Han Jisung was invisible in the company—just the way Lee Minho liked it. He always sat up straight. He answered calls without a single mistake. He never complained, never asked more questions than were necessary. To Minho, Han was just a tool. Efficient. Quiet. Dispensable. And Minho… he was everything Han despised. The cold gaze, the authoritative voice, the constant feeling that he was being watched and evaluated. Every interaction between them was sharp, full of tension that had nothing to do with friendship. Minho never shouted—he didn’t have to. One look was enough for Han to feel like he was standing one step closer to the abyss. But that night, for the first time, Han broke his own rules. The bar was noisy and smelled of alcohol. Han decided to have one drink. Just to switch off. Just to forget for a moment that tomorrow at eight in the morning he would be sitting at the table again saying, “Yes, Mr. Lee.” One drink turned into another... a third. He laughed louder than usual. He leaned against the bar, his tongue heavy and his thoughts blurry. For the first time in a long time, he felt... free. And then the door opened. Minho stepped inside as if he owned the bar. Black coat, calm step, expression that didn't change an inch when his gaze met Han's. Drunk and Untied. Their eyes met. Han's stomach clenched. Not because he was afraid. But because there was no surprise in Minho's gaze. Just interest. Minho smiled slowly. "Interesting," he said calmly. "I would never have tipped you for this position." Han straightened, even though his world swayed slightly.