INSTANT NOODLES,
INSTANT PANIC

I slumped over my laptop, staring blankly at the new changes made to my barely started manuscript, "Falling in Love with the Wrong Hero." The truth was, I hadn’t made any real progress at all; just a single punctuation mark blinking mockingly back at me from the empty page.

"I'm doomed."

It wasn’t just the weight of a creative block that made me utter those words. It was the crushing reality that two weeks had slipped by since my deadline for presenting my new novella's idea and the first three chapters. The phone rang again, slicing through the silence like a knife.

Another call from the publishing company.

With a heavy sigh, I braced myself as I reluctantly turned my head toward the screen.

Mr. Seo.

The sight of his name sent a shiver down my spine, and the notification bar displayed an astonishing 157 missed calls. How did it come to this?

"I'm really doomed..."

The murmur of frustration escaped my lips as I closed my eyes, resting my forehead in my hands. I felt my eyes grow wet, but I held back my tears. There is no point in crying. I could almost hear the relentless ticking of a clock in my mind, counting down to an impending doom.

Everything had seemed effortless at the beginning when I wrote my first novella. Almost too easy. Inspiration hit me like a powerful and exciting wave. I couldn't recall where the ideas had sprung from, but I remembered the thrill of writing without a care in the world. Words flowed like water, and the narrative wove together seamlessly.

But that was before the pressure began to mount.

There had been no deadlines looming over me.

No expectations gnawing at my insides.

And certainly, no constant barrage of phone calls.

Yet, as I sat there, I realized that the pressure was only part of the problem.

I had never truly planned to write another book after my first one.

Never imagined that "In This Life, I Will Choose the Second Male Lead" would resonate with readers, catapulting me into a world I wasn't prepared for — a world filled with contracts, obligations, and the weight of everyone’s expectations.

Everything had felt spontaneous, just like the moment that inspired me to write that first book.

And now?

I found myself in a huge dilemma.

"Why did I accept that contract?" I whispered to myself for what felt like the thousandth time, burying my head deeper into my hands.

I was exhausted. All this pressure was suffocating.

Finally, I lifted my head, wiping away the remnants of my tears, and closed my laptop with a sigh of regret. I longed to write, but each time I tried to force an idea into existence, it felt like I was trying to pull water from a dry well. The thought of producing something mediocre sent a wave of panic coursing through me. I could feel the judgment of my readers, my publisher, and even myself looming over me like a dark cloud.

Would they be disappointed in me? Would I be disappointing myself?

I closed my eyes again. My mind raced with a mix of anxiety and longing. I needed to find my voice again, to rediscover the spark that had ignited my passion for writing in the first place.

I needed air. And maybe some ramen. That always made me feel better, right? When in doubt, eat noodles. That had gotten me through my last novel, after all.

I stood in the middle of my cramped apartment, which looked more like a post-apocalyptic war zone than a place where a professional writer lived. Crumpled papers littered the floor like confetti, scattered around an overflowing trash bin that hadn’t been emptied in… well, I didn’t remember. The desk was even worse, covered in piles of books, half-finished notes, and random snack wrappers cluttered every inch of space. My poor laptop was buried under it all, the screen still taunting me with the blinking cursor on that blank document.

I sighed, ruffling my hair. It’s no wonder I can’t write in this mess. But cleaning felt like a monumental task I couldn’t face right now. I could barely manage to think straight, let alone deal with the disaster around me.

Grabbing my tote bag from where it hung on the doorknob, I slipped into my worn sneakers, practically the only pair I still wore these days, and headed out the door. Fresh air. That’ll help. Or at least it would get me out of this disaster zone for a while.

The cool breeze outside hit my face, and I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the brief sense of calm. As I wandered down the street toward the grocery store, I tried to push the pressing thoughts of deadlines and missed calls out of my mind.

The grocery store was familiar, comforting in a way that made me feel oddly safe. I strolled through the aisles, my fingers trailing over the shelves as I tossed random items into my basket.

Instant ramen, chips, yogurt…

Chocolate sticks. Definitely.

Can’t forget those.

My mind drifted as I wandered the aisles. Mr. Seo must be so furious by now. He’d called… what, 157 times? I winced just thinking about it. Honestly, I doubted he even remembered what I looked like. We’d only met once, at the signing for my contract, and it had been brief. He was busy, like all CEOs, and I was just a nervous wreck. The kind of nervous wreck that probably left zero impression.

He’s not going to remember me. Right?

I paid for my groceries in a daze, too preoccupied with my own spiraling thoughts to notice the cashier’s odd look as I grabbed my bag and left.

At least if he does show up, he’ll probably mistake me for someone else.

Or forget I exist entirely.

