Mr. Jerk | Jaywon

PROLOGUE: NEVER

JAY

The boardroom was a large, sleek space designed for high and rich. The polished mahogany table stretched almost the entire length of the room, its surface gleaming under the soft glow of lighting.

Around it sat the company's top executives, dressed in tailored suits and polished shoes. The walls were adorned with abstract art, muted in color but bold in form, lending an air of sophistication and luxury.

Large, floor-to-ceiling windows lined one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the cityscape, and the glass reflected the glow, giving the impression of a room filled with light and shadows. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and freshly brewed coffee, an undercurrent of tension palpable as the discussion intensified.

To my left, Sunghoon Park sat with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and calculating as he listened intently. His authoritative presence was unmistakable, a silent enforcer of the company's direction.

Next to him, Heeseung Lee, the calm and collected software developer, occasionally tapped his fingers on the table, a subtle indication of his restless mind.

Across from them, Jake Sim leaned back in his chair, a laid-back expression on his face that belied the sharp mind behind it. He was relaxed but observant, always ready to jump into the conversation with a well-timed comment.

Riki Nishimura, the youngest in the room, sat near the end of the table, his youthful energy barely contained. Despite his casual appearance, his eyes were sharp, taking in every word. His presence was a reminder of the company's dynamic and ever-evolving nature.

Sunoo Kim, my efficient and ever-loyal secretary, stood by the door, a clipboard in hand, ready to assist at a moment's notice. His cheerful demeanor was subdued in this environment, replaced by a professional composure that matched the atmosphere of the meeting.

As I led the discussion, every word was carefully chosen, every gesture deliberate. We were on the brink of a major expansion, and the stakes couldn't be higher. The conversation flowed around the table, voices rising and falling in a rhythm as we debated strategies, analyzed data, and projected future growth.

Then, as I prepared to make a crucial point, a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over me. It was as if the room had been pulled into a whirlpool, the once steady and controlled environment now spiraling out of control. My vision blurred, the faces around me becoming indistinct, and the walls seemed to close in. I reached out, gripping the edge of the table, the cool wood an anchor in the disorienting haze.

But it was no use. The cacophony of voices became a distant echo, the room darkening at the edges of my vision. The once solid and reassuring presence of the boardroom faded into a shadowy void. The last thing I remembered was the sharp intake of breath from Sunoo and the concerned murmur of voices as I lost my grip on consciousness. The world went dark, leaving behind only a haunting silence and the sensation of falling into an abyss.

Sunoo's hands were gripping my shoulders, his eyes wide with panic. "Jay! Are you okay?!" His voice was frantic, a rare crack in his usually composed demeanor.

I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy, unresponsive. The voices around me were a murmur, indistinct and distant. I caught snippets of words—"collapsed," "ambulance," "doctor"—but none of it registered fully. I hated this feeling, this weakness. I had to get back in control.

A blur of time later, I was propped up in a hospital bed, listening to the doctor lecture me about stress and health. His words were a drone in my ears. "You need to take your health seriously, Mr. Park. A proper diet, more rest..." I blurred him out. Rest? Proper diet? I had neither the time nor the inclination. There was too much at stake.