Being A Full-Time Employee C13

Chapter 13

“This place is under special observation, so don’t worry. If you notice any abnormal signs, let us know immediately.”
“Of course. But you folks still rely on spark detections, don’t you? We need better scanners soon.”

The kindly couple, who seemed more like neighborhood elders offering us tea than master craftsmen, clapped their work-hardened palms together as they returned to their workshop. With each strike of those thick, scarred hands—knuckles swollen, nails short and dulled—hints of rainbow-like sparks flared briefly before fading.

Their fists had become hammers, their palms bellows, their nails files. How had they survived the hell of their awakening? I remembered mine—young as I was then—and it had been nightmarish.

Suddenly, my thoughts softened toward Chae Wonu. Whatever his memory hid, he must have suffered too. I glanced at him.
“We should be writing our wills by now. Want to do it together?”

A grim attempt at reconciliation, a first step toward camaraderie. Yet Wonu’s expression bloomed, as though I’d invited him to exchange secret letters, not last testaments.

Writing one’s will never became normal. Not because it drove home mortality—though it did—but because I had no one to leave my last words to. No family, no siblings, no parents, no kin. Friends? Only Seunggyu. Agency colleagues were nothing more than coworkers. Each time I tried, my notes became pointless scribbles. Last time, I wrote:

“Seunggyu, it’s me. If you’re reading this, I must be dead. Honestly, it pisses me off that I’m the one who died while you lived, but one of us had to survive, right? If you’re expecting an inheritance, sorry—you get nothing but this request: buy me a slot in the best royal level of the columbarium in the Green Zone. Let me experience a royal suite at least after death. Well, live well—even though you won’t.”

This time, I wasn’t planning anything different.

I scrawled To. Seunggyu instead of even writing his name properly, then looked around. First time roommates, first time in our dorm’s dining/living room—and we were sitting here drafting wills. Black comedy.

Wonu had already put his pen down and neatly folded his paper. Only one fold, thin paper—so I could vaguely see through. Just a couple short lines. Not even full sentences.

“…You’re really done?”
“Yes. Want to see?”
“No. Definitely not.”

I shook my head fast. After all, a will was a will. His last words to the world, after he was gone—something I couldn’t bear to read. Our contract was short; I had no desire to bond this deeply.

I wrote the usual junk, then added a postscript, pressing hard with the pen:

“Only you, Seunggyu, read this. Promise.”

A bit cruel. He’d be burdened with a letter like this simply because he might survive. I thought about his ridiculous broker’s fees. My guilt faded fast. If anyone deserved my mess, it was him. That scammer.

Done, I felt hungry.

“Want ramyeon?”

In Korea, eating alone is regarded almost rude. I asked. He nodded eagerly. Heading down to the dorm canteen was a hassle. Besides, I craved something hot, spicy, savory.

“Wait a bit.”

Guilt still nagged from our fight—or maybe it was the necklace—so I decided to treat him well, for once.

Then I opened the cupboards—and instantly remembered: I never bought any ramen. Obviously, Wonu never would either.

The fridge and pantry were bare. I sighed. Guess we’d eat in the canteen.

Turning, I found Wonu right behind me. Of course. Stuck to me like glue.

“….”
“I want ramen.”
“There isn’t any. Let’s go to the canteen.”
“But I want to try ramen.”
“They all taste the same. Let’s go.”
“Ramen…”

And then, absurdly, he pressed a finger to his lips, pleading with damp glittering eyes like some cutesy act stolen from the internet. And damn it—it looked good on him. Infuriating in my head, but visually not bad. I shoved him away.

“Stop believing everything you see online.”

What was I—training a puppy? Still, this time I wasn’t just annoyed. I was almost laughing. Maybe I was adjusting.

“Was I that bad?”
“Other people might melt for it. Just not me.”
“So since you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.”

I snorted, then added,
“You know what? Try it on the people who pick fights with you. Bet it’ll work perfectly.”

Maybe he’d avoid brawls that way. Odds were slim. Still.

Grumbling, I threw on a windbreaker. Gestured at him.
“I’ll cook. You pay.”
“Pay?”
“You’re the one insisting on ramen. Which means we hit the supermarket.”

Wonu’s face lit up. Brighter than after that cheesy act. It was… almost cute. Shit. Too cute. Must be necklace effects, warping my perception.

Naturally, the Bureau’s district was one of the rare “stable zones.” Dungeons here either never erupted thanks to advanced tech and hunters’ support, or if they did, monsters never reached the residential areas. This was why I couldn’t ever quit the job.

Civilian adoption was rumored, but required rare dungeon materials. And if consumer versions were made? They’d go to the Green Zones first. My longing for one grew daily.

As soon as we entered the mart, I grabbed a cart. Overkill for instant noodles, yeah. But if you’re in a mart, you always end up buying more. And my stomach was empty.

I planned to suggest splitting costs. But before I could, Wonu wandered toward the snack aisle and dumped massive multipacks into the cart. Piles. Mountains.

I froze. Stared silently. He blinked back, oblivious. Then suddenly:
“Is there anything you don’t like? I’ll take them out.”
“…Will you eat all this?”
“Yes. Let’s stock up while we’re here.”
“…Alright, but—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve barely ever used my card. It’s fine. Buy what you want.”

Did he not know prices had exploded?

“No, let’s split.”
“I make plenty.”
“You and every hunter say that. Still—”
“No. I make really, really a lot.”

Was that bragging? Or reassurance? I scratched my head. Fine. “Then I’ll lean on you.”

Especially here. Prices near the Bureau were outrageous. Staff got discounts. Contractors like me? Nothing.

“Grab some chili peppers and gochugaru. You eat spicy well?”
“I like sweets.”
“…I can tell. But is there even a pot in our dorm?”
“Maybe.”
“You can’t boil hot water anyway, can you?”

I chuckled, imagining Wonu like a water cooler, dispensing hot and cold on command.

But suddenly he raised his fingers. My face froze. I grabbed his hand.
“You weren’t really gonna use your ability here?”
“…Never tried hot water. Thought I’d see.”
“Why are you like this? Always reckless.”

I forced his hand down. Scolded hard. Tried to pull away—then he twisted, gripping mine tight. Startled, I met his gaze.

“I’m dizzy.”
“…You didn’t even use your power.”
“But I feel dizzy. My heart’s racing.”
“Funny, your monitor’s quiet.”
“I still feel it.”
“You’re faking it, aren’t you.”
“I liked hearing you call my name.”

Suddenly, theory clicked in my head. Guides always heard rumors of it. That medication that stabilized hunters’ flares—it was no true substitute. Counterfeits never matched originals. Drugs blurred the lines, masked side effects, but left so many unknowns. Only genuine compatibility mattered.

After years isolated, finally he’d found his match.

I knew. And I knew… this was bad for both of us.

Footnotes

¹ 라면 (ramyeon) – Korean instant noodles, iconic comfort food. Its cultural significance is so vast that inviting someone to eat ramyeon can also carry dating implications.
² 각인 이론 (gakiin iron) – Literally “Imprint Theory.” A belief that Guides leave a permanent stabilizing effect on Hunters they match with. Drugs and artificial stabilizers can mimic, but never replace, this authentic resonance.