Sirens

Jio exhaled slowly, dreading the approach to his coworker’s desk. Nakyoung had a well-earned reputation around the office—a tempest in human form, with a streak of misandry and a not-so-idle threat of violence toward any man who got too close. But they were on the same team now, which meant he had no choice.

He approached the office lioness with measured steps and careful poise. It wasn’t fear exactly—Jio didn’t scare easily—but he had a healthy appreciation for avoiding unnecessary conflict. Especially when the potential consequences involved a steel bat and HR paperwork.

“Hey, uh… Nakyoung,” he began, tone deliberately respectful. “Could I get the financial quarter statements about an hour early? It’s for the presentation today.”

Nakyoung slowly swiveled her chair, turning away from her screen to face him. As she moved, her hand instinctively reached for the aluminum bat resting beside her desk. Not that she’d use it. Probably. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious, locking onto Jio like a hawk assessing a threat.

Jio’s heart did something traitorous—raced, not from fear, but from a sudden flush of attraction he hated himself for. It was infuriating how much space she took up in his subconscious. She didn’t even have to try. One glare from her and he was spiraling through fantasies that had no business existing.

“Why do you need them earlier than scheduled?” she asked, voice cool and clipped.

“Because the new boss—Sohyee—asked for them,” he replied quickly. “I’m sorry if that’s a hassle. I can help if you want—”

Nakyoung cut him off with a raised hand, her glare unwavering. After a long beat, she said flatly, “I’ll deliver them to her myself.”

Jio nodded, relief barely masked, and turned to go. As he left, Nakyoung’s eyes followed him, burning with a cold fury that only she truly understood.

Moments later, her cubicle was graced by the bright presence of Tsuki, a fellow analyst and one of the few people Nakyoung didn’t immediately categorize as an enemy.

“Why are you so mean to him?” Tsuki asked, leaning on the partition with an exaggerated pout.

Nakyoung didn’t look away from her monitor as she replied, “Because all men are pigs. They only think with their dicks.”

Tsuki rolled her eyes. “Not Jio. Or any of the guys Sohyee brought in, really. They’re not like that.”

“They’re acting,” Nakyoung snapped, finally turning to face her. “Give it time. Sooner or later, they all show their true nature.”

Tsuki sighed and nudged a paperclip across Nakyoung’s desk with her finger. “If you say so…”

Nakyoung didn’t respond. She stared back at her screen, jaw tight, willing herself to believe it.

With the report finalized and neatly stapled, Nakyoung stood, adjusted her blazer, and made her way toward Sohyee’s office.

Sohyee—an older, sharply dressed Korean businesswoman—had become the company’s lifeline. Brought in to dismantle a toxic culture that had festered for far too long, she moved through the corporate hierarchy like a cleansing storm. Her first act was swift and symbolic: removing the “orcas.”

The orcas were what staff called the predatory executives—men and women alike—who treated the office like a personal hunting ground. They thrived on intimidation, manipulation, and unchecked power. Sohyee replaced them with what she called “sharks”: hyper-competent professionals who came to work, did their jobs with surgical precision, and left without dragging ego or exploitation into the mix.

Under her leadership, productivity soared. Meetings got shorter. Deadlines were met. People stopped crying in bathroom stalls.

Among her most strategic hires were three standout employees: Izo, dubbed the Hammerhead for his brutal efficiency and laser-focused logic; Mark, the Great White, whose calm authority and technical expertise made him a quiet legend in the industry; and then there was Jio—the Tiger Shark. Smooth, disarming, with a confidence that made people lean in. People liked him. Too easily, Nakyoung thought.

But not everyone healed as quickly as the company transformed. Nakyoung was proof of that—what Sohyee, with both affection and caution, referred to as the Bull.

Nakyoung had once been the pet project of the former boss, a man whose mentorship was a cover for manipulation. Her stellar performance, tireless ambition, and loyalty had been met with condescension, boundary-crossing comments, and hands that lingered too long on her shoulder. She had endured, but not without cost.

Now, she worked like a machine—fierce, isolated, untouchable. Her mistrust wasn’t a crack in the system; it was armor.

So when she entered Sohyee’s office alone, report in hand and Jio conspicuously absent, the older woman glanced up from her tea and immediately understood.