Eeeeng... I Don't Wanna Work.
"Eeeeng... I don't wanna work."
It was 10:21 a.m. I, Han Daeri, was sprawled out on the sofa, twisting my body against its stiff, brand-new leather texture. It had been ages since I'd had a weekend off, so I'd slept in to shake off the exhaustion piled up from the past few days. But modern humans aren't built to escape chronic fatigue with just a few extra hours of shut-eye.
"What if I'm already in hell? Or maybe this is just a common dream? Hell, what if I'm already dead and wandering the nine heavens?"
Who'll save me from this endless cycle of fatigue? Anyone but Jesus!
To break free from chronic fatigue—more horrific and loathsome than any cruel fate—I rolled desperately on the sofa. And then I fell.
Thud!
"Koreans run on rice power. Eat some rice, and most problems solve themselves. Time for food."
Forcing my body upright amid the ominous crunch-crunch-crunch sounds it spat out, I already felt half the fatigue lift. I roughly combed my bedhead and grabbed the basic-colored coat hanging on the wall. Coats are essential for an autumn man. Guys wandering outside without one don't deserve the title.
As usual, I figured I'd grab a late breakfast/early lunch of kongnamul gukbap, but a knock echoed from the office door just then, halting my steps. My first customer at the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office.
I propped my elbows on the pristine desk I'd never used, steeling my face and voice into something stern, and called out for them to come in.
The door opened, and in walked none other than S-man, the guy I'd cleaned up a corpse with before.
"Aish!"
"Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"I thought you were a customer! What about my thrilling first one? Ah, that sounds kinda gay. Rewind. Why the hell are you the first to show up at our office?!"
"You dropped your business card last time, so I followed the map on the back."
"Why!"
"I was hoping you might be looking for a disciple, assistant... or even part-time help..."
Well, that changes things.
"Come in for now. See that break room? Make some coffee. I take two sugars."
"I make a mean cup, too."
S-man slipped naturally into the break room and brewed two mugs of Maxim coffee—the kind with Mr. Maxim on the packet—setting one in front of me.
"Whew, coffee before food kills the appetite. But I can't resist that early-morning brew."
"It's already past 10 a.m."
"So, you had lunch yet?"
"Not yet."
"Then it's still morning."
The guy doesn't even know Koreans divide the day by three square meals. Did he reincarnate from another world or something?
As I charged my brain with sugar-heavy coffee, S-man sipped his at the reception table. Glancing over, he was in casual clothes with a massive backpack, like he was ready to go all-in today.
"So, you wanna be my disciple, assistant, or even part-timer?"
"Yes! I was blown away by that sacred exorcism you did—and how you sent even the worst sinners to heaven!"
"Too gay. Rewind."
"I developed deep respect after seeing that sacred exorcism and how you sent even the worst sinners to heaven!"
"Good. But here's the sad truth: I'm not looking for a disciple or assistant right now."
"I... see."
I downed the hot coffee in one go, crumpled the paper cup, and chucked it out the window. The street cleaner uncle would handle it. Just giving him another ticket to heaven.
"For starters, you're S-man. With a future brighter than any con artist could dream, why crawl into a dump like this?"
"That's just because my parents pushed me to study hard and land a good job. I don't like remembering it, but saving my friends who tutored Seonyeong? That was just 'cause I know tons of people like that."
"So, you're a total golden boy?"
"Haha, not quite that bad..."
"Your family's loaded, huh?"
"Just an apartment in Gangnam and a few commercial buildings."
"Right. S-pen, premature... aside from that, you've got it all. So why here? Ah, that sounded kinda gay too?"
I've gotta watch the G-words, I thought, but S-man suddenly bowed his head, face dead serious.
"My life's been nothing but boring crap so far!"
"Lucky you. I wish I could've lived a boring life like that."
"I just followed the path my parents laid out. Couldn't even party freely—had to study, exercise steadily, slog through boring college and now corporate life. I want to live my life now!"
"To live your life, hit a club and splash some cash. You'll figure out what you want real quick."
"I'm not into that cheap thrill crap."
S-man looked up, eyes blazing with passion and grit—like Columbus eyeing the New World. Sure, he ended up a slave trader to a mass murderer, but still.
"What I want is something I've never tasted! Something I never will again! The ultimate thrill my life won't have twice! I don't wanna walk the same road as everyone else!"
"So, what'd you usually have for lunch?"
"Restaurant with friends, or company cafeteria with coworkers."
"Then from today, lunch is jjajangmyeon only. Get up—time to eat."
I led the noticeably brighter-faced S-man out of the office at a leisurely pace.
"We'll do the interview on the way. You're S-man, so you've handled those big-corp pressure interviews, right? What can you bring that'd help me?"
"Uh... fluent in foreign languages."
"Next."
"Got a driver's license. And my own car."
"Points for that. And?"
"Family connections—can call in favors if needed."
"Not bad. Finally, hit me with some grand ambition. Future vision, self-pitch, whatever."
"No salary needed."
"You're hired."
We strutted into the Chinese joint like gangsters collecting protection money. 'Customer is king,' they say—I just wanted to play king for once.
"Chef! Best jjajangmyeon here, one!"
"Jjajangmyeon for me too."
"He says jjajang too. And tangsuyuk, large, on the house."
I slapped a 50,000-won bill on the counter and claimed the center of the biggest 6-top table. Too early for lunch, too late for breakfast—perfect dead zone, no customers.
Pro tip for Chinese: eat in these awkward hours. That's when it's peak—fresh veggies and meat chopped that day, MSG-loaded, stir-fried over high heat. Fresh-baked bread's best; same with fresh-fried jjajang.
"Oh yeah, never paid you your fee."
"I forgot too. You saved my life, and I just bounced without thanks."
After chugging ice water, it hit me—I stuck out my hand. S-man dug into his pocket and handed over a thick yellow envelope.
"Meant to put more, but a family elder insisted on exactly this amount. Yell if it's short—I'll wire the rest."
"Nah, it's fine. Plenty."
I nodded at the eerie red chicken-skin glyphs and hanja inside the envelope flap. Exactly 4,440,000 won in 50k and 10k bills.
"Uh, blood from your nose... you okay?!"
"Fine. You a third-gen only child or something?"
"Yeah... our family's short on sons."
"Ancestors got heavy hands. Set a lavish ancestral rite later."
Out of S-man's sight, I tore the envelope under the table, pocketed the cash. After all I went through saving their precious heir, they sic a shaman on me? How'd this guy even defy the family elders to come here?
"You get permission, at least?"
"I'm an adult now—no need for personal stuff."
"Right. Men live and die by pride. Still, ditching S Electronics for under me? Nah."
"Corporate life's boring as hell, honestly. Buncha smug assholes politicking as baseline, looking down on anyone 'lesser' in creds, background, looks. Sick of it."
"Everywhere's the same. Except heaven. Hit me up when life's rough—I'll send you there."
We chuckled over our food, then went solemn before the steaming jjajang and tangsuyuk set the chef personally brought out.
But before mixing sauce into a hearty scoop, I broached the line we needed to draw with S-man.
"Tangsuyuk—dip or pour?"
"Whatever you say, boss."
"Guys like that always bitch later. Be straight."
"Dip."
"Me too. But sharing sauce with spit-dipped tangsuyuk? Too gay. Separate bowls."
We split sauce into empty side dishes and dipped away. That's when my burner phone—linked to the office—buzzed wildly.