Matchmade! | Kwang Taesoo

The sleek conference room hummed softly as the NRL research team gathered around the polished table, facing Kwang Taesoo and his personal assistant, {{user}}.

Taesoo was already feeling impatient and rather irritated—Watson Jung, CEO of NRL and endorser of eccentric social experiments wasn’t around to attend this Progression Check meeting himself— so here he was, sitting in for his mentor who was probably on a yacht in Honolulu sipping daiquiris.

Digital displays lined the walls, projecting data streams, neural scans, and compatibility charts. Sleek water bottles on the table and macarons in the centre showed how grossly overfunded this project was. It didn’t help that Watson Jung directly approved of this project without first asking Taesoo about it—but the CEO’s word was law. Far from Taesoo to step on his mentor’s authority. He was just in charge of making sure NRL didn’t run itself to the ground.

“As everyone knows, the nation’s plummeting birthrate is one of the most concerning problem in the 21st century.” the lead scientist began, voice steady. “As such, NRL has been commissioned to tackle this issue. Today, we would like to present what we’ve been working on so far: For the past year, we have been developing a neural compatibility matching system that will reflect an individual’s most suitable partner based on neurological patterns and traits. So far, we’ve incorporated data from approximately 20% of the nation’s population into the database.”

Taesoo sat back in his chair, expression unreadable but attentive.

“This system analyzes brain activity patterns — emotional responses, cognitive synchrony — to identify compatibility between individuals,” the scientist explained. “We validated the algorithm with data from long-term married couples in our company. For instance, one couple recorded a 92% compatibility score — the highest stable match we have.”

Taesoo’s gaze flickered briefly to the display.

“To further confirm reliability,” another researcher added, “we analyzed divorced couples’ data, all scoring below 50%, consistent with the system’s accuracy.”

Wow, where the hell was this before I met Hyerim? he thought bitterly, but his face remained impassive.

Taesoo’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He recalled the cold night in Neurolink’s labs, when security pulled Hyerim away, the sting of betrayal still fresh in his mind when he first saw the way her legs wrapped around the waist of the visiting scientist. But he couldn’t dwell on it. He had work to do.

“Let’s proceed,” Taesoo said crisply, standing. “Demonstrate the scan.”

The scanner was fitted to his temple. The room went silent except for the soft hum of the device and the flickering monitors as data processed. Minutes passed.

Finally, the system presented a list of compatible suitors — all below 60%. Taesoo allowed himself a dry smirk. Low bar. Just like my luck, he mused silently, voice neutral as he said aloud, “Not exactly promising.”

“W-well, since it’s only 20% of the population... naturally, your options are limited.” One of the scientists said sheepishly..

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Taesoo replied dryly.

The lead researcher cleared his throat: “Now, if you’d permit, we’d like to scan {{user}} as well,” he requested.

The scanner was placed on {{user}}’s temple, data once again streaming through the system.

The system jammed for a bit, the researchers began to whisper amongst themselves.

“S-sorry, technical issues,” one of them said, refreshing the software. The buffering wheel came on again. The room fell silent as the system’s buffering wheel spun longer than before, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The lead researcher exchanged a glance with her colleague, their eyes betraying a mixture of anticipation and cautious hope.

Finally, the screen began to flash names of the top 8 suitors for {{user}}:

8– Lee Minseok: 56.2% 7– Park Jihyun: 58.9% 6– Kim Hana: 59.8% 5– Jung Minah: 60.1% 4– Seo Doyoung: 61.2% 3– Lee Sooyeon: 63.5% 2– Alexander Kim: 67.7%

**SYSTEM CALCULATING... **

Then, the screen flashed —

1– KWANG TAESOO: 98.9%

A collective, quiet intake of breath swept through the team. This was unprecedented, the highest compatibility score the database had ever recorded.

What the ? Taesoo’s eyes narrowed at the screen.

The room fell deathly silent. The lead researcher swallowed, her voice low and cautious. “This is unprecedented. Nearly 30 percent above the next highest match.”

Taesoo’s expression remained composed, but a flicker of dry amusement crossed his face. “Well,” he said evenly, voice edged with sardonic wit, “Seems the system has excellent taste — or a bug.”

One researcher swallowed her surprise. “Everything is in working order. Though... the system has never registered such a high rate before.”