I allowed myself that faint hope as I walked back toward my building, the weight of the grocery bag feeling oddly comforting in my hand. Like if I focused on the simple task of carrying groceries, I could forget about everything else: about my failed attempts to write, the suffocating pressure of expectations, and the relentless buzzing of my phone that I refused to check.

Once I got into the elevator, I felt fatigue starting to catch up with me. However, I clearly couldn't accept this defeat from my own body, especially when I was eagerly looking forward to eating the freshly bought ramen.

But as soon as I stepped out and turned left down the hallway, my legs froze in place.

That's not possible.

No, it can't be.

And despite my mind trying to deny any possibility that what I see isn’t real, reality hit me hard.

There, standing in front of my door, was the only person I wanted to avoid the most — Mr. Seo Tae Jin, looking just as polished and intimidating as I remembered. His perfectly tailored suit, sharp jawline, and cold, calculating eyes made it impossible for him to blend in. Even from this distance, he radiated authority.

And he is currently… banging on my door? What the hell is he doing here?!

I ducked behind the corner of the hallway, panic rising in my chest. How does he even know where I live?!

My mind raced. This can’t be happening. My eyes darted around for an escape route. I needed to think fast.

Maybe I could slip past him, sneak back around the building, and—

But of course, that’s when my foot caught on the edge of nothingness. I stumbled, my grocery bag crinkling loudly as I regained my balance.

Oh, come on!!

The sound was like a bomb going off in the silent hallway. I watched, horrified, as Mr. Seo's head snapped in my direction.

"Miss Shin."

I froze. Oh no.

His voice was sharp, like he was already in the middle of an interrogation and had just found his suspect. Slowly, like a deer caught in the headlights, I straightened and turned toward him. His eyes were locked onto mine, revealing a combination of surprise and irritation.

"Mr. Seo!" I yelped, forcing what I hoped was a convincing smile. "What… what a surprise!" My voice cracked at the end, and I clutched my grocery bag tighter, as if it could somehow shield me from his intense gaze.

Good job, Rin. Very convincing.

His eyebrow lifted, and he took a slow, deliberate step toward me. "Miss Shin, we need to talk."

My heart pounded in my chest. Oh no, no, no. My instincts screamed at me to run. This man wasn’t just here for a friendly chat, he was here for answers. Answers I didn’t have.

Without thinking, I bolted.

"Miss Shin!" His voice carried after me, sharper this time, but I didn’t dare look back.

Run! Run!!

I raced toward the entrance of the elevator, the sound of his footsteps close behind. He was fast. Why is he fast?! I fumbled for the elevator button, pressing it frantically.

"Come on, come on..." I whispered, my fingers stabbing the button like my life depended on it. The elevator dinged open, and I launched myself inside, jabbing the close button just as Mr. Seo reached the corner.

The doors slid shut just in time, and I collapsed against the wall, panting.

"What am I doing?" I muttered to myself, catching my breath. I was running. From my boss. In an elevator. With a bag full of ramen and chocolate sticks. Have I completely lost my mind?

The elevator descended slowly, and I tried to calm my racing heart. Okay, just get out of here. I’d slip out at the ground floor, find a café, or… or maybe move to another country. Yeah. I could become a reclusive novelist in some faraway place. Somewhere he wouldn’t find me.

The elevator stopped with a soft ding, and the doors slid open. I took a deep breath, straightened up, and stepped out—

Only to come face to face with Mr. Seo.

He stood in front of the elevator, arms crossed, looking maddeningly calm. His suit was still immaculate, not a hair out of place, despite having just chased me down. His gaze met mine, and I froze.

"Going somewhere, Miss Shin?"

I blinked, completely dumbfounded. How did he…?

"Stairs," he said simply, as if reading my mind. "They exist."

I stared at him, mouth agape, as my brain failed to compute how he’d outmaneuvered me.

Stairs.

Of course. STAIRS.

Why didn’t I think of that?!

I took a step back, the elevator doors closing behind me, trapping me in this awkward, inevitable confrontation.

He took a step forward, closing the distance between us with that same frustratingly calm expression. "I must say, I didn’t expect you to run."

"I panicked," I admitted, feeling my face heat up.

Great, Rin. You’re a professional adult, and you panicked.

His lips twitched, almost like he was suppressing a smirk. "Clearly." His eyes drifted to the grocery bag I was still clutching. "Ramen and chocolate sticks? Is that your creative process?"

I flushed deeper. "It helps me think," I muttered, feeling utterly ridiculous.

"Ah," he said, nodding slightly. "And have you been thinking about your manuscript?"

I gulped.

Trap.

This is a trap.

"I’ve… been thinking, yes."

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, and then, to my surprise, he sighed. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction, and he ran a hand through his hair, messing up that perfectly styled look for the first time. "Miss Shin, it’s clear this arrangement isn’t working."

