The Predator Is Not Foolish

"Haa... They want me to do all this by myself? Are they out of their minds?"

I stared up at the back of the store and felt a wave of utter despair wash over me. The goods piled so high they completely blocked the rear passage were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already enough to make my head spin just looking at them—but that was the least of it. The stuff stacked on those shelves that had to be over three or four meters high? Completely impossible.

"Seriously... are they just telling me to go die?"

It was so absurd that the words slipped out of me on their own in the empty back room.

I already knew inventory checks happened regularly at places like this. But in a big-box store this size, common sense said you got several ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠employees on it together when the time came. Preferably the male ones, too.

Why? Because you couldn't reach, obviously. Checking every single item up that high meant either hauling them down with a woman's strength or climbing a ladder—and either way it was backbreaking work. And yet... here they had just dumped the whole job on me alone.

Haa... Do they somehow know I used to be a man? How else could they hand down an order this shameless? I thought back to the nasty way Jeong-a had delivered it.

"Auntie, you're pretty tall though, right? You can handle it alone. Do your best."

"Hold on—didn't you say even more than ten people working together can barely finish by dawn with the doors closed? How am I supposed to do it by myself?"

"Haa? Then maybe don't go causing scenes on the floor and taking unauthorized half-days. Who do you think cleaned up after that mess?"

"Haa... but still."

"Or go find some idiot to help you like the manager did. You're a pro at that honey-trap stuff, aren't you?"

I bit my lip, but no comeback came to mind. After everything that had happened, there was no denying my reputation was rock bottom. In the end I had no choice but to shoulder this ridiculous job alone.

"Huu... Fine. Let's do it. It's not like I have anyone else, right?"

I let out a long breath and forced myself to accept reality. Once the store closed and the place fell quiet, I started checking stock one item at a time in the back.

"Brown sugar, seventeen—correct. Cream pasta sauce... huh? Two short. Ah, here they are."

I began ticking numbers off the thick inventory list in my hand. It was still early, so it felt more doable than I'd expected. And with everyone else gone, there was no one around to interfere or pester me—which was unexpectedly comfortable.

After being bullied and ostracized by the other women day in and day out, being alone felt better. It even reminded me a little of my old white-collar days. Maybe it was meaningless, but it gave me a faint flicker of self-respect.

So even though a mountain of work remained, I pushed myself and kept going. Progress came bit by bit—until I hit the real wall.

"Alright. This is where it gets ugly. All that stuff on the upper shelves."

I sighed at the boxes stacked way overhead. Until now everything had been within reach; I could just walk around counting. From here on I'd have to climb the ladder for every single check, or bring each one down.

I'd tried hauling boxes off the ladder once before and nearly face-planted. Feeling that heavy weight while teetering up there had been pure terror. And now I had to do it hundreds of times. Was I really going to be okay?

No choice. I resigned myself, dragged the ladder over, and started climbing up and down, checking numbers. And I felt it immediately: everything up to now had been tutorial mode. This was the real hell. It was terrifyingly precarious. Climbing a ladder dozens, hundreds of times was no joke.

The weight was no joke either. Boxes packed full of cooking oil or detergent were heavy enough to make me sway the second I lifted them. Forcing my balance back every time drained me. On top of that, once the store closed the air conditioning shut off. Sweat poured off me like rain in no time.

"Ugh, so hot. And clammy."

The motivation I'd forced up moments earlier evaporated. When I wiped my forehead, the sweat on the back of my hand was thick and sticky, not just damp. My sweat-soaked clothes clung to my skin, thoroughly disgusting.

Why am I like this lately? Did I develop hyperhidrosis or something? Even when things were hard before, I never soaked my clothes this badly. These days it happens at the drop of a hat. No wonder the other women mutter about the smell and freeze me out. Changing sex has brought nothing but misery.

If I were still a man... if I were still myself... I could have handled this without half the struggle. I thought it every day, but facing work this overwhelming made the reality hit harder. The thought only lasted a second before I climbed the ladder again.

"Mayonnaise—two boxes, eleven singles. Huh? Where are the singles... Ah, they must have piled them over there."

An opened mayo box sat a little farther away from the ladder. Not far, but climbing down, moving the ladder, and climbing back up was a pain. I stretched for it anyway. My fingers just barely missed. If only one male employee had stayed to help—how nice that would have been.

I thought that as I strained farther. That was when it happened.

"Just a little more... a little more... Ah! Thank you."

Suddenly a hand rose from below and shoved the open box toward me. I swayed but managed to grab it, gratitude flashing for whoever had helped. Who? I thought everyone had left and I was alone. Then I looked down, met the person's eyes, and nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Hiiik! Y-you...?"

"Hey, Auntie. Working hard, I see."

It was Gangho. That delinquent face and the Irezumi tattoo visible at his neck hit my eyes crystal clear. And at the same time... that overwhelming scent that once pinned people in place washed over me.

I fought the dizzying haze in my head, clutched the mayonnaise box like a shield, and stammered at him.

"What... what are you doing here? Weren't you off the clock?"

"Yeah. Got bored, so I dropped by. Figured I'd mess with whoever got stuck doing inventory. But... where'd everybody go? You're alone, Auntie?"

My first reaction was fear. After the last mess I'd left for him to clean up, I'd been sure he was furious and ready to take it out on me—I'd been dodging him ever since. He hadn't said anything unexpected, yet I'd still been trembling, waiting for the day he made me pay.

But... looking at him today, he didn't seem nearly as angry as I'd imagined. And from the way he talked, he clearly had no idea I was doing inventory alone. What? Wasn't this your order? I decided to test him.

"You told me to do it alone."

