In Their Respective Positions (1)
Lee Seongjin—real name, alias S-man—the overwhelming top pick for Man of the Year, whose initial S fit him like a glove. Blessed with family pedigree, stunning looks, and bottomless wealth, with not a single thing lacking, he had lately been gripped by a peculiar malaise.
By now, the boss is probably at his alumni reunion, lording it over a bunch of nobodies.
Lee Seongjin knew exactly why Han Daeri had suddenly given the office staff their year-end break. It was rare for Han Daeri to step out to meet "someone." And at year-end, the only people worth meeting were either company folks at a year-end party or old schoolmates at a reunion, laughing and bullshitting away. For a guy who'd long since ditched any social standing, a reunion was the only option left. So naturally, Seongjin had pieced it together.
He'd half-considered lending Han Daeri his foreign luxury car from the garage at home and a high-end suit—on the sly, without the office crew knowing. But he quickly scrapped the idea. Han Daeri wasn't the type to care about money. Appearances? Even less so. Clean and comfortable clothes were plenty; tasty, filling food was all he needed to be satisfied. Handing that guy a flashy import or designer threads would just get shot down flat.
Instead, Seongjin decided to help in a different way. Perfect timing with the year-end break, and Yonghwa Seonnyeo off on urgent business holed up in Taebaek Mountain. Seongjin figured it was prime time to shore up his own shortcomings. After all, wasn't he the weakest link in the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office? Sure, his social standing was top-tier, but the office needed real talent for the gritty stuff, not that.
To plug those gaps, Seongjin reached out to one of his countless connections: a mechanical engineering grad from Pohang University of Science and Technology.
"Long time no see, Seongjin. Heard you quit S Electronics? Your so-called friends were yapping all over SNS about it."
"...Yeah, pretty much."
Even in the depths of winter, Busan felt milder than Seoul. The friend he'd met there went straight for the jugular. Without missing a beat, the two headed to their usual pokcha, ordering booze and snacks. Out came the nakgopsae—the Busan spicy noodles his buddy swore you had to try—playing the role of chicken feet on the menu.
"Hah! Christmas right around the corner, and here I am, boozing it up in a pokcha with a freeloading bastard like you."
Glug glug glug. The Pohang Tech alum downed his shot with a satisfying crack, refilling the clear soju glass. Thick horn-rimmed glasses aside, his looks were above average for an engineering student. Seongjin just chuckled silently at the griping.
Truth was, Seongjin knew this guy could land a girlfriend or two if he tried, or snag a cushy R&D gig at a top Seoul corp instead of rotting in Busan. But he stuck around because of his beef with society.
"Kuh! Soju tastes sweet—sweet as hell! My life's so bitter, it makes the booze taste sweet!"
"You haven't lived long enough to call it bitter."
"I've already dragged through half a century. That's plenty. Humans shouldn't live too long. When it's time to croak, you just know and drop dead."
The pokcha owner shot him a glare, but he didn't give a shit. Seongjin didn't bother scolding him either. That was just how the guy was.
Slurp! "Damn, the seasoning on this nakgopsae's soaked right into the glass noodles. Other places? Ugh, don't get me started. So, young master Seongjin, what brings you down to this blue city?"
Seongjin knocked back a shot before answering the half-sarcastic jab at Busan.
"Got a job for you."
"A job? What kind?"
"You’re good with machines. Give you blueprints, materials, machine tools, and you can whip up damn near anything."
"Come on, any vet in the field can do that. Like asking a literate guy to write his own name. Quit beating around the bush."
Fair enough. Seongjin muttered that under his breath, then pulled a sealed envelope from his pocket and slid it over.
"I'll cover all costs and legal liability. You just build it."
"What the fuck is this shit that's got you acting all high and mighty... Gasp!"
He tore open the seal, peeked inside, and sucked in a sharp breath, quickly hiding the papers. The guy, who usually floated half a bubble off plumb, bugged his eyes out, scanned the room wildly, then locked onto Seongjin.
"You fucking nuts...? This is a crime, asshole!"
He growled it low enough the pokcha owner wouldn't hear, but clear as day to Seongjin, who was quietly refilling his own glass.
Seongjin ignored him, scooping up more nakgopsae with his spoon. Spicy and hearty—just the cheap, satisfying flavor Han Daeri would dig.
"You got a ton of gripes with society."
"..."
"I'll handle them for you. Our boss makes it his mission to round up 'those kinds of people' and chuck 'em in jail."
"What? You... working under some prosecutor or detective? Nah, that'd make you even less likely to hand me this."
"Oh, right—never gave you my card."
Seongjin pulled out a Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office business card—the kind Han Daeri flashed instead of his ID when bored—and showed it to his friend. No need to describe the guy's face hardening like concrete.
"You hit your head or something? Ditch a sweet gig at S Electronics outta nowhere, ghost your usual crew... Family go bankrupt?"
"Came close, but boss saved our asses from losing the pillar. Anyway, not the point. What matters is my gig lines up with some of your wishes. You hate seeing those shitbags strut around free, right? That's why you're stuck here. I'll help you out, so help me."
"..."
Seongjin pressed again, and the guy bit his lip, dropping his gaze. Inside the envelope: blueprints for a gun, from god-knows-where. Not some toy BB gun, but real-deal live ammo, lethal firearm schematics.
Korea banned civilian gun ownership stricter than anywhere else. Hell, scoring a piece was tougher than drugs. And here comes a buddy after years, dumping mystery blueprints and asking him to build it. Nuts was an understatement.
But on the flip... maybe? Society's bullshit had crushed his parents—the ones who'd busted ass for him—overnight. He couldn't stomach the hypocrisy, so he was glued here. If this powerhouse stepped in for revenge, and his skills could chip in—even let him settle the score himself...?
"...You can hook me up with materials and machine tools, right? But the big issue's still there. Even licensed hunters get watched like hawks. How the hell you planning to carry a real gun? Russian mob who rolled into Busan back in the day didn't dare use 'em here. They'd grab sashimi knives or hatchets instead—guns? That'd bring the army down on 'em."
"Planning to build lethal, but not use it lethal. Lead slugs? Nah, salt rounds."
"...?"
He blinked, wondering if this was the elite scion he knew. But Seongjin stared back with dead-serious eyes, no bullshit.
"Not lead... salt rounds? Why?"
"Not for killing humans."
"If not killing humans, how you gonna help me?"
"I can help without guns."
"...Fair."
He knew Seongjin's clan was stacked. Rumored old-money Gangwon landowners gobbling prime real estate nationwide, businesses rivaling chaebols. Pool their assets, and they could rock the economy. Seongjin could absolutely back him up if he wanted.
"Even if non-lethal, noise is a problem. Can't just use it in the sticks."
"Handle that another way. So, you in?"
"Building it? Piece of cake. Blueprints, materials, tools all lined up—if I can't, I'm a retard."
Asking a comp-sci guy for PC recs was suicide, but hand a mech-eng everything on a platter? "Fuck it, let's build." Korea ran on grinding engineers like that.
"The powder's the trickiest..."
"Family elders can snag it easy."
Korea locked down explosives tight. Even ammonium nitrate fertilizer got scrutinized.
"...Figured."
"Need cash? 100 mil, a billion—whatever."
"..."
And so, the unemployed Pohang Tech mechanical engineering grad became president of the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office's equipment manufacturing outsourcing firm.