Being A Full-Time Employee C15

Chapter 15

The sensation of stabbing and slicing doesn’t stay in the skin. It carves itself into muscle, nerves, even bone. Sometimes I jolt awake in the night, remembering. That filthy, unpleasant warmth of blood splattered across my face.

I suppose that’s why I drink. Because I’m ashamed. Ashamed of what I’ve done in dungeons, and ashamed that those deeds pay my bills. I hide it not to seem weak. I don’t want pity. And “maybe you should visit counseling” would be unbearable to hear. Like my unwritten will, I want to live without leaving behind the things I truly think.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

Chae Wonu didn’t answer.

And then I saw—the flush on his cheeks. He looked faintly pink. Was he actually drunk?

“Hunter Chae.”
“Hyung… this is really tasty.”

Didn’t hear a single word, did you? Bastard.

But strangely, I felt relieved. Unloading part of myself and having the other party not remember…it was like talking to the AI in the shower room again. Comforting, in a way.

With that thought, I plucked his dangling glass from his fingers and set it gently on the table.
“You look sleepy.”
“I am.”

He mumbled, blinking drowsily. I nudged his shoulder. He slumped right over.

“Unbelievable.”

What a laughably low alcohol tolerance.

Scratching my cheek, I cleaned up—the bowls, the pot, even the dishes he was supposed to wash. Couldn’t bring myself to stick the kid with chores tonight.

I carried the beer cans into my room, considering drinking alone. When I came back, he was already out. No biting remarks, no accidents—just peacefully asleep. He looked good that way. A sigh slipped out.

“What good is a shell, when it’s hollow?”

Pity, really.

I could have given him a blanket, but hunters didn’t catch colds. And we weren’t close enough for me to slip into his room for one.

We’d grown closer tonight, sure—but only professionally, for smooth cooperation through the contract.

I turned off all the living room lights, leaving just the small lamp beside his head.

“Hyung.”

The lamp flickered on—and the voice jolted me. I’d thought he was asleep.

“Yes?”
“I read The Little Prince.”
“It’s required reading.”
“I didn’t like it.”
“…”
“In the end… he just abandoned everything. And ran away.”

I supposed you could see it that way. Diverse opinions exist.

“Right, sure,” I answered flatly, starting to stand—when his expression suddenly twisted.

“Every time he got close, he left. Each time he tamed, he left. How despised must he have been.”
“The fox?”

That word immediately made me think of the fox. The one who said, If you come at three o’clock, I’ll begin to be happy by two-thirty.

But Wonu said nothing more. His scowling face smoothed, drifting to calm sleep.

“…It must have really struck him.”

I shook my head in quiet amazement.

A couple more hours awake, then I brushed teeth and slept myself. The date had already turned.

I slept deeply. Dreamed, even. A bizarre dream where the rose and the fox allied themselves only to insult the Little Prince behind his back. I was present—oddly cast as the guilty witness to their ruthless commentary. Each time I failed to nod agreement, the rose jabbed my side, the fox bit my arm. It was absurd, but vivid—almost prophetic, like a symbolic dream. Almost.

When I woke, the air felt damp. Dread lit in my gut. My eyes weren’t fully open yet, but I bolted upright and yanked my door.

“Ah… hell.”

The groan spilled out unbidden.

The living room was a wreck. Water filled every cup, every corner—water from nowhere, water gathered, pooled. Even leftover alcohol rose to float amidst it all. And in the center sat Chae Wonu.

His face was pale, contorted in nightmares, sweat dripping. He trembled violently.

“Hunter… Hunter Chae.”

I called carefully from a distance.

Normally, uncontrolled bursts of power in sleep manifested bluntly, clumsily. Without focus, they unraveled harmlessly. But this—this was different.

“Hunter Chae…”

Step by careful step, I drew closer. Then—the droplets circling him suddenly sharpened into cones. Each targeted me squarely, pointed tips aligned.

They meant to pierce me. The image was horrifyingly vivid.

I had to wake him. Nothing else.

“Chae Wonu!”

He didn’t stir. Buried deep, unreachable. And the cones only honed sharper.

I backed away slowly, panicked. My empty hands itched to throw something, anything. But there was nothing within reach. And those water-weapons crept closer.

“Chae Wonu! Wake up!”

No change.

I crouched low. The cones turned, aimed down. Desperate, I groped for something—anything—and found it. I heaved with all strength, only realizing too late it was tethered… but I ripped it free, hurled it toward him.

The cones lunged at the same moment. I squeezed shut my eyes. So this was it—dying meaninglessly, the day after rewriting my will.

“…Ugh… what?”

But no pain struck. No death. Clarity rang—sounds sharp around me. I cracked an eye. Mere inches away, a sharpened tip hovered, still. My breath shot out. My chest rose and fell wildly.

“Hyung…?”

Wonu’s dazed voice. The cones crumbled in an instant, splashing flat onto the floor. The flood drenched my hands, my knees. He scrambled over, shattering still-formed shapes, nearly crashing into the table in his hurry to reach me.

“Hyung, hyung, hyung!”

His large hands pawed over me, frantic. I panted, before raising a hand to push him weakly away.

“…I’m not dead.”

“Fuck, fuck—what do I do, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

His trembling fingers betrayed him. He rarely cursed at all. This was real panic. No act.

A deep breath wrenched through me as I forced my anger down. What else could I do? I couldn’t have guessed his nightmares would weaponize so sharply. I couldn’t have guessed…

But—truthfully—shouldn’t he have his own room?

I looked back up, ready to snap—then froze.

“…Blood.”

Blood streamed from his forehead. A crimson trickle, wiped clumsily from his eye by his own hand.

“Damn. That was me. I threw that—”

I whipped to see—a shattered relic of a landline phone, once installed purely for show. I must have grabbed it. Thrown it with full force. No wonder it broke. No wonder it bled.

“God, that must hurt. Shit. I’m sorry… damn it.”

“It’s fine.”

He answered strongly.

“I almost killed you.”
“And I almost killed you. But… it hit your head, of all places. God, I’m really sorry. Let’s get it treated.”
“You didn’t aim for my head, right?”
“….”

Truth was, I had. To wake him for sure. But I hadn’t known it was a landline.

“You’ve got amazing aim. Did you ever play baseball?”

I pulled him up, reluctantly nodding.
“I did. Before dungeons erupted. Now come on, let’s treat that.”

My heart weighed heavy. I knew this hit wouldn’t kill him, but still—drawing blood felt wrong. And if they asked us what happened this morning, why we were bloodied before even a mission… what would I say?

Usually, I could explain. Spats with partners, fights, training. This case… not so easy. Sleep weaponization, finely controlled, unconscious? Best not to report it at all. Probably the researchers already knew. Better left unsaid.

Moments ago, I wanted him sleeping solo. Now my gut told me the opposite. Instinct spoke otherwise.

“Hyung.”

He lunged suddenly, wrapping me in a hug, face buried in my chest.

“I’m sorry. Really. If this happens again—throw a dagger. You’ve got one. Use it.”