I blinked, unsure what he meant. "Arrangement?"

He gestured vaguely toward my building. "Working from home. Clearly, it’s not the right environment for you."

I stared at him, confused. "So… what? You’re here to evict me?"

A small, almost amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "No, Miss Shin. I’m here to offer you a private office."

I blinked. "A private office?"

"At the publishing house," he clarified, his tone all business again. "Somewhere quiet. Distraction-free. So you can focus and… finish your manuscript."

I blinked again, my brain slowly processing his words.

He’s not here to fire me. He’s here to... help?

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped when I caught the look in his eyes. Calm, determined, but with a hint of something softer. Like he understood the pressure I was under. Like he’d been there himself.

"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Why are you doing this?"

For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his gaze, something almost… empathetic. But it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the same businesslike demeanor that always seemed to shroud him.

"Because it’s in our best interest that you finish the book, Miss Shin," he said, his voice smooth and controlled. "You’ve got talent, but talent alone isn’t enough. If you keep missing deadlines, it reflects poorly on the publishing house. I’m simply trying to ensure success. For both of us."

I swallowed hard, processing his words. For both of us… It made sense from a professional standpoint, but I couldn’t help feeling like there was something more underneath. Something he wasn’t saying.

"And this private office," I said cautiously, gripping the grocery bag tighter as if it would give me some semblance of control. "You think that’s going to magically make me start writing again?"

Mr. Seo shrugged, his posture still infuriatingly relaxed. "I don’t believe in magic, Miss Shin. But I do believe in removing obstacles. And your current situation seems to be full of them."

I bit my lip, torn between feeling insulted and… well, a little grateful. Because deep down, I knew he was right. This wasn’t working. I’d been trying for weeks, banging my head against the wall, and all I’d produced was a blank screen and a blinking cursor. But still… the idea of working under his watchful eye, day after day? It made my stomach churn with anxiety.

"And what if I say no?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

His expression didn’t change, but I could sense the tension in his silence. He didn’t answer right away, as if considering his next move carefully. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but firm. "Then I’ll keep knocking on your door every day until you say yes."

My eyes widened, and I stared at him in disbelief. Was that… a joke?

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my reaction. "I take deadlines very seriously, Miss Shin."

Oh. Definitely not a joke.

I wanted to argue, to tell him that this wasn’t how creativity worked. That locking me in an office wouldn’t suddenly spark inspiration. But the weight of his stare, and the undeniable truth in his words, left me speechless.

Maybe I do need a change.

Maybe this would help.

My mind buzzed with a thousand different thoughts. Would I survive being around him all the time?

I shifted awkwardly, feeling the ramen and chocolate sticks pressing against my side. "It’s… it’s just a lot to process right now," I mumbled, trying to buy myself some time to think. "Can I… sleep on it?"

Mr. Seo studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. For a second, I thought he might refuse. But then, with a small sigh, he nodded. "Fine. But don’t take too long, Miss Shin. Your manuscript isn’t going to write itself."

"Right…" I said, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. "It’s not."

He gave me a curt nod, as if the matter was settled, then turned on his heel and strode toward the building entrance with that same effortless confidence that made my head spin. I watched him go, still reeling from the encounter.

How does he do that? Just show up, say a few words, and completely upend my life?

As the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a long, exhausted sigh and slumped against the closed doors behind me, my groceries sliding to the floor. My heart was still racing, and my mind buzzed with everything that had just happened. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The idea of taking him up on his offer terrified me. But the thought of staying stuck like this, of never finishing the book, of letting everyone down… that was worse.

I glanced down at the mess of groceries scattered at my feet.

Chocolate sticks. I need chocolate sticks.

Shoving my hand into the bag, I tore open the box and bit into one of the sticks, chewing furiously as if it would somehow help me make sense of the situation. Mr. Seo was offering me a way out — out of my creative block, out of the suffocating pressure I’d put on myself. But he was also offering something else.

Accountability.

Structure.

A deadline I couldn’t avoid.

Part of me hated that idea. Being watched. Being judged. But another part of me, one I wasn’t ready to admit to, wondered if that was exactly what I needed.

I leaned my head back against the cold doors and closed my eyes, feeling the sugar rush hit my system. I couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. He’s right. I’m floundering, and if I don’t get my act together soon, this entire career I stumbled into will slip through my fingers.

"Great, now I'm pissed," I muttered under my breath, biting into another stick. "Why does he have to be right?"

But as much as I hated to admit it, I knew what I had to do. I have to finish this book.

And maybe, just maybe, Mr. Seo’s ridiculous offer was my only shot at doing that.

Excited for more?

The next chapter will be posted very soon, so keep your popcorn close. 👀

~ Reyna