The Taste of Compromise
Part 1, Chapter 4
…I could really go for a drink today. Might as well grab some canned beer for the first time in a while.
“Can we talk for a minute upstairs? Kim. Woo. Jin?”
At Gang Daeri’s overbearing tone, Woojin thought to himself, Guess I’m not getting home easy today, and resigned himself to it.
Ihwa glanced at him briefly, then left the office without a word. On the rooftop, Gang Daeri and Choi Juim acted like they’d planned it, both sticking cigarettes in their mouths and flicking their lighters. Acrid smoke drifted straight into Woojin’s face.
“Our new employee doesn’t smoke?”
“No, I don’t.”
Gang Daeri let out a hollow laugh and took another deep drag. A long, heavy silence followed as they simply smoked. Woojin had no choice but to stand there awkwardly, watching them until they finished every last cigarette.
Gang Daeri flicked his butt to the ground, ground it out with his shoe, then suddenly stepped right up to Woojin.
“Intern—or wait, since we’re off the clock, I’ll just call you Woojin. I’m five years older, after all. So tell me, why do you keep staring at people like that?”
“Excuse me? When did I do that?”
At Woojin’s protest, Gang Daeri and Choi Juim exchanged sly glances and smirked. Then their faces hardened, and they started jabbing at Woojin’s chest with rough fingers.
“You think I’m joking? You were glaring at us like you wanted to devour us while we were smoking earlier.”
Every time a finger poked his chest, Woojin’s brow twitched faintly.
“Ah… I was just looking around because I had nothing else to do. If it made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”
It was an apology delivered with every ounce of emotion suppressed, but there was no sign of softening in Gang Daeri’s eyes. Instead, he leaned in even closer and whispered low in Woojin’s ear.
“You’re getting cocky just because you’re dating Seo, huh? Watch yourself. This industry is narrower than you think.”
Woojin could feel every bit of those coarse fingers prodding his chest as he thought to himself, So this is what they call abuse of power. It was an illogical pressure he’d never experienced even during his notoriously brutal military days. He’d pulled countless all-nighters and sweated blood to survive in this battlefield of a society, yet he never imagined he’d be standing here, facing something this childish.
Woojin clenched his jaw and kept apologizing. He knew all too well that losing his temper right now was exactly what they wanted—to turn him into easy prey.
After indulging in his power trip for a while, Gang Daeri jerked his chin toward Choi Juim.
“Anyway, why didn’t you do what Assistant Manager Choi asked earlier? Back in my day, if your superior asked for something—or even if they didn’t—if it looked like there was work to be done, you’d snatch it up and do it anyway. That’s what office life is about, kid.”
By now, Woojin had moved past anger and reached pure resignation. A fundamental sense of doubt washed over him—why the hell did he have to sit through this nonsensical lecture?
The man in front of him looked smug, like he was preaching some profound truth, but to Woojin it just sounded like the scratchy noise of an old, worn-out record.
“Yes, yes… It’s all my fault. I’ll keep that in mind.”
After that, Woojin fully committed to the strategy of listening with one ear and letting it out the other. Gang Daeri’s lips moved busily, spitting venom, but not a single word stuck in Woojin’s mind. Only mechanical, soulless replies flowed out of him.
“……Got it? From now on, when your superior tells you to do something, don’t talk back—just do it. Understand?”
Finally done with his long sermon, Gang Daeri looked satisfied as he headed down the stairs with Choi Juim. Only after their footsteps had completely faded beyond the rooftop door did the taut air finally loosen.
Woojin let out a heavy sigh and crouched down where he stood. He’d been frozen in that rigid posture for too long. It felt like the ugly, bare face hidden behind the glamorous signboard of a major corporation was crushing his entire body.
With his head lowered, Woojin muttered in a low voice.
“……This is fucking bullshit.”
His short curse scattered across the empty rooftop, over the cold concrete floor.
His mother’s surgery costs, the medicine packets, and the one million won stamped in his bank account. The price of that heavy reality tasted far more bitter and filthy than he’d expected.
“Why are you coming down so late? I’ve been waiting forever.”
The familiar voice hit him the moment he opened the rooftop door and stepped out. Woojin’s shoulders jerked. Leaning against a lobby pillar and tapping her wristwatch was none other than Seo Ihwa.
He’d thought she’d already left, but there she was, waiting for him in the chilly night air.
Ihwa approached, asking nonchalantly. Woojin didn’t want her to see the humiliation he’d just suffered on the rooftop, so he forced on an indifferent expression.
“Weren’t you leaving first?”
“We have to leave together so people will actually believe it. But what’s with your face? What did those pathetic losers say?”
At Ihwa’s sharp question, Woojin clamped his mouth shut. The words fucking bullshit rose all the way to his throat, but after taking her money to become her shield, he didn’t want to whine about a few scoldings from his superiors.
He forced the corners of his mouth upward.
