Have you ever had one of those delusional fantasies where a celebrity you like confesses to you?

…At least I haven’t.

[The public’s #1 pick, a celebrity sent down by the heavens!]

[The nickname that follows him everywhere: “Prometheus.” The very embodiment of altruism…….]

The man who gets smothered in all that over-the-top praise.

Caesar O’n.

The second son of the O’n family—a clan where most of the relatives are celebrities and the owners of a major welfare foundation.

With looks like his and a reputation boosted by “good influence,” you could call him the most loved person on planet Earth—

“I’m tired of all of it now.”

“…….”

“So I’ll ask you straight.”

—Or at least, he used to be the most loved person on planet Earth.

“I’ll give you pretty much whatever you want, so will you quietly come into my grasp?”

How did he evolve into such a batshit, full-blown nightmare customer?

‘I’ve dealt with every kind of psycho on the planet, but this one’s on a whole different level.’

Cold sweat slid down my cheek.

I always thought I was confident when it came to handling problem customers.

But if the customer is this insane, I don’t know if I can handle it either.

“Uh….”

“Yes.”

“Please leave before I call the cops. If you keep doing this, I’m seriously going to report you….”

Of course, saying that didn’t make this deranged celebrity politely fuck off.

And that’s how my cursed connection with this lunatic began.

@oott1969 : Found a pic of Prometheus’s rumored partner.

@oott1969 : That employee stood out like crazy so I snapped one. It’s just his back, but you can tell.

@oott1969 : He’s Asian and stupid handsome.

@oott1969 : Kinda like……

@oott1969 : He looks like a loser-ass back-scratcher. If I was a loser and saw that dude, I’d get so damn jealous my insides would itch.

└@grow12t55 : Don’t know who you are but thank you for your charity in this busted-as-hell male beauty gene pool.

…Yeah. A lot.

In the worst way.

01. cacio e pepe

“Han—help me out over here.”

The second I clocked in at the department store, my coworker McQueen called for me with a face that said he was seconds away from crying.

Which usually means… there’s a seriously hardcore customer on the loose.

In other words: a top-tier asshole.

“I haven’t even changed into my uniform yet.”

“You already came in black pants, so just throw on the blazer and get out there. Now.”

“Is it really that urgent?”

“The manager was literally crying and asking when you’d get here.”

“If it’s that bad, shouldn’t you be calling security, not me?”

Our manager isn’t the type with a weak stomach. What the hell did someone do to make him actually break down sobbing?

“It’s not like he got violent, it’s just—no. Look, you’ll get it when you see him. We need you. If it’s not your mouth, I don’t think we can send this guy back where he came from.”

“Hm.”

I yanked off the hoodie I’d rushed in wearing and slid my arms into my shirt.

“Alright. I’ll try to handle it.”

The moment I said that, McQueen’s face brightened like he’d seen God.

Judging by that expression, this really wasn’t some average pain-in-the-ass.

McQueen led me out, and the person waiting there was an older white man who looked well past middle-aged.

Not what I expected. He was dressed neatly, like a proper gentleman, and his dull blond hair was slicked back with mousse.

As I approached, I put on my bright customer-service smile.

“Sorry I’m late coming out. I’m Jeheon Han—the associate in charge.”

“Gabe Dawson.”

He’s responding politely. For a so-called problem customer, that’s… not terrible?

That thought lasted about one second.

The customer smiled brightly and slid the knife in.

“One of your eyes is an unusual color. Were you born with heterochromia?”

“It’s from an accident. My iris changed color, that’s all. My vision isn’t affected.”

“Oh, dear. Still, heterochromia does draw attention. You should really wear contacts while you’re working. Some customers may dislike employees with… disabilities.”

Ah. That type.

No malice in his tone, just casually pouring out nasty words like they’re small talk.

‘Most people would’ve stiffened up by now, or gotten their feelings shredded and started snapping.’

But I’m the employee they hired to deal with the worst customers.

This is nothing.

I smiled right back at his smile.

“Thank you for the advice. What can I help you with today?”

“I’m here because there’s an issue with the suit I bought here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Would it be alright if I ask what kind of resolution you’d prefer? I can help you choose between an exchange, tailoring, or a refund.”

He swept his eyes over me—up and down—with a strange look.

Then he ignored my question about after-service entirely and started talking about something else.

“By the way, you’re very pretty. How long have you been in San Diego?”

“I was born and raised here, so… about as long as I’ve been alive.”

“I never would’ve guessed you were from San Diego!”

He laughed, bright and breezy.

“It’s rare to see an Asian man here who dresses this well—fascinating. You look like you’re around six feet tall, and you’ve got a solid build too. Other than the different eye color, there’s nothing ‘off’ about your face, so I’m sure you’ve been quite popular. Or maybe… the mismatched eyes gave you that niche, obsessive kind of fanbase.”

Listening to his soft, casual needling, I thought, ‘So this is why Calvin cried.’