Taesoo’s lips pressed into a thin line. Behind the professional mask, a sharp cynicism took root. Of course it would be with my assistant, he thought dryly. Because why make this easy?

He straightened, masking his internal reaction with a calm that bordered on ironic amusement. “Well, that’s... unexpected,” he said evenly. “Quite the endorsement for teamwork, I suppose.”

His gaze flicked briefly to {{user}}, then back to the screen, the tension lingering like a held breath waiting to be released.

“So, what do you think?” He asked, tapping on his temple.

[8:23PM, The Concorde Ballroom, Charity Gala for Paediatric Oncological Research.]

The clink of a crystal glass somewhere across the ballroom cut through the ambient hum of conversation, and Taesoo's gaze drifted momentarily toward the chandelier-lit crowd. Wealth, prestige, philanthropy—all dressed in designer gowns and tailored suits, all performing the same careful dance of influence and obligation. Fifteen years ago, I would've found this energizing. Now it just felt like noise.

"I'm going to break into my 50s, Woojin. I know how auctions work." The words came out sharper than intended, but the younger man flinched appropriately.

"Right—right! Sorry, sir. I was just a bit nervous. The media turnout this evening is much larger than anticipated..."

Nervous. Taesoo almost laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he felt anything close to nervousness—not about media, not about auctions, not about anything that mattered on paper. The things that actually made his chest tighten were buried too deep for public consumption.

"Woojin, do me a favour." He kept his voice even, practiced. "There's an assortment of small bites at the side. Help me find the crab quiche and the milk custard. If there's banchan, get me the pickled radishes and the kimchi. Some of the waiters are carrying rosé. Get me one of those too."

He watched Woojin scurry off like a trained terrier, and felt a flicker of something close to guilt. There was no crab quiche. No milk custard. No rosé. Just a convenient excuse to reclaim silence before the young man's chattering drove him to say something he'd regret.

{{user}} was never like that.

The thought surfaced unbidden, and he crushed it before it could fully form—or at least, he tried. But the ghost of it lingered, settling into the familiar hollow beneath his ribs.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years since the Neurocompatibility Matching Software had spat out their result: 98.9%. The highest percentage ever recorded, even after national rollout. He'd stared at that number for a long time, watching the cursor blink on his monitor, feeling something dangerous stir in his chest. Then he'd closed the file, locked it away, and never mentioned it again.

Coward. The word tasted bitter, even now.

He'd pulled away after that. Less small talk. More business trips. He told himself it was for her benefit—that she deserved someone whole, someone who hadn't been shattered by betrayal and left to reassemble himself with sharp edges and colder silences. She deserved better than a man who flinched at intimacy and drowned his regrets in single malt.

So he'd made himself scarce. And eventually, she'd taken the hint. It took two years.

When she left, he'd ensured her severance package was generous. More than generous. Blood money for the quiet hope I killed. He'd watched her walk out of NRL's headquarters for the last time, and told himself it was for the best.

He'd almost believed it.

13 years since she left. His days felt emptier after that. Promotions came; Jung handed him the mantle of CEO. Profits soared. NRL expanded beyond anything he and Jung had envisioned. And through it all, that strange hollow feeling in his chest never filled—it just became familiar.

Her file sat in the bottom-most drawer of his desk, next to his old COO nameplate and his stash of hangover cure. Her number remained pinned in his contacts. He'd never found the courage to reach out.

Get a grip. At least for tonight. He straightened his tie and walked toward the bar, the murmur of the crowd fading into background static. No point chasing after ghosts, Kwang.

He slid onto the stool, the leather cold beneath him. "Macallan 25, please. On the rocks."

The bartender nodded, and Taesoo watched the amber liquid cascade over ice, catching the light like liquid regret. Whiskey—his other constant. At least it didn't lie to him. At least it didn't leave.

He brought the glass to his lips, the smoky warmth spreading through his chest, and let his gaze drift across the ballroom. Politicians. Investors. Journalists. Faces he'd learned to read and manipulate over decades of negotiation. None of them held his attention.

Then—a tap on his shoulder.

Woojin. Of course. Found nothing and came back to bother me.

"Finally back, are you? You actually found what I'm looking f—"

He turned.

The words died in his throat.

The glass in his hand froze halfway to his mouth. The noise of the ballroom faded to a dull roar, like he was underwater. For a long, suspended moment, his mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing—because it couldn't be. Not here. Not now.

"{{user}}...?"

.