Being A Full-Time Employee C14

Chapter 14

“Hunter Chae.”
“You’re about to say something harsh again, aren’t you, hyung?”
“Yes. Before I do, don’t cross the line.”
“And where exactly is that line?”

Wonu asked, truly baffled.

“We already hold hands, press our foreheads together—how do you draw a line at that?”

…Shit. He had a point.

“If that’s only allowed in dungeons, then let’s hurry back into one.”

Now he was throwing tantrums. I sighed, curled my finger, and tickled his palm. He startled, wide-eyed, and snatched his hand back. I smirked, leaned in, eyes relaxed, and whispered:
“If you really crossed that line, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

For once, the endlessly argumentative Wonu fell silent. He’d once asked me how to even do romance—I was right. Total greenhorn.

I’d never learned romance properly myself. But I did know about lines. More precisely, how to step back and forth across them. A partner’s relationship was like a rubber band game—you stretched it, pulled it, let it snap back. That’s how I’d been taught.

“So, Hunter Chae. Will you answer me properly this time? Can you eat spicy food or not?”

I pushed the cart again. Wonu only followed once I turned the next corner. He muttered softly:
“I can’t handle spicy.”
“I thought so.”

He reminded me of rainbow lollipops and marshmallows. Honestly… cute.

Tears streamed down Wonu’s face.
“It’s spicy…”

That was all he could say, sniffling, his nose red.

“That’s why I asked you before putting any more in.”
“I didn’t know how much would turn it spicy!”

I clucked my tongue, pouring Coolpis (sweet yogurt drink). He drained a full cup, panting still. His lips were red, nose red, eyes red. And it looked good on him. Who knew some guy could look handsome mid-sniffling-red-eyed mess? Admiring him, I crunched a chili.

Knowing spice would intensify the longer it sat, I scooped every chili out into my own dish. Calmly, I crunched them. He stared in horror, then admiration, then switched back and forth like a child at a circus.

“You’ll ruin your stomach tonight. Stop. Go eat some snacks instead.”
“Yes.”

He obeyed immediately, returning with heaps of sweets. They spilled from his arms still sealed, yet the air carried sickly sweet aromas strong enough to numb my tongue.

Guides and hunters alike needed higher calories; much of it burned into powers, not muscle. Even so, sitting across from me, Wonu’s T-shirt hung loose like triple XL, yet his build carried not bulky meat but well-shaped lines. A broad frame with sharp definition. Body fat percent? I found myself thinking perversely as I downed the last noodles.

“You eat too.”

He slid neatly unwrapped packs my way. He started with expensive, small-portioned sweets, shifting the pot aside. Dishwashing would be his job—though whether he’d manage was another question.

By now, it was nearly 10 p.m. The dorm halls outside were quiet. Other teams would be on dispatch, rookies in sweat-drenched matching drills, or hermits snug in rooms. But bare few, I suspected, sat in common rooms cooking instant noodles with each other like us. Bonds usually deepened enough through guiding alone—even drunken clarity wasn’t needed.

Still, inexplicably, I suddenly wanted a drink.

I grabbed beers from the fridge. Like how Wonu had carried snacks in piled arms, I lugged cans to the table. Koreans, it seemed, had DNA that preferred the floor to the convenience of a sofa. We sat cross-legged, knees propped for arms, splitting beers.

“You can drink, right?”
“No. I’ll only pretend to.”
“Why? You’re not underage. Never had any?”
“I have. Just not much.”

“Right…”

I nodded bleakly as he munched without care.

Me? I could hold my liquor well. I’d skipped heavy drinks since I didn’t know his tolerance, bringing only beer. But I preferred so-maek: soju mixed with beer three to seven. I told him to wait, slipped into the hallway.

“Damn, cold out here.”

Weather swung wildly. I hurried down to the cafeteria, greeted familiar night-shift staff. Thanks to our bonds, I scored soju quietly.
“Don’t overdo it.”
“Yes, sir!”

They too had snacks out, bottles clinking. Hugging a bottle tight, I hustled back.

Each dorm floor had only three rooms, doors armored with overkill specs. Soundproofing was top-notch. Every time I walked the pristine hall, it made me itch—wanting to drink, wanting to rebel. Yet wanting to stay here long term. Such was the curse of Bureau dorms: you longed to flee, then longed to return.

“Seriously, why am I waxing emotional this early in the night?”

I grumbled, keyed in fingerprints, iris scan, and code. Entering, I found—of course—Wonu, floating beer drops midair. Christ.

“Stop messing around with your powers.”

He looked sheepish, reshaping droplets into a heart before slipping them back can by can. Could I drink this? Civilian instincts recoiled at “ability-touched” liquid. I sat regardless.

“You can control any liquid?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t tested enough.”

Tested less, not never. I didn’t dig deeper. Broad-ranged ability was good. Adaptability was survival. Monsters evolved endlessly. Data never caught up.

A partner alive meant I stayed alive. Like or despise, it didn’t matter inside dungeons.

“I’ll get cups.”

Plastic ones fetched, I mixed soju and beer, stirring foam with a spoon tap. Wonu bent close, amazed at froth. I also stared—reminded of dungeon waves he’d conjured.

“Never tried that. Can I drink?”
“Didn’t you just say no?”
“Just a little.”
“You won’t lose control, right?”

I asked nervously. Alcohol could destabilize. But he’d grown under Bureau watch since he was a kid—they’d surely given reaction tests. He’d know best.

“Won’t happen. I get calmer when I drink, actually.”
“If that’s a lie, I’ll kill you.”
“With your hands?”
“No. I’d be executed. By my bosses.”

No joke. Reality. I shivered imagining his broad-range powers snapping loose under alcohol. I didn’t even know his limits. Bomb-disposal—that’s what handling him felt like. Bomb disposal.

Finally he convinced me, took a cup, sipped eagerly. His eyes lit brighter with each drop. Only then did I reclaim my own glass.

“Good?”

I poured again. He nodded.
“Drink plenty.”

…Cute. No wonder older men slipped brats alcohol like treats.

Through an open window, muffled music drifted—loud enough to reach here, soft enough to seem gentle. The perfect backdrop for this evening.

“You drink often?”

Still sipping, Wonu asked. I frowned, then nodded.
“Not heavy. Just often.”
“Why?”

From his tone, alcohol looked like habit. Truthfully, I couldn’t deny.

“I didn’t graduate beyond middle school. But I read plenty.”

His eyes widened. “Books?”

“There’s a teen classic, The Little Prince. You know it?”

He neither nodded nor shook his head. Blank.

“In it, the prince meets a drunkard, asks why he drinks. He says to forget his shame. Asked what shame—he says drinking itself. The prince finds adults absurd and leaves.”

Words spilled longer, truer, than I’d meant. My throat dried with awkwardness. I downed my cup quick, but the alcohol didn’t bite enough to soften embarrassment.

“It feels like that. I’m not an addict. But at least on dungeon days, I want a drink.”

Because monsters were still life. No matter how we kept the word ‘monster’ foreign-tongued—creatures resembled too many real animals. Ones I liked. Dogs. Then killing them made me feel filthy.

Footnotes

¹ Coolpis (쿨피스) – Popular Korean yogurt-flavored drink, commonly served to soothe spicy food burn.
² 소맥 (so-maek) – Korean mixed drink: soju and beer in a 3:7 ratio, standard social drink.
³ 어린 왕자 (Eorin Wangja) – The Little Prince, mid-20th century French novella, also a common item on Korean teen reading lists. In Korea it often symbolizes youthful ideals vs. adults’ contradictions.