Being A Full-Time Employee C5

Chapter 5

“Can I go in and eat too?”
“Mm, no.”
“Why not? It’s not even yours, Hunter Chae Wonu.”
“That’s true, but there’s nothing left now anyway. I got caught eating too much of it.”
“How could you even get caught doing something like that? So careless.”
“You’re talking like you’d never get caught.”
“Of course not.”

I chuckled and ripped open another pack of snacks. But as I glimpsed how little was left, my eyes went wide.

“Hold on—how can you just eat all of someone else’s stuff?”
“I’m still growing.”
“Excuse me?”
“Can I open that one too? The spicy one.”
“This one isn’t that hot.”
“It was spicy to me.”

And again, without hesitation, he tore it open and ate. It was ridiculous—but I let it slide. After all, even though we’d signed the contract, the pairing could still be annulled during the first month’s “matching trial period.”

Or maybe… better to end it now?

“You’d better eat fast. We’ve got our matching test.”
“That’s at three o’clock.”
“They’ll move it up.”

I’d been here enough times to know: schedules almost always got delayed, not pulled forward. But still, I ate quickly. Not because I believed him, but because he suddenly started eating at unbelievable speed. And even though I was no slouch when it came to fast eating, he still beat me.

“Hunter Chae, there’s something I want to ask. I’m usually not this curious with partners.”

Normally, that was true. Up until now, I had always managed to gather the necessary information by myself. But with him…

“First of all, how did you even work without a partner until now—”

At that moment, our special smartwatches, which every Bureau-affiliated person had to wear, gave an alert.

<Guide Yang Baekgyeom, please report to Diagnostic Room B with your partner Hunter.>

And the time given was “immediately.” It was only 1:50—far too early. I turned to glance at Wonu. He was folding up the empty snack wrapper into a sharp point and shaking the crumbs straight into his mouth. I watched the elegant lines of his throat and the round bone at the center shifting as he swallowed.

“Let’s go.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood. I let out a long sigh as I gathered the trash together. Wonu snatched it up and, in a motion like a free throw, tossed it perfectly into the bin.

“Aren’t I good?”
“…”

Talking to Seunggyu’s cat, Bbo-Bbi, might have been easier.

Diagnostic Room B’s formal name was “Medical Diagnostic Laboratory.” As the name implies, it was set up like a lab. But we had another nickname for it: the “Matching Room.” Older folks didn’t like the term, saying it sounded like being set up for marriage meetings. Honestly—what difference was there?

Now I understood why they’d called us early. The room was chaos. Bloodstains splattered here and there. They must have cleaned up already, but even so—the leftovers made it clear how tough the last matching had been, and that it had ended in failure.

“It was awful.”

Someone muttered while changing into a lab coat.
“They were totally incompatible. I had high hopes too…”
“And they were both A-class! How odd.”
“Are you still judging everything on rank? Get your head straight!”

The sharp rebuke cut in. The team leader. Her hair was sleek, not a strand out of place. With a single gesture across her tablet, a hologram flickered, changing to display profiles: Chae Wonu and Yang Baekgyeom.

“Rewrite the contracts and put out the new summons.”
“Hello, team leader.”

Even her cold tone couldn’t dampen my easy manner.
“Oh, Baekgyeom’s here. Longer service than our full-time staff, Mr. Outsider Extraordinaire.”

She sounded like she’d just noticed me, but I knew better. She never slipped. A perfectionist—renowned for flawless results, cold to the bone, pitiless. The subtext of her greeting was clear: Don’t mess up.

“Baekgyeom, you’ll do fine today, won’t you?”
“We’ll have to see.”

This wasn’t my first rodeo. I answered while staring at the blood specks on the wall.
“By the way, who was in here before us? Someone I know?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Oh come on, then just if they’re from my agency?”
“Same agency. That’s all.”
“…Alright.”
“I’ll explain it properly to your director. Satisfied?”
“Yes.”

So it was Hyungmin.

I smiled bitterly. Still, he wouldn’t be badly hurt. The things that happened here defied pre-dungeon common sense entirely.

“Oh, cold hands.”

