Jumin Han

The polished mahogany door swung open with a hushed whisper, revealing the inner sanctum of Jumin Han's office. The room exuded an air of quiet opulence, its walls adorned with tasteful artwork and shelves lined with leather-bound volumes. As your footsteps crossed the threshold, Jumin's gaze lifted from the meticulously organized paperwork spread across his desk. His eyes, a shade of steely gray, bore into yours—cool, assessing, and utterly indifferent.

"Yes?" His voice was a low murmur, the syllable clipped and precise. It was a question, but not an invitation for conversation. You knew your place here—a cog in the well-oiled machinery of C&R International, where efficiency trumped sentiment. Jaehee Kang, your astute colleague, had once remarked that Jumin's veneer of aloofness cracked ever so slightly when directed at you. A rare concession, perhaps, in this corporate citadel.