.

“Please take good care of our Ji-hyun.”

Seungho raised his brow slightly at the word “our,” but said nothing. Though they weren’t close, Sooyoung knew his obsessive perfectionism well. He was the last person you’d want as a boss.

“Hey, Ji-hyun needs to prepare for the civil service exam soon. So don’t overwork her, okay?”

Seungho looked at Ji-hyun, who had her head bowed. Her long lashes trembled faintly. She was probably regretting signing that paper six years ago without much thought.

Regret, huh… I like that.

A soft smile curved his lips.

“Of course. Naturally.”

“Here, sign this.”

Ji-hyun, looking dazed, glanced between the work contract in front of her and Seungho.

He had brought her to a café and now sat leisurely opposite her, waiting for her to sign.

Despite the eight years apart, their dynamic hadn’t changed. In fact, the gap had only grown.

Seungho had easily become the one with power, and Ji-hyun, once again, the subordinate. With her head bowed over the unread contract, she bit her lip. She had imagined running into him someday, but not like this.

To her, Seungho was like a bookmark gently tucked into a book—something she could look back on occasionally with fond memories.

And yet here they were—an unexpected reunion.

As she hesitated, Seungho spoke.

“Start work tomorrow. Dress properly. Also…”

His mechanical tone made Ji-hyun lift her head.

“Someone else can do this internship, right? It doesn’t have to be me.”

Her eyes burned, and her voice trembled. She didn’t want to get entangled with Seungho again. She didn’t have the strength to be the underdog again.

Meeting his eyes with a pleading gaze, she found only cold indifference.

“If you want legal counsel, go ahead. I’ll be fully cooperative.”

“Do you really have to go that far?”

“Ha…”

With a look of disbelief, Seungho closed his eyes and wiped them with his smooth white fingers.

“You’re misunderstanding something…”

“…”

“This is work. Not a favor.”

His calm tone somehow sent a chill down her spine.

“If you think you can use some old connection to wriggle out of this, say it. I’d love to hear it.”

Ji-hyun’s face turned pale under his razor-sharp gaze.

What had she expected?

The boy from her dreams had been a figment of her imagination.

The warmth in his eighteen-year-old eyes had become a well-sharpened blade—now ruthlessly cutting her down.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then sign.”

Seeing Seungho, resting his chin on his hand with a disinterested look, Ji-hyun realized she had to correct her view. Shin Seungho was not a gentle bookmark. He was a hunter—ruthless and relentless.

Finally, after signing the contract, Seungho skimmed through it without expression, then looked at her.

“Start work tomorrow. Dress neatly. And…”

“…”

His dry gaze met hers.

“During the contract period, the intern must obey the supervisor unconditionally.