"What? Me? This? Alone? Haa... What the hell... How's anyone supposed to do this alone?"

Was he for real? The pure disbelief on his face looked genuine. So it was Jeong-a again, pulling a mean-spirited stunt on her own. Knowing that changed nothing, though. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The fact that I still had to finish the job didn't change. I sighed and turned back to work.

Watching me, Gangho spoke in a mocking drawl.

"Ignoring me, huh? Haa... Looking at this, that bitch Jeong-a and the old bags must've cooked something up. Heh heh heh. You got played good, Auntie. How about it... want a little help?"

"Don't concern yourself. I'll manage."

"Whoa. Look at the tough act. This ain't some easy job. Only someone like me could solo it. You might still be crying at dawn when it's not done."

"That's not your problem, is it? Or is this what you wanted all along? So stop interrupting and just leave."

What kind of hypocritical stunt is this? The unexpected kindness only made me more wary. Don't fall for it. That man is the king of that side. I'm the prisoner who tried to rebel and got crushed. Don't get sucked in by a tyrant's mocking favor. I'm not that clueless.

So I kept working regardless. Gangho gave a disbelieving little laugh, shrugged once, walked back, and sat on the floor with his hands behind his head, watching me. What? Why stay and camp out instead of leaving? That gaze was uncomfortable.

"Hey... stop interrupting and just go home already."

"What's it to you? I feel like hanging out here. That's my freedom."

"Haa... Fine. Do whatever you want."

Uncomfortable. Horribly uncomfortable. Knowing that bastard was staring at my back while I climbed the ladder up and down with sweat soaking even my pants made me feel foul. Like I was being watched. And as if to wreck my mood further, he muttered,

"Whatever, listen or don't, but take it as me talking to myself. You're not as trashy a person as I thought, Auntie."

What is he even saying? The sudden words made me freeze for a second. But I ignored him again, shifted boxes and checked numbers, and his monologue continued.

"When I first heard about you from Jeong-a... I figured you were just another queen bee the manager-hyung stuck in here because he can't keep it in his pants. But... watching you for a while, you don't seem like that. You're actually diligent about work, stubborn, kinda exhausting model-student type."

Unexpected. The words surprised me enough that I glanced back at him. Our eyes met and he grinned. The smile irritated me so I turned away again—but strangely, I didn't hate it. And his monologue kept going for me.

"I've got a pretty clear read now. Looks like Jeong-a and the old bags really marked you. Aigoo... why'd you do that? Try getting along a little smoother. You're a woman too, you should know. In a place like this, picking a fight in the women's power struggle gets you exactly this kind of mess. Hey! Don't bring that one down—just approximate the count. Even the guys just write a rough number for the cooking oil 'cause it's too heavy and move on."

Anger flared. What? "You're a woman too, you should know"? This bastard and his mouth. I spun around and glared. He looked suddenly baffled, like he had no idea why I was reacting that way. So I snapped at him.

"Ha! So sorry. Being a woman and still acting all prickly without knowing better. So... you decided to screw me over as the representative of all those pissed-off women?"

"Heh. Auntie. I may not look it, but I'm a pacifist. And I sincerely want this place to run right. So I have to judge. What needs cutting. What needs reevaluating. Once I decide how to run things based on that, this place actually works. You get me? Ah... yeah, this won't do. I'll help. Come down."

A strange chill ran through me. This bastard is a crude, ignorant, violent son of a bitch. That fact never changes. But... beneath that surface, I caught a glimpse of terrifyingly sharp intelligence. This guy... what the hell is he really? Not just some beast.

A beast with the instincts of a highly clever, cunning hunter. The thought made my face and body suddenly burn. Huh? Wh-what is this? My breathing got short too. Calm down. Mid-sentence I turned my back on him as he approached, practically shoving him away with my words.

"I said I'm fine! I'll handle my own work. So don't worry about it."

"No, that's dangerous like that. Hey? Hey hey hey? Auntie!!!"

"Wh-why are you suddenly yelling... huh? Aah!"

I couldn't help screaming. Because while forcing myself onto tiptoe to grab a cooking-oil box just barely out of reach, I misstepped and tumbled to the floor.

Thud! "Augh!"

The impact and a groan burst out together. But I had no time to think about it—because the box I'd dropped came to mind. Looking up, I froze in horror. The boxes that had rocked from my fall were now cascading down.

I scrambled back against the wall, sat, and squeezed my eyes shut. I'm going to die, I thought. Boxes weighing dozens of kilos crashing straight onto me would mean serious injury at minimum. So this miserable, worthless life ends in the most ridiculous way possible, I thought, and closed my eyes.

Crash! Clatter-clatter! Bang-bang!

A string of violent impacts rang out and part of the shelving collapsed in a cascade. And yet... nothing happened to me. Why? Before the question could form, a powerful stimulus invaded my nose. Huh? Th-this is... That scent. The body odor that had nearly smothered me in the ventilation room.

I opened my eyes. Right in front of me... the front of his pants filled my vision. Aaaah... this is a man's scent. The overwhelmingly intense, stimulating smell of a man's groin hovered so close it almost touched. But this was no time to get drunk on that dizzying odor.

"Auntie... you okay?"

"Kyaaaaaaah! Bl-blood..."

Looking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up, my eyes met Gangho's. He had braced one hand against the wall, covering my body like a shield, and the falling boxes had slammed into him before rolling aside. A few bottles had shattered and cut his head; olive oil poured down his body and onto me as well.

The smell was thick. Dust from the back room, the scent of broken olives. And my own sweat-soaked stench. But the strongest of them all—the one that made me cry out—was still that powerful male scent.