Being A Full-Time Employee C10

Chapter 10

“What are you thinking about?”

Out of nowhere, Wonu shoved his face close. I had one foot still on the helicopter. I quickly switched off my earpiece and shook my head, covering my ear with exaggerated theatrics. With my lips I mouthed big, slow words: ‘I can’t hear you.’ A blatant lie. Fortunately, Wonu seemed to buy it. And if he hadn’t? Well—what could I do.

I sat in the front row, since the back was full of the injured and hunters hooked to IV drips from unstable guiding.

The seats of a military chopper were rock-hard and terribly uncomfortable. Ironically enough, they were also the easiest in the world to fall asleep on. You never boarded one unless you were exhausted to the bone.

Wonu looked set to chatter more, so I folded my arms and shut my eyes tight. Let the propeller hum serve as my lullaby. Sleep took me instantly.

“He’s too much of a kid.”

I muttered while peeling off my protective gear, one piece at a time. My clothes were soaked through with blood, flesh, water—a disgusting, heavy weight. Tossed into the intake, they would be sorted: burned after sampling, or if salvageable, repurposed as tarps or parachutes.

I stripped without hesitation and stepped into the air-shower. Then came the water shower.

—He’s young.

“I don’t just mean the age. In terms of age, we’re both twenty-somethings. Even back then, I wasn’t exactly clueless… no, wait, I wasn’t clueless at all. I already knew how to survive. It’s him that’s the odd one.”

—Is it really that hard for you?

Strictly speaking, not hard—not exactly. Or maybe it was? Hard to pin one clear answer. Wonu was unpredictable—bounding off in all directions. At times he was easy. At times impossible. Just like a child.

“It’s just that he’s the first of his kind I’ve met. That makes it difficult. Difficulty and hardship aren’t the same thing. You know what I mean?”

—I know. Of course.

The air-shower roared. Dust fell from me, swept away in seconds. They claimed it was enough to cleanse you entirely without water. I never liked it. You only felt truly clean after rinsing in real water.

The shower ceased after sixty seconds. Silence returned.

“He looks like he dropped in from another star. If this world wasn’t like this, if he weren’t a hunter, I’d think he was just some kid coddled all his life—a spoiled jewel raised under lock and key.”

—……

“I was fishing for hints just now. You caught that, right?”

—Access to Hunter Chae Wonu’s file is restricted.

“Figures.”

Clicking my tongue, I pressed a button on the speaker. Seunggyu had once said these things looked like bidet remotes.

“Delete conversation log.”
—Command executed.

The voice that had bantered back at me dissolved into pure mechanical tone. My words vanished, scrubbed.

This was the shower room. Specifically built with AI speakers that could vent everything away—stress, gossip, bile. Some stiff types avoided using them, embarrassed. Not me. They were a blessing.

I stepped into the water shower, dousing myself with disinfectant-mixed bodywash on rough scrubbing pads. Dungeons were inspected before and after runs for radiation and contamination, but still—hidden pollutants could always sneak through. Cleanliness was survival.

I scrubbed long enough for my fingertips to wrinkle. Then used the expensive cream Seunggyu had once given me—the rare decent gift from that stingy bastard. I’d ask him for more when it ran out. Considering my years of service, my spotless record, and how often I turned down full-time contracts but still got handed more offers—the Bureau owed me at least ten more tubes. Like hell I planned to buy them myself.

After drying my hair fully, a wave of fatigue washed in.

“I have to sleep in the same room as him again tonight, don’t I?”

It shouldn’t have bothered me. We’d be in different beds; I’d once bunked with ten men in one room with no issue. Compared to that, this was nothing. And yet—something about it… chafed.

Well, I wasn’t going to sleep in the hallway. Life’s long, choices short. I pulled my clothes on, strapped on the band with its identification chip, and ruffled the still damp edges of my hair.

There—coming straight toward me—was Wonu. Hair dripping, droplets trailing. He had a dryer. What the hell was he doing?

