The Client's Request Is Absolute Law (1)

The conference room, once the client had gone. The Brand Design team picked the conversation back up.

"That bastard of a CEO—no. Why the hell did Blaire even take a job like this? The timeline's insane."

The silver-haired man's voice was as calm as ever, but the tidy register he'd performed for the client had come undone into something far less polished.

"Still, since it's a rush job, the pay might come out pretty fat, yess! You never know—our free-spending CEO might even toss us a bonus for the trouble."

The small blue woman did her best to wrap the news in optimism, as if she might air the gloom out of the room.

Is her mouth put together differently? Maybe that was what came of not being human. She seemed to be trying to shape each word cleanly, but every so often a little catch of the tongue slipped out.

"Ha. Tell them to give us some time to actually spend the money. Is this the first commission out of that place? Looks like we've cracked open one more world to pull contracts from."

The silver-haired superior grumbled through a little more profanity, then shifted his gaze to me.

"You're the new hire, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right? So you've been placed on our Brand Design team."

"Yes, that's correct. Actually… I was assigned the moment I signed the contract today, so I may not have a full grasp of things yet. I'd appreciate your understanding."

At that, the man scrunched his expression the way he had earlier and muttered under his breath.

"Give me a break. I'm already busy enough to drop dead, and now I've got a newbie to look after. I asked for a colleague I could throw straight onto the work, not a newbie I'd have to teach."

The impossible deadline had him on edge.

…Even so, saying it right in front of a person wasn't exactly polite. Up through the meeting I'd thought my luck with bosses was decent. Time to take that back.

Then again, maybe I'm the trash—my age, and still a new hire instead of someone with a career.

I was somewhere in the middle of that cheerful bit of self-loathing when she spoke.

"Oh! It's been a little lonely around here anyway, what with the recent resignation and the person out on long leave. Congratulations on joining, Leehyun!"

The blue woman latched on warmly.

"I'm Henna. And this is our team lead!"

"Call me Pascal."

A foreign agency… or rather, as befitted an agency from another world, the culture seemed remarkably flat. There didn't appear to be any visible rank besides team lead, and they wanted to be called by name. For a citizen of a Confucian country it sat a little heavy. Still, I'd have to bend myself to the place.

"Oh, we shouldn't be standing around here—we ought to head back to the company, yess? I'll show you the facilities too, Leehyun!"

The team lead nodded and drew out a keyring shaped like a door. The company symbol was engraved on the miniature: a V set inside a circle. A soft rasp, then a slide—he worked the little door free of the carabiner and stood it on the floor, and it became a full-sized door, the same as the one the CEO had pushed me through. The difference was that this one wasn't fixed to a wall. It stood in the middle of the room, alone as an island. A low hum rose and deepened, as if some mechanism were turning over inside.

"Let's head back."

Pascal opened the door. Beyond it, the frame was filled with a strange black vortex.

I didn't have the chance to really look last time. Is it even safe to put my body in there…? Unlike me, hesitating, Henna simply started walking. The moment she crossed the threshold she was drawn in, as if sucked through, and her shape vanished. Pascal, still gripping the handle, tipped his chin at me. Go in first. That was the meaning.

I already passed through once without dying… it'll probably be fine. My heart wasn't exactly in it. There wasn't another way. With a small knot of tension in my chest, I stepped toward the door.

"How's this desk for you, Leehyun? The person who resigned today left it perfectly clean, yess!"

Henna said it warmly, already helping me set the seat up. So this was the desk the woman I'd run into in the lobby had used. The only supply left in one corner of the empty surface was a computer. Henna switched it on and went on explaining.

"From now on, you can use this design program, yess. I hear you humans have worked with something similar? You'll get the hang of it in no time, Leehyun!"

On the screen was software much like the programs designers used in the human world. The only difference was that where a logo should have sat, there was Vanta's V. It seems like a small agency. And they have their own software? While Henna clicked through the interface, the team lead—who had stormed the CEO's office—came back. …Were the circles under his eyes a shade darker than before, or was that just me?

"That son of a bitch Blaire… no. The CEO. He says if you leave out physical production, three days is fine, isn't it. Claims we can't void it, because we stressed the deadline all over again when we signed the outsourcing contract."

"Ah…"

A small sigh slipped out of Henna and me both. Was it always like this? The future was already making me dizzy.

She must have caught the look on my face. The jellyfish woman leaned in and murmured.

"Leehyun, our company… isn't always like this. Ordinarily the project timelines are pretty generous. They just seem to have pushed too hard this time, trying to land a contract in a new world, yess."

The kindness, meant to steady me, stung a little at the bridge of my nose. At least the colleagues are kind. Agencies are always busy. That's just how it is.

