Being A Full-Time Employee C1

Chapter 1

I never thought I would end up cleaning up after some brat.
That, for me, was the impression of this year. One could argue it’s too early to declare such a thing when autumn has yet to fully pass, but I had already decided. That was my sentiment.

“I’m telling you, I never thought I’d be stuck cleaning up after some brat.”

I said it out loud, making the strongest display I could that my mood was twisted and sour, yet the broker escorting me to the Hunter Bureau looked utterly disinterested. More than disinterested—he had blindfolded himself, stuffed earplugs into his ears, and completely surrendered to sleep.

“Hey.”

I smacked him with the file folder. His name was Seunggyu. Once, he had been a close friend, but now he was on the verge of burrowing past rock bottom, known for scams and shady dealings. He gave no answer.

“Hey. What is this? This is just a baby.”

The only reply was his snoring. Meanwhile, it was me who looked destined to babysit some rookie.

Leaving the unresponsive Seunggyu where he lay, pretending or genuinely asleep, I turned back to the file. It contained only a meager outline of the hunter I’d been assigned.

His name was Chae Wonu. Age, twenty. Male. Though the essential stabilization check interview remained, far too little information was present. Too many gaps left nothing but my imagination to fill them.

Judging by his age, he was probably a newly awakened hunter. Fresh hunters required endless instruction, endless supervision. Was this really the time for me to be doing such things? The thorn-strewn path of such a future was obvious, and I could hardly sit by and let myself tumble helplessly into it.

Out of revenge, I stuck a piece of gum onto bastard Seunggyu’s phone. Knowing him, the first thing he would do upon waking—without even removing his blindfold—was reach for it. And oh, how dearly I wished it would glue fast to his palm.

I glanced behind me. Every single one of them looked like men who could fall asleep even if they were dropped into the middle of a desert. Even now, more than half were sprawled out, snoring and spread-eagled across the seats.

Though the van sat only five of us—even though its full capacity was ten—it felt cramped. That was just how large and broad they all were. In this place, I was like a slender bamboo among thick trunks, a fragrant chrysanthemum among weeds… and what else? The saying was 매난국죽 (plum, orchid, chrysanthemum, bamboo), but I couldn’t recall the other two offhand.

At any rate, I had probably been at this job longer than anyone here. A life of self-inflicted hardship. And still I asked myself: why, and until when, must I endure this?

…But in truth, I knew. I knew it well. It was all for money. And for money, I would be trapped in this line of work for quite some time.

In a country where not an ounce of oil chose to erupt, dungeons burst open instead, flooding the land relentlessly. Housing insecurity soared, and in regions deemed to have lower dungeon outbreak probabilities, housing prices shot through the heavens.

For the sake of residential stability, for the sake of a long and peaceful old age, there was no choice but to continue this work. No matter how foul or humiliating, the pay was solid. This was a field that went beyond being merely one of the 3Ds—dirty, dangerous, difficult. Here, surely, it had reached 5D. Aside from being filthy, grueling, perilous, what other “D”s could exist? My shallow education didn’t allow me to say.

“You’re about to receive the highest pay of your career. Your market value now falls within the top one percent of Guides, Baek Gyeom.”

It had been my mistake, hearing those words and leaping at the bait without even listening to the details.

With a sigh of resignation, I tossed the folder aside. As soon as I sank deeper into the seat, I caught sight of it—the ostentatious sign of the “Korea Hunter Bureau,” crafted from valuable dungeon byproducts, shimmering with shifting colors in the light.

After the dungeons erupted, Korea swiftly constructed a response system. Country code +82, the globally renowned phrase 빨리빨리 (ppalli-ppalli, hurry-hurry), and a national character incapable of enduring being a step behind—not to mention the virtues of a nation forged in times of war.

First, the endless swarms of monsters were hunted down. Hunted, yes, but the dungeons themselves remained uncontainable. And casualties mounted. Amid such chaos, Helios, a U.S.-based pharmaceutical company, surged forward.

Helios proclaimed:

“We have always believed such a crisis for humankind could descend at any moment, and we have prepared for it.”

They dispatched swift-response teams at the requests of nations—mercenaries and researchers alike.

According to Helios’s researchers, humanity was undergoing genetic transformations in response to these apocalyptic signals, giving rise to individuals endowed with powers unlike ordinary men. It was a global phenomenon, and they were certain Korea harbored its share as well.

And what nation is South Korea? From birth, every infant is registered, and before one reaches adulthood, one’s residence is noted; even if one moves, notification is required. It is a country of meticulous records. The government swiftly identified and filtered those suspected to possess abilities.

There were three kinds of awakened individuals. No, more precisely speaking, countless categories—but let’s say four. Experts may label them differently, but in my measure, four sufficed.

First, those specialized in combat, belonging to the Hunter Bureau and charged with subjugating dungeons.
Second, Guides—individuals who stabilized hunters whose bodily functions surged lethally with each use of power, soothing the ache, and reining in their abilities before they spiraled out of all control.
Third, Espers—not fighters, yet indispensable to dungeon raids—those with abilities tied to spirit, mind, or energy.
And lastly, there were those who wielded abilities stronger than civilians and displayed talents pointing toward unique powers, but whose gifts were too weak to matter much, their management delegated quietly to local governments.

Among them, I was a Guide. One who stabilized hunters through physical contact. To put it simply: a human tranquilizer, reserved exclusively for hunters.

“Another fine day for the Hunter Bureau, I see.”

The Bureau—newborn among government institutions, and yet newborns often rule the house—had become the embodiment of this world’s new order. Its importance had skyrocketed overnight, earning and consuming colossal budgets by the year. Its grandeur was breathtaking.

Not in a good way.

“What a fucking mess they’ve made again.”

Seunggyu pushed up his tacky sunglasses—the ones perched above his head—affecting the tone of a critic too world-weary to care. They were supposedly a luxury brand, yet to me they looked cheaper than a knockoff.

“What happened?”

“The hunters fought among themselves, that’s what. Look over there—the statue’s smashed to bits. Don’t you know they say the Hunter Bureau revived the dying art of sculpture?”

Indeed, at the tip of his finger stood evidence—what might once have been a finished masterpiece, now shattered into fragments with painstaking precision.

“Might as well ship it off to the Louvre.”

“Ah, that closed down. A dungeon erupted beneath its glass pyramid, or so I heard.”