Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Ice Cream Rescue Team
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◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Thank you. Please come again."
The staff clustered at the store entrance, bowing to me in unison.
Having them greet me like this felt downright weird. It was like I'd suddenly become some gang boss or yakuza head.
I slunk out, feeling their bows were a bit much.
"What the...?"
"...Some celebrity?"
Passersby caught the scene and shot me curious glances, murmuring among themselves.
I could sense the intrigue in their stares.
The kind wondering, 'Who the hell is this that the staff are bowing like that?'
'Ignoring it would be weirder, I guess.'
I got it—if it were me, I'd stare too. Still, embarrassing was embarrassing.
Should've worn something nicer instead of these sweats.
'Women's clothes might be pushing it, though...'
Anyway, lesson learned today.
Don't blow money recklessly.
If you're gonna splurge, at least dress the part.
It felt a little unfair thinking back.
I hadn't blown it—I'd only bought what I needed.
'Needed a ton, though.'
Furniture alone ran ten million won.
Five carts packed to the brim with boxes. Yeah, a mountain of stuff.
One issue: the living room was the only space ready for it all.
'Well, beds fill the bedrooms a bit too.'
Either way, that meant buying for the other rooms next. The thought made my head throb.
Two spare rooms besides the bedrooms.
Couldn't leave them empty, and I wasn't sharing with anyone, so they needed a purpose.
Not mandatory, but wasted space felt wrong.
'One as a computer room?'
Online, folks loved posting pics of gaming dens tricked out like PC bangs.
Made me jealous as hell.
Now I had the cash to make my own dedicated setup.
PC in place, snack shelf beside it.
Refilling it myself was fine—ambiance mattered.
'Then the last room as a home theater?'
Soundproof booth, AC unit inside.
Wall-sized screen, plush comfy sofa.
'Grab some high-end speakers too...'
Lost in plans for the spares, I reached my parked car.
'Light hands feel great.'
Nothing to carry—pure bliss.
Ten million spent, yet empty-handed.
Remembered yesterday's supermarket struggle, lugging bags to the car.
'Wish they delivered like the furniture store.'
Online grocery orders with timed delivery existed.
But no hands-on inspection like today.
They should copy this model.
I'd shop daily easy.
Slid into the driver's seat, buckled up.
Stretched in the awkwardly empty car.
'Furniture arrives in two days... chill at home till then?'
Today's haul delivered then.
Most pieces here were flat-pack; small buys went home same day.
Mine? Not small. Delivery made sense.
Expected a fortune in fees, but nah.
Fifty, seventy thousand won tops.
For this haul? Bargain.
'One worry down.'
Beds and living room set: check.
Spare rooms sketched out—shop slow later.
Or online entirely.
'No more spotlight...'
Return trip? They'd escort me from the door.
Awkward, embarrassing—couldn't browse properly.
Kept thinking it was embarrassing, but VIP treatment? Not half bad.
Who hates that, really?
Not me.
"VIP, huh..."
Murmured gripping the wheel.
First VIP life.
Never hit it in games, but furniture store gets the honor.
Department store next? Fun VIP hunt.
Plenty like me there—no stares.
Musing thus, drove to the mart.
'Stock up on home eats.'
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Home sweet home..."
Hit the apartment, face-planted immediately.
Floor gleamed dust-free.
No coughs—just cool bliss lying there.
"Feels good..."
Rest sprawled out.
Nearly dozed off, but neck crick from floor-sleeping? Pass.
Hauled up, unpacked grocery bags.
"Freezer for this..."
Headed to kitchen, froze.
"No fridge...?"
Apartment lacked studio basics.
Some had 'em, but this was raw vacancy purchase.
Saw it touring with the agent—why forget?
Studio habits, probably.
Or money-for-IQ swap.
"...Still a win."
Trade oblivious fridge-less homecoming and freezer-stuffed impulse for 500 billion? Profit.
Silly thoughts, glanced at chilled hands.
Frozen dumplings stared back pitifully.
Not cheapos—prime rib ones. Plus shrimp-filled in the bag.
Could trash extras post-munch.
But why?
"Such a waste..."
Finally bought pricey dumplings I'd craved—ditch most after a few? No way.
Gorge till dawn? This ain't prison; it's home.
No need for that.
And dumplings weren't the only woe.
"Ice cream..."
Premium stuff from that "Danish" American brand.
Convenience store splurge-only luxury.
"Can't lose the ice cream..."
Not one or two—smalls and pints galore. No quitting.
Even rich lick yogurt lids.
My logic? Solid.
No one rich enough to trash cash on floors.
Solution?
"Stash in the studio..."
Studio run it was.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Don't melt..."
Floored it to the studio.
Sun streamed in, threatening the ice cream—nerve-wracking.
"Should've covered 'em."
Too late.
Stopping for bags? Slower. Gas only.
Temp stash, then fridge hunt ASAP.
Can't shuttle to studio every craving.
"Driving me nuts."
Only idiot like me.
Absurdity cracked me up solo.
Laugh faded—studio arrived.
Bolted out, dashed inside.
My room: spotless as move-in day.
No Choi Min-hoo traces.
Irrelevant—save ice cream and dumplings first.
"Safe!"
Shoved into empty freezer tray-less.
Sighed relief, grabbed vanilla small, popped lid.
Slight melt—surface only. Refreeze fine.
"Mmm... delicious..."
Taste of indulgence.
Cool, sweet vanilla slid down smooth.
Savoring vanilla afterglow, eyed the studio.
True fresh start.
Like no one lived.
Weeks ago, it'd feel lonely?
Maybe. Was sentimental then.
"Now's better."
No such vibes anymore.
Now rocks.
Won't miss those days.
Won't dismiss past as empty either.
Endured it to reach here.
Thoughts swirling, crammed last ice cream bite, opened door.
"Whoa, who are you?"
Someone startled, asking me that.
My line.
"Huh...?"
No need. I knew.
'Why's the Team Leader Bastard here...?'
There he stood: my "family-like company" team leader I'd cursed endlessly.