Being A Full-Time Employee C39

Chapter 39

I burst out laughing at my own words. Courage, huh. Who was I kidding? The only courage that fit me was a Tupperware container kind. What right did I have to toss that word around? Yet, maybe out of guilt for spouting it, I decided to try for real courage this time.

Not my usual bravado, that “go ahead, kill me and see if I care.” This was different. This time I had to hide nerves, steady trembling insides, focus hard to keep my voice from shaking.

I leaned back into the bed’s raised headrest. Wonu dragged a chair closer, sitting just short of brushing against me. He was hanging on every word, even breath, like I was about to say my last will. I didn’t mean to—but it came out sounding like one.

“Hunter Chae. There’s something I want to ask…”

But then Wonu lifted his gaze. His eyes—beautiful as always—were also sharp. Not tender, never soft. They were the sharp glint of a predator watching prey wriggle clueless, gauging the kill-shot angle. That sight derailed my intended question, made me blurt:

“…Do you believe in destiny, Wonu?”

Forgetting the formality of “Hunter.” It was childish, sounded like some tired pick-up line. No, worse—it reeked of the kind of cold-eyed cultist babble people mutter on street corners.

Yet Wonu met my eyes and nodded without pause.

“Yes. I believe in destiny.”

‘You know someone who does believe, right?’

Not that it surprised me. Honestly, it was too expected—that Kang had mentioned a believer in destiny, that the faceless “Observer 1” present at my most broken time would be the same. If everything continued this way—as predictable as my dread—then they were one and the same person. And that person was…

“Hyung, what about you? No, don’t answer. I just hope you do. If you didn’t before, believe from now on. You met me, didn’t you?”

…Chae Wonu.

After that, he came daily. As if he always had. When I asked why so persistently, he only said:

“Hyung is mine. That’s what the law says. I’m just checking what’s mine.”

I was speechless. He made lines that would sound nauseating in a drama come out plain, sincere. It was a natural gift.

As if that wasn’t enough, he floated my Aloe juice into the air, shaped droplets into a plump arrow pointing to the door.

“Also, see? No doorstep.”

Not funny. Just irritating. Especially when his powers still flickered unstable—wasting them on dumb stunts.

“This is my favorite drink, you know,” I growled. He only squinted his eyes into a sweet smile—and bent the droplets into some odd shape.

“What’s that supposed to be?”
“An emoji. See—hands pressed together, apologizing.”
“That’s a high-five, not praying hands.”
“…Really?”
“Yes. Really.”

He drooped, looking absurdly cute about it. I scooped the airborne drink back before droplets fell. His powers leaking like this were proof of his instability.

“What did the lab say about your condition?”
“Not too bad.”
“Meaning not fatal, huh.”
“Even if I died, wouldn’t necessarily be bad for you.”
“What? You’re a tanker, omni-directional DPS, reckless strategist with unbeatable results. What do you mean, not bad?”

He blinked, guileless. Didn’t even know the term. I dropped it. Explanations could wait.

“But really—don’t ever say you dying would be fine.”

And that was over-investment, plain to see. Beneath the teasing, I was angry at the Bureau itself. Wouldn’t realize fully until later.

“If I die, they’ll dissect. They’ll like that.”
“They give the body to next of kin.”
“I don’t have any.”
“….”
“The Bureau is my home.”
“My sweet, sweet home,” I muttered—and maybe bitter-sweet, too.

Seunggyu’s grandmother survived—the only elder alive thanks to her early morning routine. Hyungmin still had his parents. But me—I had no one left. Wonu, either, had no kin to claim his corpse.

But I wouldn’t wallow. I’d lost too much patience for grief. The only way forward was always through. And I guessed Wonu shared that.

I handed him the juice. He smiled as he drank—despite my saliva. Frequent contact, frequent blending, was our condition. I pressed my hand over his.

“We’re both orphans.”
“Yes.”
“So let’s not die. Neither of us benefit the Bureau by doing so.”
“For me… if you’re around, fine.”
“…We haven’t even known each other that long. How can you talk about bonds…”

I scratched my hair, half-joking. Hoping he’d drop something. Maybe even spill about that unknown link between us.

But instead he said quietly:
“You know what? Your eyes are nicest when you’re awake—truly awake, like now, not half-drowsy.”
“Of course. My eye color’s pretty. Refined as gems. Even prettier than that necklace you gave me.”
“Yes. So pretty. Can I lick them?”
“…What? Christ—you’ve fallen into delusion again.”

I shoved at him with my leg; he grabbed my ankle, laughing pure joy. Unlike with Kang, I felt no urge to strike him down.

He rarely laughed like that—so full, eyes folding shut into perfect crescents, lips curved like drawn emojis. White skin, red lips, black brows and hair. For a second I nearly cracked—the words rising to compare him to every beauty I’d ever seen, before or after the fall.

“Hunters are all insane. A little, a lot, or completely.”

My first education as a Guide had begun with that line. It was Dr. Kim, Kang’s colleague—milder than him, more civilized. A half-year after that lesson, Dr. Kim’s own funeral revealed otherwise. He’d been awakened as a Guide. His partner killed him, then killed himself.

It was hushed—everyone swallowed under silent pressure, rumors diffusing like fog until new trainees thought it only a cautionary tale.

“Not scary if you accept they’re crazy. Just a rumor if you pretend it’s false.”

I muttered the line as I stood before Kang’s private lab door.

Not that I wanted to be here. He’d summoned me. And his threats—cutting off my pain medication—served as leash enough.

“It’s me. Yang Baekgyeom.”

Silence. No response to my knocks. I expected the door to be locked. Instead—it opened easily. Not clearance. Just not locked.

“You drop lab notes everywhere. Maybe I should report to audit.”

The Bureau’s audit department cared more about leaks than fraud. I grumbled, ready to leave. Didn’t need charges pinned on me.

But then—an all-too-familiar voice.

Husky, from Wonu in the hotel the morning after. Even thinner, raspier, further back in time.

‘Then you shouldn’t be with me? I can promise I won’t die…’

Compared to before, it was frailer, younger, yet the same. My body moved on its own, stepping deeper.

Where was it coming from?