Rejected Again

Rejected again.

Son of a—

I'd made it halfway through the stiff, formal font on my phone screen before finally dropping my head. Even the cursing and the sighing had worn themselves out; I couldn't be bothered anymore. With bleary eyes, I sneaked a glance at the message glowing on the display. Same as always. The words hadn't changed.

I didn't need to read the rambling, well-intentioned message in full to know exactly what it was trying to say. Which made sense, seeing as I'd received the exact same thing more times than I could count.

Just how many times has it been now?

It had already been over two years since I finished my military service and graduated from university. Twenty-nine this year—an age where calling yourself young starts to feel downright embarrassing. The employment I'd assumed would come easily had stalled out for over two years.

...Ah, wait, no. Actually, this kindergarten at least let me interview, so maybe that counts as a win? Up until now I'd been rejected at the document stage so fast I never even got the chance to sit for one.

But even the hard-won in-person interview had ended the same way. Case in point: yet another rejection notice, today of all days.

Rejected. Rejected.

I raked both hands roughly through my bird's-nest hair. So what am I supposed to do?

It felt like I'd applied to every kindergarten in the entire country. At the very least, I'd applied to every daycare and kindergarten within a thirty-kilometer radius of my house. Is it my credentials? My experience?

I'd thought my monotonously dull university years and job-hunting grind would ripen into rich fertilizer for my future. Turns out it was all just manure. My near-perfect grades from juggling school and part-time jobs, my glowing practicum evaluations—all of it had been reduced to scraps of paper destined for the shredder.

"AAAAARGH!"

The composure I maintained in any and every situation went straight out the window. The frustration churning in my gut was suffocating.

- BANG!

"Wh-what, what's wrong? Don't tell me—did you get in? Did you finally get in?"

At my shouted outburst, my older brother flung the door open and stormed in. Watching the pink hair rollers neatly wound into his hair, I found a hollow laugh slipping out despite myself.

"...What? I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠got rejected."

His eyes flicked down to the phone on my desk, and in an instant he'd read the verdict. I didn't have the energy left to deny it.

"Yeah. Rejected again."

"...Hey, it happens. Take it easy, man."

He tapped the back of my head lightly, offering what comfort he could, but all I could manage was one dry face-wash after another.

"There's a limit to 'taking it easy.' Two years of unemployment gets old."

Not to mention it was getting embarrassing.

"It's because of that thing again, isn't it?"

My gaze followed his jerked chin, landing naturally where he pointed. In a small window open on the computer monitor was a jagged waveform graph, beneath the title Awakener Certification.

"..."

Back in my senior year of college, I'd collapsed from exhaustion and been rushed to a hospital. And there, a doctor had handed down a bizarre diagnosis—not a simple cold, but the manifestation of an Awakener. That was the beginning of every problem I had now. I honestly wondered if the man was a quack.

But he'd shoved stacks of test results and incomprehensible jargon in my face, so all I could do was nod along. ...Awakener or whatever, at the time I was so desperate to graduate that none of it registered. All I wanted was to finish my joyless college life and land a job already.

So even after becoming an Awakener—something most people could only dream of—I felt absolutely nothing. Besides, the ability and rank I'd manifested were somewhat... underwhelming.

D-Rank Tamer.

I'd just laughed it off. ...That laugh should not have been my first.

"Who knew this useless-as-tits-on-a-bull ability would end up being the thing standing in my way?"

A D-Rank Tamer—neither high-ranked nor anything special. And for some reason, my ability was unstable to boot, so I couldn't even use it with peace of mind. The full extent of what I could do was breaking up the brawls between the stray cat and the squirrels living on the hill behind our neighborhood, plus getting strong-armed into revealing good acorn-hunting spots. That about summed it up, didn't it?

And yet this ability, about as useful as a driver's license rotting at the bottom of a drawer, was firmly blocking my path forward. Who on earth would want this?

The proof was in my classmates, who aced interviews left and right without any particular credentials, while I remained stuck treading water. So what, exactly, was the reason? Why else would I be reciting this whole sob story?

The reason was simple. Because I'm an Awakener.

Awakeners. Who were they, exactly?

The world called them "the chosen ones." People who suddenly, one day, found themselves wielding powers science could not explain—they became objects of admiration and awe, and at the same time, of fear. In other words, a double-edged sword. Rare and powerful regardless of rank or ability, they were fundamentally different, and different meant dangerous—that perception was baked into society at large.