“It was nothing. They were just teaching me some work stuff. Shall we go?”
When Woojin tried to walk ahead, Ihwa grabbed his sleeve and stopped him. As he turned back in confusion, her gaze lingered on his chest. His shirt was crumpled and wrinkled where Gang Daeri had roughly jabbed it with his fingers.
Without a word, Ihwa stepped closer and straightened his collar for him. Every time her cold fingertips brushed over his shirt, Woojin’s heart beat strangely.
“You’re a terrible liar. It’s all over your face. You look wronged.”
Ihwa lifted her head and stared straight into his eyes. The sly smile from earlier was gone, replaced by an oddly cold yet firm gaze.
“Kim Woojin. Don’t hold it in. I get really pissed off when someone messes with what’s mine.”
“What do you…”
Woojin was seized by a strange feeling. He’d thought he’d sold his pride for money, but her words just now sounded like a declaration that she would rebuild the collapsed walls of that pride for him.
Still, the phrase what’s mine left an odd sense of discomfort crawling up the back of his neck. It felt less like affectionate care for a precious treasure and more like the displeasure of a predator whose territory had been invaded.
But Woojin decided not to dwell on it and answered bitterly.
“If I don’t hold it in, I’ll get fired. After what I went through today, it seems like this is just how office life is.”
At Woojin’s resigned words, Ihwa stopped walking and turned to look at him. Backlit by the streetlamp, her eyes gleamed in the darkness.
“…I could really go for a drink today. Might as well grab some canned beer for the first time in a while.”
Without waiting for his reply, Ihwa strode ahead toward the bus stop. Her steps were far more decisive than before, without a trace of hesitation. Woojin stared blankly at her back for a moment before hurrying after her.
The night wind was still cold enough to cut through flesh, but the two shadows heading for the bus stop clung just a little closer together than they had earlier.
A play called fake dating. The night it began to invade not just the closed space of the company, but deep into their daily lives.
—
Under the convenience store’s parasol, two cans of beer landed on the cold table with a loud clack.
The night air was still biting, but the cool liquid sliding down his throat felt like it was clearing his head. Woojin drank deeply, as if washing away the humiliation he’d suffered on the rooftop. As the alcohol spread, a lukewarm warmth slowly rose from inside him.
Ihwa sipped her beer without any snacks, staring into the distance. The brilliant city lights shattered and sparkled in her brown eyes.
Suddenly she rested her chin on her hand and pointed at a stall at the end of a dim alley across the street, where smoke was rising.
“Kim Woojin, look over there. That bungeoppang stall is still open.”
Woojin’s gaze followed the tip of her finger. Under a yellow bulb, the owner was busily flipping the molds.
“Oh, yeah. They’re still doing business at this hour.”
“I really like those. Especially the custard ones.”
At Ihwa’s words, Woojin—who had been staring at the stall indifferently—gave a huge twitch of his eyebrows. He turned to her with a serious expression, as if he’d just heard some unforgivable blasphemy.
“Excuse me? Bungeoppang is obviously red bean. Custard is an insult to bungeoppang.”
“What? An insult?”
Ihwa narrowed her eyes in disbelief and shot back.
“Kim Woojin, what era do you think this is? You’re still going on about red bean? What’s fun about that dry, heavy taste? Soft, sweet custard is the truth. It’s an innovation for bungeoppang. Innovation.”
“That’s not innovation, it’s betrayal. The perfect balance of crispy outside and soft inside comes from the rich sweetness of red bean. Custard is just a cheap imitation of a cream bun.”
At Woojin’s firm logic, Ihwa slammed her beer can down on the table in exasperation. The usual cold aura was gone; right now she was nothing but a stubborn woman determined to prove her taste superior.
“Cream bun? Are you insulting custard right now? Fine. With an old-fashioned palate like that, what good are you? Go buy yourself a ton of red bean and stuff your face.”
“Even if you tell me to buy some, I’ll only get red bean for my share.”
“Go buy them. It has to be custard. If there’s even one red bean mixed in, the contract is off.”
Woojin let out a helpless laugh and stood up. A short while later, he returned with a steaming paper bag and set it on the table.
Inside were four custard buns, exactly as Ihwa had demanded, lined up neatly beside one red bean bun representing Woojin’s stubbornness.
The moment Ihwa opened the bag, she picked up a custard bun and took a big bite, as if to show off. A bit of yellow cream smeared at the corner of her mouth, but she gave Woojin a victor’s smile and looked at him teasingly.
“Mmm, this perfect flavor. It’s not even comparable to some outdated relic like red bean.”
“……Enjoy it. I’ll savor this classic taste.”
Woojin replied as he chewed his red bean bun. Ihwa seemed to find the sight funny; she let out a small laugh, rested her chin on her hand again, and stared at him intently. The streetlamp cast long shadows over her eyelashes.
The silence that followed their ridiculous argument felt much softer than before.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Want a bite of red bean?”