[Adastra, Luxomoris. HR Office]
Mark walked into the office as if deliberately making his footsteps heavier — he had clearly come here not to be accepted.
He didn't even knock. He simply brazenly threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him.
A gray-haired man sat behind a desk. He didn't react either to the noise either to the young man's arrival — just sighed, rolling his broken glasses between his fingers.
The desk in front of him was carelessly cluttered with documents, pens, and notebooks. The edges of some sheets were hanging down — surely the slightest draft could have blown them away into oblivion.
Under the desk, the situation was no better. A broken mug lay there, and around it spread a dark stain of cold coffee mixed with shards.
However, the man continued to mutter something quietly to himself, twirling his glasses in his hands. From time to time, he absentmindedly scratched the back of his head as if gathering his thoughts into a single structure.
It seemed as though the entire bubble of bureaucracy had suddenly burst — and even HR himself no longer cared.
Mark smirked.
"Surprising… chaos arrived before I did. Ha-ha!"
He stepped almost right up to the desk and planted his palms on its surface.
"Oh... my God... God... a man in a white suit."
HR shifted nervously in his chair.
"You're here for the interview!Sorry… glasses, coffee… Frank…" He got flustered. "Daughter, the wedding… please sit down."
Mark slowly shifted his gaze to the man. Then to the empty spot where a chair was supposedly meant to be. Then returned his gaze to the man again. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and tilted his head slightly to the side.
"Oh… where's the chair…" HR muttered, sounding bewildered. Looking around and becoming even more lost in his own frantic fussing.
Mark fell silent for a moment.
"Nothing. I'm not proud — I'll stand," he replied calmly, already realizing that the situation was taking a direction he did not want.
"Then take my seat instead!" the man snapped and quickly stood up.
"Uh… no, I'm in the prime of my life. Standing is even good for posture," Mark waved it off with a strained polite smile.
"But you're a guest," the HR representative's voice grew drier, more formal.
"Should we both stand...?" Mark faltered for a second, not understanding where this insistence was going.
"In sense? No. You sit down."
The man gently but firmly guided him toward the chair and seated him at the table. Now there was no room for maneuver to continue the argument.
"A good start… interesting… Hmm…" Mark whispered.
"All right. A pen… a pen… thank you," the manager quickly gathered the documents, straightened up, and looked at the young man. "I've reviewed your resume."
Now his voice sounded neutral. He suddenly became so composed, as if the situation were completely routine and the chaos from just a few minutes ago had been a mirage.
"Very interesting…" Mark smirked, trying to remember when he'd even written a resume. Oh, right — never.
"What can you contribute to our company?" he asked, looking straight at him without breaking eye contact.
"No idea," Mark replied confidently, as if he were talking about a wealth of experience and projects, rather than their complete absence.
"Excuse me?" the HR was taken aback, nervously drumming his fingers on the table and momentarily losing his composure.
"And this is what you traded the rooftop barbecue for… an office with white walls…"
Evans let out a sigh.
"This bureaucratic madhouse?!"
Mark abruptly stood up and kicked the mug with his foot. It shattered into pieces as it hit the cabinet.
HR pressed his hands to his temples.
"How dare you?!" he finally snapped, his voice already filled with anger.
"They say I've gonna to far!"
Mark stepped closer.
"But Lorenzo… you've always liked this," the guy stopped almost right up against him, looking down from above. Even with his body, he was deliberately creating pressure, as if he wanted to remind him who he was.
"Mark…?" The man suddenly froze, catching the familiar scent of cherry perfume. He remembered.
Mark gave a sly smile.
"You remembered," he said curtly and turned to leave.
But the old man suddenly grabbed his arm.
"You're hired. Thank you for coming," he said in a cold tone, as if he were filing a report rather than making a decision.
It pricked Mark painfully in the chest.
As if nothing mattered at all, they would have taken him anyway, because he was his father's son. And that annoyed him the most.
He couldn't even make a mistake, because the right to make mistakes had already been bought. Without him, but at his expense.
"Take care, HR," Mark called over his shoulder and
walked out without looking back.
The old man felt as if he'd been struck from within.
The word "HR" stuck in his head. He didn't move.
He just stared at the closed door until the sound of footsteps faded away.
At the same time, Mark's phone was ringing off the hook. It was his father calling.