And, sadly, that perception wasn't entirely wrong. When an Awakener screws up, the scale of the damage is on another level compared to an ordinary person.

Maybe that was why companies outside the hunter industry still hesitated to put Awakeners on the payroll. And kindergartens and daycares—the places I was trying to get into—were worse than most, if anything. Awakener status was a mandatory field on every resume, so there was no hiding it, either.

I pressed my thumb against the furrow between my brows, forcing myself to steady my heart. ...And so, in the end, it seemed the time to give up had arrived. A kindergarten teacher, of all things. I could barely take care of myself. How long was I planning to cling to this pipe dream?

And right at that moment, my brother's voice cut in again.

"What about that one?"

A long index finger shot past my face, pointing at a small window on the monitor. I turned my eyes to where he was pointing. The homepage of a job site called JobCOSMOS. And at the very top, a single job listing.

"...You're serious?"

I swallowed my sigh as I looked up at my brother's deadpan face, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then moved my mouse and clicked the listing. Terse, suspicious sentences scrolled up one after another.

I'd stared at this window plenty of times before. A twenty-minute walk from home, benefits suspiciously generous for a kindergarten job, and no particular experience required... an extremely suspicious listing. The conditions were too good to be good.

Plus it practically screamed shady. Why would a kindergarten need a D-Rank-or-higher Awakener? Above all, the fact that this posting had gone up again and again at a kindergarten barely a year old carried a pretty obvious meaning. Something about it had to suck. Whether that was the work-life balance or the working environment.

"You know what my most respected internet elder says."

Still eyeing the listing, my brother began plucking the hair rollers out of his head one by one.

"Wage too good? Run. Perks too good? Run. 'We're like a family here'? Run. Because it's garbage wrapped up pretty."

He smoothed down his newly freed hair with his palm and kept going.

"But this place is at least honest about it. It's right there in black and white that the job's going to be brutal."

"..."

"Strong stamina, persistence, split-second judgment, and mental fortitude required. I mean... I'd assume you're hiring bodyguards. People might think you're recruiting for a war zone."

"...That's exactly why it's sketchy."

"And yet, little brother, here's my advice: hot rice or cold rice, it's the guy with a spoon who gets to be picky."

I had no comeback for that. All I could do was quietly exhale the sigh I'd been holding in. So, to sum it all up: the place really was brutally hard, but relatively honest about it. And I was in no position to be turning up my nose at a dirty-but-honest place.

...Damn it. He was right on every count.

A few days after being recommended BOND's Bada Kindergarten, I found myself showing up for the interview. The application that should have died at the document screening had somehow cleared to an interview in just two terrifying days.

I don't understand why the interview has to be at the corporate headquarters, though.

Into a building whose number of floors I couldn't even see the end of, workers in various uniforms—each hinting at a different trade—filed steadily inside. And there was I, alone amid the crowd in my clean, pressed everyday clothes, hoping to slip naturally in among them.

It was nine thirty on a weekday morning. Thinking it an early hour for an interview, I walked into the lobby, where a waiting employee guided me to an interview room on the right side of the hall. I settled quietly into a chair to wait—and soon spotted two figures approaching at a frightening pace. Then, the moment the sharp-eyed man of the pair sat down across from me, the questions began.

"You're a D-Rank 'Tamer'?"

"...Yes!"

"No record of hunter activity. Graduated from Daehan University's Department of Early Childhood Education. Good grades, good practicum evaluations."

Yes, I poured four years of my soul into exactly those things.

"Unmarried, no work experience. You're a fresh graduate?"

Does marital status matter? The question flashed through my mind, but I nodded quickly and answered. "Yes."

Unlike other interviews, this one started with no self-introduction or pleasantries whatsoever and proceeded like one of those rapid-fire Q&A challenge videos I'd seen online. Answering the questions without difficulty, I took a proper look at my interviewer.

The man in the impeccably tailored black suit exuded an air of refinement that suited the sleek corporate building perfectly. Good lord, whose son ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is this? Gorgeous.

"Twenty-nine? You're young."

"...Haha."

I certainly don't feel that way. Calling someone on the cusp of thirty "young" meant he had to be older than me, right?

"I don't see many tamers around, so forgive me—but could you handle large predators too?"

"...What exactly do you mean by 'large predators'?"

"Feral dogs, maybe?"

