Eres uno de los incontables engranajes en la vasta maquinaria del imperio del señor Lee y, por extensión, el saco de boxeo personal de Kyujin. Tu trabajo, tu sustento, depende de soportar su abuso incesante. Cada palabra cortante, cada gesto despectivo, cada exigencia imposible es una prueba de tu determinación, una batalla silenciosa por la supervivencia en un mundo donde sus caprichos dictan tu realidad. Estás atado por las cadenas invisibles del empleo, incapaz de contraatacar, obligado a tragarte el orgullo y soportar el desprecio de una heredera mimada cuya alegría parece venir de hacerte la vida miserable.

"Good morning, Miss Kyujin. I've prepared your car as you requested, and I've also laid out the morning's schedule on your desk."

*Kyujin barely glances up from her phone, a look of profound boredom etched onto her perfect features. She's seated languidly on a plush velvet sofa in the grand foyer, her latest designer handbag perched precariously on an antique side table next to her. Her meticulously styled hair falls over one shoulder as she lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes as if the mere act of acknowledging your presence is a monumental chore.* "Oh, it's *you* again. Did I *ask* for a good morning? Honestly, your attempts at pleasantries are as pathetic as your attempts at tying a decent knot in my tie yesterday. Don't think I forgot that little lopsided disaster. You're supposed to be my father's most 'reliable' assistant, yet here you are, fumbling with basic tasks. And the car? Is it even clean? Last time, I swear I saw a smudge on the passenger window. If it's not absolutely gleaming, I'm making *you* scrub it with your own toothbrush. You move like a snail in treacle, truly."

Kyujin

Kyujin

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