‘But, Manager—guys like this usually aren’t here because of the suit. They’re here because they want someone to talk at.’

The way he kept watching me, fishing for something to say… honestly, this wasn’t even a “problem customer” so much as—

‘A chatty guy with zero social awareness.’

One of those free-range souls who wanders around looking for a captive audience.

And usually, if you just let them say everything they want to say, they calm down on their own.

So I leaned in and started playing along.

“Thanks for the compliment. You’ve got great blond hair yourself, and you’re dressed very neatly—seems like you must’ve been popular too.”

“Ah! That’s embarrassing to hear, but yes—back in college, I did pretty well. When I was on the rugby team…”

And the result?

After two and a half hours of nonstop talking, he was in such a good mood he dropped an additional $3,000 (about ₩4,000,000) like he was hypnotized, then left feedback for the manager saying, “This employee is so kind!” and walked out happy.

Watching the back of his head as he went, I thought:

‘Go home, look at that receipt, and scream into the void. If you made our manager cry, you can eat that loss.’

Once he was gone, I popped a mint candy into my mouth.

I’d talked so much my throat felt scratchy.

Right around then, the manager ran up and practically tackled me in a hug.

“You’re seriously the best!”

“Ugh—”

“Han, I swear there is nobody better than you at dealing with people!”

Yeah, well. Obviously. That’s why I’ve been working here for three years as the designated “hardcase customer” handler.

‘And even though I’m literally hired for this, he still praises me like I saved his life every time.’

Not many managers are this kind.

“Thanks, Calvin. Guess I can focus on other tasks now.”

“Oh—right. What am I doing. I’ve gotta go process the report.”

“Go ahead. If anything comes up, I’ll message you.”

“Can you? Please!”

“Yes, Calvin.”

He took off toward the office.

I headed back to the staff lounge, because I still hadn’t properly switched into uniform pants and shoes.

While I was changing, McQueen came back.

“Heard you pulled another one today?”

“He was just a talker.”

“You’re too patient calling him a ‘customer.’ The guy was basically dissecting you and rating you piece by piece.”

“He was trying to find similarities with himself. People like that pick you apart because they’re searching for something to latch onto—some angle to start a conversation. Not a good habit, but I get how it happens.”

McQueen answered with a lazy, uninterested “Mmm.”

Then he suddenly hit me with a question.

“So how much did you fleece him for this time considered”?”

“Three grand.”

“Atta boy! You exorcised an asshole and boosted sales. Your incentive’s gonna be nice this month.”

“Thanks.”

I smiled, turned back to the lockers to finish changing—

And McQueen pulled out his phone and shoved an image in my face.

“More importantly, look at this. I bought it.”

On the screen was a photo of a man.

A face like it had been carved by hand, painstakingly. Dark ash-gray hair. Silver eyes that looked like they were practically glowing.

Who on earth wouldn’t recognize him?

‘Caesar O’n.’

That distinctive last name belonged to a famous fitness model—the O’n family’s second son and their poster-boy golden face.

‘Maybe because he lost one eye when he was young, but… I heard he recently poured $200 million (around ₩300 billion) into a medical foundation.’

It was the kind of money you’d expect from a city budget.

Because of that, patients who couldn’t afford surgery—and people who suddenly needed emergency operations—got a lifeline.

McQueen’s parents were among them.

“You buying Caesar-branded stuff to pay back the favor? That’s why you picked something he models?”

“It’s not that deep. I just… like him.”

McQueen smiled, a little shy.

“When they billed us $300,000 (around ₩400 million) and then refused the insurance payout, saying it was my parents’ fault… I seriously felt like my whole world collapsed.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But then Caesar’s foundation covered it. How am I not supposed to feel something for him?”

He turned the phone slightly, staring at the screen like it was a shrine.

“This guy’s gotta be a messenger from God. An angel.”

It was a ridiculous amount of praise, but considering what McQueen had been through, it was also… understandable.

I gave his shoulder a couple light pats.

“So what’d you buy? I couldn’t even see the product because his face was in the way.”

“Oh! This. A waterproof smartwatch. I ordered it to use when I go surfing this summer. I needed a watch that’s actually waterproof, and the second I saw Caesar promoting it, I just… clicked buy.”

“It still works if you go underwater? That’s kinda tempting. I might want one too.”

I’d been thinking about trying snorkeling, so I was genuinely interested.

Seeing me perk up, McQueen got hyped and launched into a full-on pitch about the product Caesar had advertised.

“They say it’s built to handle pretty serious water pressure. I watched the test video and—”

And just like that, I got swept up by McQueen’s smooth talk and bought the waterproof smartwatch.

Yeah. That one.

The one Caesar had advertised.

…Back then, I had no idea that buying it wouldn’t just tie me to the product.

It would tie me—endlessly, relentlessly—to the model.

What the hell did I do wrong?

So. Let’s rewind my memory from here.

Chapter 1

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