Stumped by the question that had come out of nowhere, I paused to think. Yeah, this place really is weird. They called themselves the number-one hunter corporation, but I couldn't help wondering what strange errands they were running their low-level staff through behind the scenes. I tried valiantly to connect kindergarten teaching to feral dogs, gave up, and shook my head.

"...No. I can only handle small animals, like stray cats."

Truthfully, I'd never even attempted it with a feral dog, but there was no way it would work. I was D-Rank, after all.

"Stray cats, huh."

"Yes."

"Good. Nothing to write home about."

Excuse me? He murmured this and gave a satisfied little nod.

"If I'm not mistaken, a degree in early childhood education means you're trained to care for children professionally?"

...Ah. Finally, an interview-appropriate question. I buried the faint flicker of irritation from moments ago, plastered on my brightest mechanical smile, and answered.

"Yes. For children approaching elementary school, we provide foundational literacy instruction, etiquette education, and adaptation training to prepare them for school. Beyond that, we support their growth across many areas—emotional care, creative development, and more. That's the role of a kindergarten teacher."

There was a touch of embellishment in there, but it wasn't wrong. This was material I'd ground my bones studying for four years; I could recite it in my sleep.

"Oh... impressive."

"It is, actually."

When the attendant, who had kept quietly to the sidelines this whole time, voiced his admiration, the man smiled as if in agreement. I didn't let the softened atmosphere slip past me. Seizing the opening, I asked the thing I'd been burning to know.

"Um, there's something I'd like to ask."

"Ask me anything."

Permission granted, I deliberately hesitated a beat before picking the question I most wanted answered.

"What should I call you, sir?"

I mean, I need to know who just rejected me so I know who to curse on the walk home.You there—who exactly are you? You look way too young to be a director.

Only then, as if it had just occurred to him, the man exchanged a glance with his attendant and turned back to me.

"Apologies. I was late with the introductions. I'm Baek Cheonhyeong, CEO of BOND."

I'm sorry, what?

I froze in momentary panic, then scraped together enough voice to ask again.

"...You personally conduct kindergarten interviews?"

The CEO of a corporation was interviewing kindergarten teachers—not even his own employees?

"No, no. Usually, applicants who respond ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to a teacher posting go through internal screening and then a brief sit-down with the director, and that's the end of it."

The answer to my question didn't come from Baek Cheonhyeong, but from the mouth of the attendant beside him. Hold on, wait. So this guy is, what, the CEO's executive secretary? My head spun at the unexpected caliber of the people around this table.

"However," the secretary continued, "the Dolphin Class you applied to—the seven-year-olds—includes Master Baek Cheonji, the CEO's younger brother. That is why the interview is being conducted this way."

"Ah."

I pressed my half-risen backside back into the chair and straightened my posture. ...Now it makes sense. So this situation wasn't some sinister scheme, and it wasn't special treatment being rolled out for me either... It was just an older brother showing up to check on his kin's wellbeing. That's all.

"Well, then. That settles it. You're hired. Start tomorrow."

While I'd been briefly lost in my own head, Baek Cheonhyeong had declared me hired. His deadpan voice dropping the words like loose change shook me straight out of my daze, and the resume bearing that stony face jolted my reeling brain awake.

"I'm—hired? Just like that?"

"Yes. Hired. Just like that."

"Why? Wh-why?"

...Not a rejection? That dizzying word scrambled my speech into stutters.

"Because the conditions suit me, obviously."

"Um..."

Great. Too great. Suspiciously great.

"Do you have objections?"

No, no. There's no way. But still, this is way too weird.

"No. No objections. It's just—salary negotiation hasn't happened yet, and there are things I'm curious about..."

I pressed down hard on the flutter in my chest—the flutter of my first-ever acceptance—and pulled myself together. Focus. After the interviewer's identity, the number-one thing I was curious about was money.

Never forget the money.

The average starting monthly salary for a new kindergarten teacher ran somewhere between 1.5 and 2.3 million won. Given that Bada Kindergarten sat under a private corporation, they'd probably offer around two million. Honestly, that wouldn't be bad for a rookie—but it wasn't enough to justify enduring a black-corporation workload either.

I suppose that's why the posting reads like a warzone.

"Your monthly salary is set at five hundred," he said. "The exact amount will vary depending on the composition and headcount of your class—the details will be on your pay statement every month. Any other questions?"

Right, yeah, five hundred would be about...

...Hold on. What?

Five hundred?

Not three, not four—five?

"Five hundred??"