I squinted in mock complaint. The senior researcher I’d known since my first time here gave my arm a playful slap.
“What, like this is the first time.”
“It’s cold every time, that’s why.”
“And every time, you’ve done well. So you’ll do fine this time too, right?”
“As usual.”
“Which means: well.”

She bent her head, checking the pad fixed to my pulse point, whispering softly.
“You’ve got to succeed. It all depends on you.”
“Depends on me? What do you mean?”

―Clearing Diagnostic Room.

The chime order echoed. All non-essential personnel left. Researchers pulled back quickly, checking the last of the cables.

“Senior! What do you mean it depends on me?”
“It means—if not you, then no one.”

But the reply came from the right. Another light flicked on: the sealed chamber adjoining the Matching Room. Our chairs rotated and shifted until we faced each other directly, floating upright as though in mid-air.

This was the most awkward part. From now on, we could not look away. Blinking was allowed—but no turning aside. That was how most failures happened; consequently, each matching session was allowed two hours.

It began.

A needle in the crook of my arm slowly pushed in the drug. Cold flowed down my veins. It spread everywhere. I knew it was some kind of stimulant.

The blazing lights began to pulse. Pupils expanded, contracted, over and over. How long had it been? Suddenly the ground beneath seemed to drop away. I felt like I’d been hurled into an endless abyss, with only my partner and me.

An unbearable isolation. Fear. And only the beat of his heart beside mine to cling to.

My heart slammed wildly, driven by the drug. Wonu’s heart too, a ragged rhythm. Apparently for hunters, the same drug was used as when they forcibly opened abilities.

The time it took for our two heartbeats to align—that duration, and the measure of how close to “stable” the joint rhythm became, determined the matching score.

Through the skull-cracking pain and roaring noise, I forced my stiffened tongue to move.

“Don’t… call me… ‘that guy’…”

The words “you rude bastard” died away on my lips. I was ready to pass out. I clenched my jaws, raised my chin, focusing every scrap of will on staying calm.

The ringing in my ears swelled—so piercing it felt like a drill.

I thought I heard… “Hyung”… but maybe not. No way to confirm, as my consciousness slipped away into darkness.

“You okay?”

I kept coughing, waving off concern. A 500ml water bottle emptied in seconds. I crushed the plastic in my fist, spewing out the last mouthful of water. At least it hadn’t gone as far as vomiting—but my whole body felt flayed inside-out.

“What about Wonu?”
“Already worrying about your partner?”

No—it’s my employment stability I worry about.

“He’s like you.”
“He threw up?”
“He just said he felt dizzy.”
“And the numbers?”
“Don’t you already know by the symptoms?”

I wiped my damp lips with the back of my hand and grinned. No one bleeding, no one bolting, no one screaming from hallucinations. No need to check the graphs—the stability was obvious. We were within the acceptable range.

“So I did good?”
“Of course. You’re the best.”

The senior raised a thumbs-up. She said it every time, but it still felt good. Straightening my back, I tossed the crumpled bottle into the trash can. Perfect shot.

So maybe, despite the odd, confusing beginning—maybe we weren’t such a bad match.

Exiting the prep room, I spotted Wonu leaving his corresponding one. He looked perfectly fine—contrary to his earlier complaint of “dizziness.”

“Hyung.”

The sudden honorific caught every researcher’s attention. More precisely—all eyes on Wonu.

“Hyung? You two already that close?”

Unfortunately, I remembered all too well the words I had muttered before fainting. “Hyung, hyung”—so it hadn’t been a hallucination. Hopefully he wasn’t mockingly repeating it. Hunters, as a breed, were notoriously egotistical. I could only answer with a strained laugh.

“They say we’re soulmates.”
“Oooh…”

The senior chuckled under her breath. It was true—when matching stability scores were especially high, they sometimes used the phrase “destined soulmates.” Though usually not said by the actual participants…

“The scores really came out that good?”
“Just a little above average.”

I leaned in close, almost ventriloquizing.
“Then why’d he say that? Was he messing with me?”
“For him, it’s natural. He’s never once bonded with a Guide before.”
“What?!”

¹ Footnote: 형 (hyung) is a Korean kinship term used by younger males to address older males. It indicates closeness and familiarity, beyond a standard “brother.” Wonu calling Baekgyeom “hyung” suggests intimacy and a bond deeper than formality.