I gave a nod and turned for the hunter management office. But he quickly closed the gap, sticking by my side.

“Guides use the same shampoo too?”
“…You just sniffed me?”
“But the lotion’s different.”
“Creepy. Stop that. And why isn’t your hair dry?”
“I dried it. Then it got wet again.”
“You got that soaked?”
“Someone picked a fight.”

Don’t tell me. Please.

“You used your powers? Post-dungeon? Like an amateur?”

I knew full well pros could be more childish than rookies sometimes. But to fight after a raid—when our bodies were aching, bones sore, migraines setting in, shocks looming? What kind of idiot…

“I only used a liiitle.”
“You playing games?”
“Not a game. Who wastes their powers on games?”

I was sure. He was the type who would.

“No fever?”

I hurried the pace. Bureau staff got irritable if you kept them past office hours. Wonu clung behind me like a goldfish turd.

“I have a fever.”

Liar.
“My head hurts too.”
“With a rebound that bad, you wouldn’t even make it up the steps.”
“Really?”

And then he stopped halfway up the stairs, stock still. Like a kid pouting for a toy at the market. Fine. Live here, Wonu. I’ll report and sleep in peace.

“Not going to hold my hand?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“Hunter Chae Wonu.”

I stopped half a flight above and faced him, railing between us.

“I’m not your caretaker. That’s not in the contract.”
“But—”
“You’ve never had a partner before. That happens. But it doesn’t mean you should be clinging to fantasies.”

My fingers tapped the railing. Suddenly it hit me. It felt like talking to someone who’d never once been in love. Who thought “partner” meant something romantic.

“Hunter Chae, what—you want to date me or something?”
“No.”

Of course not. Couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be. I wanted it not to be. Still, the swiftness of his answer unsettled me. Slightly more troubling—the look on his face. Not merely confused at my question, but as if the very idea itself had never crossed his mind before.

“This isn’t romance. This isn’t soulmates. It’s business. A business partnership.”
“One where we hold hands, hug, sometimes kiss, sometimes sleep together?”
“…Put like that, it sounds terrible.”
“….”
“But not wrong. Yes. That’s what it is. Which means—we hold hands or hug only when it’s needed.”
“….”
“And as for kisses and sleeping together—let’s avoid those as much as possible.”

I hoped that settled it. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, humming, I climbed the stairs.

Truthfully, I wanted to glance back, to check his reaction. But I restrained myself. If he didn’t learn boundaries now, he never would. I was his emergency treatment, to stop his rampages and shocks—and he was my paycheck. That’s all.

Each alone, in this every-man-for-himself world.

“Excellent. Excellent!”

I didn’t care if my sour face was included in that excellence. Angering the senior researcher while she clapped over the graphs would do me no good.

“This is amazing. We’ve never seen results like these.”
“For me, it’s one of my lower scores.”
“Ah, that’s just because Guide Yang doesn’t know Hunter Chae yet.”

After just one mission, I was already “Guide Yang,” not just “Baekgyeom.” The senior hummed an old pop tune, zooming the charts in and out.

“If only you’d sign a full-time exclusive. Wouldn’t that be something? Regular pay, benefits. Though I suppose you’ll reject it again, won’t you?”
“Of course.”

Sure, full-timers had better conditions. But that meant retirement was an endless dot on the horizon. I wanted out of this deadly field as soon as possible. A safe little house. A quiet life. Maybe take my GED exams. Contract work was best. The pay crawled along, but you could quit anytime.

My refusal was immediate, firm. For years it had been the same, so she didn’t press further.

“It really came out that good?”

I asked idly.

“Of course. Excellent.”
“Maybe. I just don’t see it. Maybe because I don’t know him well enough. Any way to learn more?”

The senior slurped her coffee, narrowed her eyes, and let out a sly little laugh. She shook her finger at me—“nice try, but no.” Irritating.

“I really don’t get him. He feels like he’s from another dimension.”
“Mhm.”
“I don’t know what he likes, what he hates, how he fights, what he specializes in. I don’t know a damn thing.”