A Part-Time Job Interview!

Lee Jiwoo... Lee Jiwoo.

The vice president sank into thought as he studied her profile. From the moment she had stepped into the audition hall, every judge's gaze—his own included—had locked onto her.

That alone was talent enough for an idol. But it did not end there. Her singing fundamentals were a little lacking, yet her voice was pleasant, easy on the ears.

The problem is the dancing...

She had no basics and no flexibility; every single movement creaked and jerked. He had seen countless trainees, but he had never encountered anyone as stiff as her.

"What does everyone think?"

"She's in, obviously! Leaving a visual like that on the table is just being stupid! We can teach her to dance!"

"I agree with the scouting team lead. Number 34's song interpretation is outstanding, too. I'll drill the choreography into her Spartan-style, so that's not a problem."

The scouting team and the choreography team were in complete agreement. That had never happened before. Not once had the two teams ever thought the same thing.

"So she's that much of a find, then..."

The vice president smiled faintly at her profile. He remembered the last question he had asked—what she was most confident in.

Jiwoo had swept her hair back with one hand and said it without a shred of shame. Idol hopefuls were all overflowing with confidence in their faces and figures, which was exactly why they could never actually say they were confident in their looks. Jiwoo was different. She had all but dared the judges to bring her someone better-looking.

Every so often, you ran into them. People born to be celebrities.

"If a kid like this doesn't become an idol, that's basically corruption."

And as it happened, the exact number of people they needed were walking in right on cue. If this project succeeded, they would have a chance to wipe out the debt from last year's failed boy group.

"All right. Let's move on."

The vice president set Jiwoo's profile aside and checked the remaining applicants.

I went straight home. I had nowhere else to go, and school started in two months. I'd heard Jina calling after me on the way, but I ran for it—getting tangled up with her would just be a hassle. They said the results would take about a week, so until then I was going to enjoy some quality ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠everyday life.

The house greeted me with a hollow, empty air.

Nobody home? Well... they did dump me at the audition hall and take off, saying they had something urgent.

Four hours later and they still weren't back. Guess they were going to be late tonight.

I went into my room, shut the door, and powered on the computer. What I needed right now was money. My parents gave me an allowance, but it wasn't nearly enough for what I wanted. To broadcast and do VTuber work at the same time, I needed a high-end PC.

I'm still a student, so no living expenses. If I just pick up some pocket-money work and make a few hundred thousand won a month...

In about four months I could swing a two-million-won computer. Plus I needed to buy an avatar, so I'd have to work at least half a year. The thought of dropping out and taking the equivalency exam crossed my mind for a second. I shook my head.

"I should still go to school, though."

Every little thing that happened at school could become a story to tell. Sitting at a desk studying wasn't exactly entertaining.

"Nnngh!"

I stretched hard and got online. Given my stamina, anything that required real physical effort would be rough. I wanted to conserve energy as much as possible, and I had no desire to work under the blazing sun, so I looked for indoor jobs.

I used Nearby Search and checked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠everything within two hundred meters. I'd seen the news going on about the recession, and maybe that was why—there were a lot of postings. Every last one of them was minimum wage, short part-time gigs designed to dodge weekly holiday pay.

I'm pretty, so I should pick a place where I can put this face to work.

I used filters to wipe out the terrible jobs one by one. When I was done, a single listing remained.

"That's high."

Unlike the other minimum-wage gigs, this one was paying unusually well. Something smelled fishy. Places like this usually had a weird boss or weird customers.

"If you ignore that, it's a perfect fit, though."

High hourly wage, close to home. Even at my walking pace, thirty minutes would do it. Weekends, and the hours weren't late.

Decision made. This was the one.

I made the call.

A buffet with reasonable prices and high-quality food. During the mid-shift break, a middle-aged owner and a broad-shouldered man sat facing each other in the hall. The owner nodded as he scanned the application the man had brought.

"Not bad. Young, plenty of part-time experience... and most importantly, you've done your military service. Not bad at all."

"Thank you. I'll work hard!"

"Nice, clear voice. So... did you look anywhere else besides here?"

"That's..."

The man couldn't quite open his mouth, looking awkward. The question the owner had asked was basically, So you applied to other companies too? In other words, a rude question. The owner knew that and asked it anyway, just to be mischievous.

"Why can't you answer? Don't tell me you came here on nothing but the confidence that your resume would get you hired on the spot?"

"Th-that's not it. I did... interview at about three other places on the way here, but..."

The owner watched the man's voice trail off and tapped his fingers on the table.

Hmm... not bad, but he really folded under a surprise question.

Given the restaurant's clientele—more older guests and families than young people—they got plenty of customers who pulled exactly this kind of teasing.

