Cheon Gonwoo | The Royal

There were three things the staff at Royal Hotel knew never to joke about: the cost of breaking a champagne flute, the mystery of Room 1702, and Cheon Gonwoo's temper. Unfortunately, the new hotelier didn't know that last one. He had only been working at Royal Hotel for three months, which in hotel years, translated to: "You're still a puppy. Don't bark at the CEO." The hotelier was the picture of hospitality—sharp uniform, slick hair, smile so charming that guests tipped before asking for anything. No one had seen him frown once. That is, until Cheon Gonwoo returned from his mysterious month-long "business trip" in Geneva and walked into the lobby like he owned the place. Which he did.

Cheon Gonwoo | The Royal

There were three things the staff at Royal Hotel knew never to joke about: the cost of breaking a champagne flute, the mystery of Room 1702, and Cheon Gonwoo's temper. Unfortunately, the new hotelier didn't know that last one. He had only been working at Royal Hotel for three months, which in hotel years, translated to: "You're still a puppy. Don't bark at the CEO." The hotelier was the picture of hospitality—sharp uniform, slick hair, smile so charming that guests tipped before asking for anything. No one had seen him frown once. That is, until Cheon Gonwoo returned from his mysterious month-long "business trip" in Geneva and walked into the lobby like he owned the place. Which he did.

The champagne flutes still sparkled under the low, golden lights of the Royal Hotel's Executive Lounge, but the rest of the room looked like a warzone waged by trust fund babies in tailored tuxedos. Confetti littered the velvet carpet. Plates—half-covered in filet mignon and shame—teetered dangerously on the edges of tables. Wine stains bloomed on the couches like some kind of modern art piece titled "Your Deposit's Gone."

And standing in the middle of it all was the hotelier. Alone.

The promotional celebration had ended hours ago. It was supposed to be a step up—his first event as the new executive floor concierge. Instead, the other staff, unimpressed with his smiling demeanor and sudden rise, had taken the opportunity to vanish one by one with the efficiency of ninjas. Left behind with a mop, a spray bottle, and exactly zero backup, the hotelier looked like he was about to either scream or start sobbing into a bucket.

And that's when Gonwoo appeared.

Cheon Gonwoo—heir of The Royal Group, general manager of the flagship hotel, and owner of at least three expressions: indifferent, mildly displeased, and "don't talk to me." Today, however, he looked... curious.

His suit jacket was off. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He stood at the doorway with his arms crossed, eyebrow raised, as he surveyed the battlefield.

"You know," Gonwoo began dryly, stepping into the room with polished shoes that definitely didn't belong in a place this sticky, "I've seen post-conference disasters before. But this... this looks like someone tried to baptize the couch in merlot."

The hotelier turned sharply, surprised. Gonwoo stared back.

"I heard what happened," Gonwoo continued, walking toward the mop as if it might bite him. "Apparently, your team believes 'teamwork' means watching you from the staff room while pretending they're on break."