Being A Full-Time Employee C4

Chapter 4

The only silver lining was that, just then, another guy from the agency came over and struck up a conversation with Hyungmin. That guy, too, talked far more than one would expect from such a huge frame, so the two of them seemed to match well enough.

I headed as far into the corner as I could to take a seat.
“Damn, stepped in shit.”

Not even at the unlucky “ninth year” age,¹ yet this is how my first partner of the year turned out. The start wasn’t promising. I fiddled endlessly with the rosary on my wrist, a Buddhist bead bracelet, and a talisman-string I’d once been given, while stuffing spoonfuls of mashed potatoes into my mouth.

But that’s not what I should’ve been doing. I should’ve left right then and there.

“Mind if I sit here?”

He was already sliding the chair out and sitting down as he asked. Chae Wonu.

His tone was distinctive, so by now his voice alone was enough to identify him.
“Sleep well?”

I was about to lie—to say the seat was already taken—but Wonu beat me to it. Truth was, he hadn’t come back to the room at all last night.
“Yeah, fine.”
“Even when I didn’t come back, you slept well?”
“What would you have me do? I was sleepy.”
“Shouldn’t you have stayed up, worrying about your partner?”

The absurdity of it made me choke. I broke out coughing violently, while Wonu just sat there looking at me blankly. He didn’t even think to hand me some water.

Frustrated, I grabbed my empty cup and stood to fetch water myself—

“Oh.”

Wonu touched the bottom of my cup. A tiny whirlpool formed instantly at the base, and in seconds, it brimmed with clear water.

“Drink. It’s tested—first-grade water quality.”

First things first—fix the choking.

Not until I drained the whole glass was I able to speak again.
“Uh… may I ask a few questions?”
“Go ahead.”
“It says your rank is A. Is that right?”
“No. It’s unclassified for now. It’ll probably turn out S.”

…Damn Hunter Bureau scam artists. I was a citizen like anyone else, and they pulled this kind of fraud? I thought of all the confidentiality clauses, restricted clearance Locks by rank, internet usage monitored in real time, and now I found they lied about hunter ranks too. Staggering.

“And they just throw some temp contractor like me at someone like you?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“…Then what do you even know about guiding partners?”
“Nothing.”

Wonu just picked through his salad until he found slices of smoked duck, nibbling on them while bowing his head. From above I saw the clean crown of his head—pretty, even a cowlick looked good on him. Empty shell, all surface.

“Who was your previous Guide?”

In this job, handovers are essential, but we accept the lack because of confidentiality. But today, I desperately needed it.

I leaned forward across the table’s edge, eyes pleading, silently begging for even two syllables of a name. But Wonu only smirked and noisily sucked at his spoon.
“No one. You’re the first.”

…Losing my mind here. Maybe I really did step in shit.

The very first dungeon appeared in Chile. At first, everyone thought it was an earthquake. After all, it lay in the quake-prone Ring of Fire.

But the earth didn’t fissure in quakes—it caved downward, again and again, like a sinkhole. Then suddenly, it burst upward to form a massive cavern. Too large to be called a cave, and the problem was that out of it came not bats but bat-shaped monsters.

Chile, stretching long north-to-south—on the day the dungeon appeared in the central region, a rumor says, the first Hunter awakened far south in a tiny village. Why just a rumor? Because that supposed first Hunter died immediately in the subsequent dungeon break. Around the same time, chaos erupted worldwide.

Disasters didn’t come in sequence, but all at once, swarming the globe uninvited. And in a small city in Gyeonggi Province, newly under redevelopment, needing more construction workers than ever—there, I saw it. Right as every cellphone blared the national alert, a giant bat-shaped monster spread its wings across the sky.

That was already six years ago. These days when every year, month, and day feels more precious, it sounds like a long time.

“Can I access the files?”

In that time, wandering in and out of the Bureau like it was my own home, I’d built quite a few relationships, sharing laughs, leveraging both my gregarious charm and looks. In short, I had plenty of ways to get information.

But with Wonu, nothing worked.

“Your clearance level isn’t high enough.”
“Oh, come on. I’m his partner.”
“Still not allowed. Look, Mr. Baekgyeom.”

Jimin from Registry—my usual coffee-bet opponent—tilted her screen to show me. And sure enough, a red box glared: “Information Outside Your Clearance.”

“Sorry I can’t help. But you know how it is here.”

