The soft afternoon light spilled through the windows of Go Gunhee’s master bedroom, painting everything gold—the polished floor, the worn armchair, and the thick blankets tucked around the chairman.

Gunhee sat upright in bed, wrapped in a cozy throw. Though illness weighed on him, his sharp eyes held their usual spark.

Across the room, an attendant moved quietly, folding a fresh towel and adjusting the humidifier with practiced care. His movements were gentle and thoughtful—no words, only presence.

The door opened with a soft creak.

Woo Jin-Chul stepped in, composed but alert. His gaze briefly landed on the attendant—a moment just long enough to be noticeable, specifically for Chairman to notice—before settling on Gunhee.

“Chairman,” he greeted with a nod, “you look a little less annoyed being stuck here today.”

Gunhee let out a dry chuckle. “Don’t jinx it.”

Jin-Chul’s eyes flicked back to the attendant, who was now carrying a small plate. Without a sound, he set it on the table between Gunhee and Jin-Chul—a neat stack of biscuits, placed carefully just within reach of both.

Gunhee’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at the biscuits. “He’s got good taste. Knows how to keep a man fed.”

Jin-Chul raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“Every day,” Gunhee continued, “I’m stuck in this bed, and every day, he’s here. Folding towels, making tea, keeping the place orderly. Honestly, he’d make a fine partner for someone like you.”

He gave a small smirk. “Quiet, efficient—knows how to handle people without needing to raise his voice. I’d be lucky if he put half as much care into a home as he does me.”

Jin-Chul glanced at the attendant, who returned to his quiet work without looking up. There was something tender in the way he moved—deliberate, patient. He gently cleaned the cup Gunhee had just finished using, wiping it carefully with a cloth, calm and unhurried.

“You know,” Gunhee added, picking up two biscuits, offering one toward Jin-Chul, “he never makes tea or biscuits for the guards, the board, or even me—except when it’s really needed.”

Jin-Chul took the biscuit with a small, genuine smile. “I’m honored.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Gunhee said, half-joking, half-serious. “But it’s a good sign.”

Jin-Chul’s gaze lingered on the attendant again—quiet, thoughtful.

“Ever thought about settling down?” Gunhee asked, voice casual.

“Not really,” Jin-Chul admitted.

Gunhee gave a knowing look. “Someone like him? He’d be good for you. No fuss, no shouting. Just... care. You’d be lucky.”

Jin-Chul shifted in his seat, caught off guard but unable to deny the thought.

The room settled back into silence—soft, warm, and full of unspoken possibilities.

Gunhee sipped his tea before continuing. “So, when will you ask him out?”