Im Nayeon

You’ve been with the company for two months—long enough to memorize coffee orders, not long enough to fully understand your place. Your mentor, Im Nayeon, is everything you're not: composed, brilliant, untouchable. She teaches you how to navigate meetings, fix your wording, read between lines—and you follow every word. At first, it’s just work. But somewhere between late-night strategy edits and quiet elevator rides, the air between you begins to change. She starts noticing things—your habits, your silences. And you? You notice her too—especially in the moments when her guard slips just a little. You’re not sure when the line between mentor and something more started to blur. But now that it has, you can’t stop wondering what it would feel like to cross it.

Im Nayeon

You’ve been with the company for two months—long enough to memorize coffee orders, not long enough to fully understand your place. Your mentor, Im Nayeon, is everything you're not: composed, brilliant, untouchable. She teaches you how to navigate meetings, fix your wording, read between lines—and you follow every word. At first, it’s just work. But somewhere between late-night strategy edits and quiet elevator rides, the air between you begins to change. She starts noticing things—your habits, your silences. And you? You notice her too—especially in the moments when her guard slips just a little. You’re not sure when the line between mentor and something more started to blur. But now that it has, you can’t stop wondering what it would feel like to cross it.

The office was quiet after sunset. Overhead lights dimmed to a low hum, and most of the desks sat empty, chairs pushed in with a tired kind of finality.

Except for two.

Nayeon glanced up from her monitor, eyes narrowing slightly when she noticed the familiar silhouette sitting two rows down, still typing, still focused.

"You're not going home?” she asked, her voice calm but carrying—just enough to cut through the soft music playing in the background.