"Hey, newbie. Don't stand there spacing out. Grab a notebook and follow me."

And the way he said it… He'd no sooner scored points as a colleague than I docked him as a team lead.

"We need a meeting, don't we."

…….

Without meaning to, I glanced at the time on my smartwatch. It was evening. Which meant it was time to go home.

"It's all right, Leehyun! Our company has a nap room and a shower room too, yess!"

Ah…

And with that, the place had assembled every condition of a truly terrible company. The strength went out of me. I dragged my feet after them into the meeting room. Henna had pressed a company notebook and pen into my hands, so I sat down a diligent new hire, posture perfect for taking notes. Pascal hooked his laptop to the meeting room projector and set up for the meeting.

On the mirrored projector, in the memo app the team lead had slammed shut, I was fairly sure I'd seen a line like that. Naturally, Henna and I both pretended we hadn't. Pascal worked the laptop a little longer, and this time a proper slide came up.

It was only a projector, and yet the type came up razor-sharp. They seemed to have taken this same machine to the client meeting earlier. It ran on battery alone, no outlet required—small, light, and absurdly high-resolution. Pascal began with the image the beam had thrown up.

"This is a summary of the client meeting from earlier. As you can see, the two opposing directions are the hardest part."

He was right. The client had set two groups as the brand's target. And the values meant for each were exact opposites: the people inside the fortress city, and the people outside it. Strength and warmth—contradictory meanings—had to be expressed at once.

"We're short on time, and what the client wants is a high-difficulty direction. Let's lock one among ourselves and build a cohesive draft."

He advanced the slides to the reference images and went on.

"To get both contradictory directions across, what if the logo type is something sharp and linear, and we carry the warmth in the color?"

When the deck reached its last slide, Pascal wrapped it up.

"Each of you do a simple sketch. Then we'll gather back in here and look them over."

The meeting ended. I went back to my seat and sat down in front of the computer. Past the partition, I could see Henna heading for the break room to draw water—and holding the tumbler in hair that moved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as freely as a hand.

I still can't believe this is real. An ordinary job seeker living in South Korea, and in a single instant I'm seeing every kind of impossible thing? The suddenness of it still wouldn't let my head sit straight. Even so, the rule is that you deal with the work in front of you first. So I opened the notes I'd taken and looked them over.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

It was, in fact, a strategy that could answer the brief effectively in a short time. But…

Something about it feels a little thin. There would be nothing shameful in designing exactly as Pascal had said. Even so, the two unfamiliar combinations struck against each other. The two directions are completely alien to one another. …Would that be enough to score well with the client? The request itself was a stretch. Still, wasn't there a way to dissolve it so it felt natural? I leaned back in the chair and sank into the problem.

Everyone else had gone home. The office was quiet, ours the only team left, and because of that the mouse clicks from across the way rang loud. Click. Click. Past the partition, Henna this time was working the computer with both hands—while drinking from the tumbler with her hair, using it like another hand.

"……."

It was going to drive me insane to notice, so I buried my face in the monitor in order not to. Maybe I should dig up a few more references first. When I logged in with the employee ID they'd issued me, I could use the ordinary human-world internet without any trouble. For staff convenience, they'd arranged it so each of us could reach information matched to the world we came from. I set both hands busily to work, and I was just about to open one design site after another.

…!

All at once, an idea cut through my head. Done this way, it might actually be pretty good. It diverged from the direction the team lead had ordered, but it didn't seem bad. So I set a pen to the notebook and scribbled, sorting the thought out in every direction it wanted to go.

"Everyone bring their sketches?"

Henna seemed to be the type who worked straight on the computer, with no notebook sketch at all. She connected her laptop and shared an early draft she'd drawn in the program—work that followed, faithfully, the direction Pascal had laid out. Not bad. She'd brought in something solid in almost no time. …Was she that fast because those braids worked like four extra hands?

"Right. Good work. Next, let's see the newbie's draft."

I, on the other hand, had nothing but the scribbles I'd used to sort my thoughts. They weren't even an orderly sketch. I meant to draw it on the spot and show them that way. And it's different again from the direction the team lead indicated. It was my first day. The smart move was probably to keep my head down and drift with the current. I hated standing out. But is this really a moment for reading the room? I could give everything I had just to keep my own skin intact and it still wouldn't be enough. So I made up my mind to show the idea exactly as it had come to me.

"Um… I worked up a draft in a slightly different direction. Would it be all right if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I showed you?"

I opened my mouth carefully. Agh—I was shaking. I spread the work notebook I'd only just been issued today and brought the pen to the page.

And so.

…My draft would be the one they picked.