This is a Shitty Company! ~Hope Arc~ (2)
‘People fall into two categories.’
The first are those who treat you better the nicer you are to them. The second are those who only behave when you scare the shit out of them. The former are humans; the latter are beasts. You treat the humans like people, but if you do the same to beasts, they’ll crawl all over you. So you have to train them with food and punishment. That was my philosophy.
Of course, the line wasn’t always clear-cut. Sometimes beasts acted human, and humans pulled beastly shit just as often. But...
‘Fuck it, no point overthinking. Beast or human, I’m doing me.’
I felt relieved. A year after graduating college, my body had hit its limit from getting slavedriven at this shitty small company.
‘I need a break. Just a little one.’
Sure, there were guys grinding self-improvement even now, but I wasn’t about that life. Doing what I loved—that had to be the most valuable thing in the world, right? Just one lingering regret, though.
‘...Sepiros Online. I loved you.’
It was an obsession with the game I’d built myself. I’d never had kids, but thinking about Sepiros Online felt like reminiscing about a child. I’d prayed for its success even during those brutal overtime nights.
‘But it’ll fail.’
The company’s fate was obvious. The code I’d written wasn’t something a rookie who didn’t know jack about coding could decipher in one go. If they could, they’d be the next Elon Musk—and the next Elon Musk wouldn’t be slumming it at a place like this.
‘...They won’t fix bugs, won’t update, won’t even get it on Google Play Store.’
Open Beta was doomed. Acquisition would be a mercy. But who’d buy a company started by fresh college grads?
‘My teammates misjudged me too.’
Kim A-ram, with her alluring long black hair, wrote solid planning docs and seemed friendly at first. But then her attitude flipped.
—Honestly, I have no idea what you even do these days, Seong-u.
I ignored her. What did a non-dev know? The minor issue was that Kim A-ram was the political center of this pathetic all-women startup. You know the type—habitual complainers who make even nonsense sound reasonable. They bulldoze their opinions and justify anything. Kim A-ram was exhibit A.
I deliberately kept my distance.
‘No office politics in a five-person company, right?’
Dumb thought. If politics happen in a five-player co-op game, why not a company? Im Su-yeon was too immature, and timid animator Yoon Se-hee tried defending me but lacked the social skills. I got ganged up on politically.
‘Eh, whatever. No regrets.’
I forced it out of my mind. I’d suffered, but only for a year. Better to look forward than dwell on revenge.
Healthily.
“Time to chill...!”
‘Shin Na-young’s finally landing a job, huh.’ I smiled and wished her luck.
Meanwhile, at the Railroad Software office.
Han Yu-ra’s face was tense.
‘This time, the developer has to be as good as Im Seong-u or better.’
Hire talent, save Railroad Software, hit it big with the game. That was her plan.
But the chatter from her staff grated on her.
“You see the profile of the incoming dev...?”
“Heh heh... Pfft... Pfuhahaha! Bald! He’s bald!”
Kim A-ram and Im Su-yeon giggled like kids. Han Yu-ra frowned and shushed them.
“He has five years of dev experience.”
“Ooh, impressive.”
She bit back a retort at the knock.
Someone had arrived.
—Knock knock.
“Hello?”
“Ah, yes. I’ll be right out!”
Han Yu-ra sized him up. Not handsome, some gut, checkered shirt. The perfect developer stereotype! She relaxed.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Heh heh. Likewise.”
She led him inside. But his eyes were off—furrowed brows, dissatisfied even before the interview. An inexplicable unease hit her.
‘Why...?’
“This is the office?”
“Pardon?”
She didn’t get it. He scratched his head sheepishly.
“Sorry... It just looks kinda small.”
First impressions: disaster. Han Yu-ra, Kim A-ram, Im Su-yeon all glared. But it was true—no separate interview room in their tiny space. As CEO, she swallowed it.
“Yeah, well. Haha.”
Rudeness was fine if he could maintain Im Seong-u’s work.
‘This level of attitude means he’s gotta be skilled, right?’
She introduced confidently.
“Railroad Software’s only a year old, so we’re small. But we’ll get more investment soon...”
“I see...”
His interruptions boiled her blood. Even his fake-apologetic look annoyed her.
‘Are all developers like this...?’