Everything else is good, but he's a little short on sense. What to do?

Including the man in front of him, four people had applied. He was the one the owner liked most... and of course he was lacking in the one thing that mattered most: sense. The owner sank into deep thought. The floor service was already short-staffed and creaking. He needed to hire someone, and fast.

There's still one more person. I'll interview them too and then decide.

The owner checked his watch. 2:38 p.m. The last applicant who was supposed to come still hadn't arrived—eight minutes late, even. On a serving floor where every minute counted, tardiness was absolutely unforgivable.

That's a deduction.

Keeping time was the most basic of basics. You couldn't put someone who couldn't even do that in front of customers.

Is it because she's still a student? No sense of time?

Age didn't matter much for hall service, but a lack of manners did. Just as the owner finished the man's interview and was about to send him off, the door opened. They'd hung a Break Time sign. If someone was coming in, it had to be the last applicant.

"Hah... hah... I-I'm sorry... I'm late..."

A girl stood in the doorway, panting, her face dripping with sweat like she'd been dunked in water. Even another woman would have said it without thinking: wow, she's pretty.

I was just going to send her away... but this is a different story.

The owner smiled. The man looked gutted.

"I'm screwed..."

The girl came over.

"I'm sorry. I took a wrong turn."

She bowed her head in apology. It was a ridiculous excuse. The restaurant sat right on a main road; you couldn't miss it.

"That happens. Have a seat. You're a little late, but we'll start the interview."

As if none of that mattered, the owner pulled out a chair himself and sat her next to the man. He gave the application she'd brought a light once-over, then looked at her face.

"Ahem. Being late to an interview is something you absolutely must not do, whatever the reason. I'm telling you because you're still a student, so don't you ever be late again. Understood?"

"Yes... I'm sorry. And thank you for the advice."

"No, no... maybe I'm getting old, saying things like that... hoho. All right, let's do the interview."

The man in the next seat had a tremor running through his shoulder, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and off to one side a staff member let out a sound that was half awe and half despair. They hadn't even done the interview, and the result was already in.

"Then... I'll start with the most important question. Jiwoo, and Hyunwoo. What made you apply to this restaurant?"

"I need to pay my tuition!"

"I see."

"So I can live comfortably."

"...Excuse me?"

On the way home after the interview, I stopped by a convenience store for a bit. In Jiwoo's memories, she'd come here often. For me, it was the first time. Jiwoo had only ever spent about five minutes in a convenience store anyway—just grab what you need (caffeine, caffeine, and more caffeine) and get out. So this time I browsed slowly. I wanted to check what they had and linger over little notes like, oh, they used to have this snack, this drink!

"Welco..."

The clerk mumbled the rest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so quietly I could barely hear it. A purely formal greeting. He didn't even look my way.

That aside...

I probably failed the interview, right? I'd answered as earnestly as I could, but compared to the guy sitting next to me, the experience gap was obvious. I was just a seventeen-year-old student. He was a guy in his twenties who'd done every part-time job in the book. If it were me, I'd have hired him.

No, wait—I didn't hesitate on the questions and I answered hard, didn't I? That counts. I comforted myself as I picked out snacks and drinks.

"I'd like to check out."

"...Huh?"

The clerk put down his phone and looked at my face. He froze solid, like someone had hit him with an ice attack. I waved a hand in front of him. His body didn't thaw easily. What? Why isn't he moving? He's not dead, is he?

I started getting nervous looking at the motionless guy. I hadn't done anything, but in a situation like this I could end up looking like the culprit. I just wanted to go home and eat snacks...

"Hey. Hello? Snap out of it. How long are you going to stay frozen?"

At the slightly irritated voice, the man flinched. His frozen body thawed and his expression changed.

What was I even imagining... that was a dream. That was a dream.

He shook his head rapidly and started ringing up the items on the counter one by one.

"Th-the tot... total is 134,300 won."

"One... hundred thirty-four thousand?"

Something was off about that absurd total.

"Did you scan something twice?"

"Ah, no! I double-checked! Twenty bags of potato chips, thirteen snack packs, thirty drinks, ten ice creams, and thirty kinds of bread—total, 134,300 won. Need a bag?"

"Ah... yes... please..."

Now that he listed it out, I really had bought a lot. Arguing after buying that much myself. I couldn't lift my head from the embarrassment. I grabbed the bags he'd packed and tried to leave the store fast.

"Uh... wait. Your num—"

"Thanks for your hard work... aagh!"

Trying to get out so fast, I smacked my head on the glass door.

"Are you oka—"

"I'm fine! Bye!"

I shoved the door open and fled before he could finish.

"Ugh... so embarrassing..."