Being A Full-Time Employee C43

Chapter 43

The call came in the morning. I only got there by the afternoon.

When it first rang, I was in the middle of a late sleep, tangled together with Wonu. Half-asleep, groggy, I answered—only then realizing I was lying with him. At some point, a bed that had been mine alone became a couch too small, too close, with his arms around me. Claustrophobic.

I shoved him away, muttering into the phone.
“Hello.”

My voice was wrecked. Wonu clung tighter instead, whining like a child, a sticky weight I tried pushing off with my palm. Every day he grew harder, heavier, painfully stronger. Pride-wounding.

“I said, hello?”
“…Yes, this is your husband…”

That was just Wonu’s sleep-talking. I ignored it. He’d forget anyway.

But the voice on the other end—static-snarled, sharp enough to slice—spread bad news. My blood ran hot.

“What did you say?!”

“Aaah—Hyung, that hurts…”

Wonu, elbowed in the jaw, tumbled off the couch. I barely noticed. In leaping up, I even stepped on him by mistake. He groaned, but I knew—he was too tough for that to matter.

“I’ll come right away. No—give me some hours. If all goes well.”

I glanced at watch and logbook. It was the weekend—no training. Outings could be filed short-notice if not deployment.

“Ending call.”

I didn’t even wait for confirmation before dropping the phone on the bed and bolting for clothes. Socks, toothbrush, face wash—all at once. My head was a mess. Permission for leave would take time, then more time just to get there.

“What happened?”

Wiping the dripping water off my face, I saw him in the doorway—arm pressed to the frame, voice serious. His size dwarfed even door panels now. No brat, no boy—not even “kid.” Like a massive dog, maybe. I tickled his chin with a finger. He pouted, scowling.

“They said my house collapsed.”
“…What?”

His brows furrowed deeper.
“What do you mean?”
“The place I stayed after each contract ended. Temporary, but…”

Less a home, more a long-term storage room. Rent dirt-cheap, even for the Red Zone. Soundproofing was a joke—neighbors like multiplication tables. But the walls shiny, interiors decent.

Because rumor said it was haunted. Stupid. In a world collapsing to dungeons, people feared ghosts? That was why a decent villa near a safer sector went untouched. This world often turned absurd that way.

Anyway.
“There might be nothing left—but I should go.”
“I’ll come.”
“No, you trained yesterday. Rest.”
“Then Chae Wonu will stay—and Wonu will go.”
“…Are you insane? Did you just switch to third person?”

No change in his expression. In moments he was dressed, washed, ready. Like soldiers—we were built fast. I noticed he strapped combat watch, not his private off-duty one. I smirked. I’d done the same. The Red Zone—always ready to crack open.

“Not sure leave will be approved.”
“If I’m with you, it will.”

He said it with confidence—not groundless. I only nodded.

Measured before, he carried power equal to three, five A-class hunters. That was why classification faltered around him. Unmeasurable. Shifting.

“You’re right. With you—surely I won’t die.”
“As long as we’re together, we won’t.”

Even judging by Polaroid age, Wonu had been in the Bureau long. Yet he spoke with optimism. Not bad. I was the pessimist. Balance. We were a good match.

“Hunter Chae applying for leave.”

He insisted on applying himself, like an excited child with pocket money begging for the stationery shop. Made me feel like the sulky kid succumbing to temptation.

“Accompanied?”
“Guide Yang, accompanying.”

They never asked me that. Suspicion rankled, but they waved approval quickly. It wasn’t my foul mood—it was true: they only worried if Wonu went alone, not where he went.

“Shall we?” he said, strapping Bureau-issued handgun to his belt. His shirt, clinging like combat gear, then softened by a jumper, made him look more civilian.

“My first time in the Red Zone.”
“No different, really. Just forever unstable.”
“So who sets these ‘zones’? All from one metric spike in the ground?”
“Ask Kang Chief next time. Doubt he’d answer.”

I snorted. Hailed a taxi. Took thirty minutes before one agreed, triple fare.

“See? Not that different.” I shrugged at Wonu.

“Only to the gate. Another dungeon opened nearby.”
“Not too high-level. Even D-grade sometimes pops in safe zones now.”
“Still. Starter quakes, then the real one—same as earthquakes.”

I didn’t argue. Pre-dungeon, people lived here. But stigma festered—irrational, yet always convenient.

I paid the agreed bribe. As I stepped out—the sound hit:

<Guarantee our survival!>
<Repeal Red Zone designation!>
<Condemn forced separation of communities!>

Placards everywhere, tied to posts, ragged edges fluttering, endless missing-person sheets slapped over top. Missing: beloved pet, missing: family member…

I knew. All those fought dates traced to dungeon bursts. Calendar sorted. Blood-stained time.

“Let’s go.”

I pulled the gate-latch unopposed. Inside—rubble-scattered streets. Not full-blown apocalypse, just untidy. People’s town.

“I won’t eat you—come in.”
“That’s not it. It’s just—it’s better than I expected.”
“…First I’ve heard such words. Nice sense. My place is close.”

Being outer rim helped. Streets were hushed, snow-dust thin on ground. First snow.

“What are we collecting?”
“Whatever’s left.”
“You expect nothing.”
“…What?”
“You wish nothing remains. Like part of you hopes so.”
“Me? Please. Who hopes their house burns with everything inside?”

He grabbed my hand, suddenly. I caught the gleam of frost crystals tangled in his hair—too thin for snow. Ice falling. As if the dungeon hadn’t fully receded.

“Sometimes you seem like smoke. Like you’ll vanish.”
“It’s just—I hate hassle. Makes me look flighty.”
“No. Not that…”

He faltered—too complex a thought. I brushed frost from his hair.

“After ten years of meeting partners by signed contracts, six months to a year at a time—you stop wanting deeper ties.”
“…”
“And like you look at me—you must always remember you may lose them. So I think… we’re just…”
“…”
“…Wanderers. Nomads. Travelers. That’s what we are.”