The five-year vet asked,
“So... if I get hired... will I be working alone?”
“No, with the others here.”
Kim A-ram smiled brightly. She was pretty. But the dev just looked awkward again.
“No, I mean, no other developers?”
“...”
Awkward silence.
“Yes.”
“Uh... so... what exactly would I handle?”
“Everything, overall.”
“Everything? You mean client, server, frontend, backend... Be specific.”
‘You’re the applicant! Show some respect! Why act so pissy?’
Han Yu-ra stayed calm.
“Just... all of it!”
“All...!”
His face twisted.
“You’re saying there’s about 30,000 lines of code, frontend, backend, client—no docs. And I do it solo?”
Website. Auth management. Game client/server dev. Updates/maintenance. Security.
Even as a five-year pro, he said he couldn’t solo it. Han Yu-ra blanked.
Im Seong-u had...
‘Is it really that hard?’
She gripped her pride.
“Yes, and?”
“Impossible solo. How could anyone?”
He waved it off. She swallowed hard.
“Haha, no need to freak! Im Seong-u was just a one-year-out newbie and did it alone. Code’s probably copied anyway, simple structure.”
“Aigoo, CEO.”
“...Pardon?”
“Sorry, but no. Even rookie code, thousands of lines—that’s heavy lifting to parse. I can’t.”
Expert saying impossible. Thunderbolt. Rage surged.
‘Why? Why dismiss without trying?’
She gritted her teeth, humbled her ego. Desperate times.
“Short-term’s fine. Name your price.”
Baldy cradled his head.
“Mm— around 30 million won? Cheap, really. You seem desperate.”
Shock.
“Pardon?”
Kim A-ram froze. Han Yu-ra gaped.
“Th-thirty million?”
Three months’ salary upfront?
“Yeah, I can’t deliver for less. No docs, gotta review Seong-u’s stuff.”
“Frankly, we don’t get why it’d cost that. It’s an idle game, right?”
“Even this has PVP, room decor, invasions, rankings, gacha, events... Tons of mechanics, dozens of DB tables. How?”
“But that’s standard for mobile games?”
“Standards are higher than you think.”
Han Yu-ra sweated, played her last card.
“How about... 5 million monthly?”
Generous for a shithole startup—even she and the planner didn’t get that.
But he smiled politely, unmoved.
“Sorry, not worth commuting. Call if interested. See you.”
Devastating for Han Yu-ra. Did that mean Im Seong-u’s work was worth 100 million yearly?
‘No way...’
She scanned her staff anxiously.
“Didn’t he seem straight out of a trash drama?”
“Pfft... Yeah.”
Kim A-ram and Im Su-yeon snickered. To her, he seemed married—diamond ring on his left ring finger proved decent life. No leering at the women despite early balding. Just looked that way.
Suddenly, her staff seemed like losers. But she shook it off. Only three left now. Had to trust them.
‘Yeah, he was a scammer.’
Logic shifted to faith. Boundaries blurred; she couldn’t tell.
‘Order them around, it’ll get done. Even a newbie dev, push with nagging and OT.’
“CEO, why the long face? Cheer up.”
“Sis, plenty more applicants. Take it slow.”
Kim A-ram massaged her shoulders sympathetically. No help.
Next candidate entered.
“Hi! Shin Na-young here!”
Excited. Bright. Cheerful. The rookie applicant was that archetype.
‘Uh...’
Han Yu-ra sensed wrongness. Jealous of her pretty smile and milky skin? No.
What scared her was...
‘She doesn’t look like a developer at all!’
Borderline discriminatory. But devs should have neck strain, wear checkered shirts. That’s what she’d seen.
From that lens, this girl—
‘All dolled up... can’t code?’
Han Yu-ra eyed the white bag in Shin Na-young’s hand. What was inside?
“CEO! Bought drinks for the team—okay to hand out?”
“Uh? Y-yes...”
“Please take care of me, seniors!”
Shin Na-young scurried like a squirrel, passing coffees. Staff watched warmly. Classic shithole startup scene.
Han Yu-ra checked her resume.
‘Gujung University Tourism major...?’
Her future darkened.
‘Im Seong-u... were you really that talented?’
She thought it—then erased it instantly.