Her words you know how it is here meant: yesterday’s friend becomes today’s superior, the colleague from the day before disappears, someone gets bumped into unclassified overnight. And here, “outside classification” didn’t mean Wonu’s hunter rank, but that the data itself was top-secret.

I smiled as I took back my pass card. Best to stay friendly anywhere. Who knows when paths will cross again.

“Oh, by the way, PR has been looking for you since last month.”
“For me?”
“Yes. They were wondering if you’d shoot another promotional video.”
“Wouldn’t that require my partner too?”

Some hunters had to be hidden in secrecy, while others were flaunted openly in campaigns. Usually those with great looks but not earth-shattering abilities.

Last year, I’d paired with an Esper ranked between B and A. That’s how I’d ended up in a promo video. The reaction? Obvious hit. I’d stolen more of the spotlight than my partner, and right after, he flipped his attitude entirely, and the final month of our contract we fought every single day.

“Still—they said the Bureau treats you well… not badly!”
“Our agency’s fine too, even if the CEO’s money-hungry.”
“But still…”
“And besides, I’d have to take the exam. I’m hopeless at tests, Jimin.”

I tapped my temple and turned away. Behind me, I heard her start to mumble something about “Special Division recruitment” before cutting herself off. Of course she’d remembered the conditions: at least three years of partnership and a partner’s recommendation. I was already disqualified at the three-year mark.

The Bureau’s “good conditions” weren’t even for guides but hunters alone. And wasn’t guiding already unstable enough, employment wise, thanks to the matching rates? Besides, how many unstable pre-awakens and minor ability cases out there needed my stabilization? If I became a civil servant, I couldn’t freelance. And the side income was too sweet to give up. I’d never consider it.

I bounded up the steps, three at a time, aiming for the non-existent Floor F. But Jimin’s monitor image lingered in my mind.

All it had shown was the name “Chae Wonu” and the text “Hunter Division.” Only for a short instant, but burned into memory. Wonu was officially with the Hunter Division, yes—but no team listed, and his assigned floor was recorded differently from mine.

“Unsettling.”

I halted and glanced at the floor number. Somehow I’d climbed all the way to the 6th. I’d just been trudging without thought. Floor 6 held the lounge. Perfect timing.

I scanned my pass card at the vending machine. With either cash or card, the balance loaded onto my pass let me buy anything. In one sweep I ended up with enough snacks to fill a table. Such indulgence was only possible because of the Bureau’s generous food allowance for contractors.

“Doesn’t our country even have a proverb: ghosts who die eating look better in the afterlife?”²

That was Seunggyu’s usual grin whenever we loaded up here. Indeed, the Bureau never stinted on food, even for temps like us. This was Korea—everything runs on rice. What other country put eating at the very top?

I tore open potato chips and a box of cookie sticks all at once, dumping them like fries on the table. Cracked open a soda.

“Damn—it’s Zero.”

That peculiar flat, hollow sweetness of artificial sweetener hit my tongue. A mistake purchase. Oh well. I opened bottled black tea next, downing it while clamping three almond-covered cookie sticks between my lips.

“You like sweets?”

I nearly screamed like a fool. Wonu shoved his face in out of nowhere, snatched one of my cookie sticks, and popped it into his mouth.

Up close, he looked even more beautiful. Not that his build was weak—on the contrary, strong-boned. How could he look like that even with solid bones?

I clicked my tongue. Born in the wrong era. With such a dazzlingly pretty face, in the right time he’d have been an idol or actor. Instead, here we were, slaying monsters, never knowing if we’d live to see tomorrow.

“Where’d you come from?”
“Me? I like to nap.”
“In the supply room?”
“Name’s a lie. It’s actually just where they stash stock for filling the vending machines. When I’m drowsy, I nap there and eat some.”
“For real?”

My eyes brightened with interest. Wonu, still looking like sleep clung to him, casually plopped down beside me, dragging his chair so close our knees touched. I hadn’t realized we’d grown close enough for our personal space to vanish like this.

¹ Footnote: In Korean culture, the term 아홉수 (ahop-su) refers to ages ending in 9 (e.g., 19, 29, 39), considered unlucky transition years prone to misfortune.
² Footnote: The proverb 먹고 죽은 귀신은 때깔도 좋다 means “Even a ghost who died from overeating looks good.” It reflects Korea’s food-centered culture, where eating well is prized even humorously above survival.