Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 009
Chapter Title: First Day on the Job
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Exactly three days remained until my first day at work.
Thinking about what lay ahead, this moment might just be my last supper.
In the dim predawn light, I stared blankly at the ceiling of my empty room.
I wondered if I'd had a single proper night's sleep since encountering that anomaly.
As the chilly dawn air seeped through the window cracks and brushed my skin, I finally stopped tossing and turning and got out of bed.
Without hesitation, I changed into the worn-out tracksuit shoved in the corner of my closet and headed out.
There wasn't much else to do anyway.
Better to work my body than let useless thoughts plague me.
My goal was simple: get this body into fighting shape to brace for the shitstorm ahead.
Sure, it sounded noble, but it all boiled down to a cold calculation—if I didn't want to die pointlessly on the job, I needed baseline stamina to back me up.
"Hoo, ha!"
I headed to the neighborhood park to loosen up.
The park was still shrouded in darkness, silent and deserted without a trace of human warmth. Under the faint streetlamp glow, I planted my hands on the cold dirt and started push-ups.
One, two. At first, my body felt light as a feather, but by the five-thousandth rep, it weighed like a lump of iron. Sweat dripped from my chin, spotting the earth.
Next came sit-ups. Gripping my interlaced hands behind my neck, my abs twisted with every lift.
Finally, the pull-up bar. I gripped the cold steel pipe and hauled myself up. My back muscles screamed in tearing agony, but damn, it sure made me feel alive.
Once my whole body howled in that satisfying burn, I circled the park twenty laps as a cooldown, then sprinted full-tilt back home.
About an hour of nonstop running later, my heart felt ready to burst, my lungs shredded like they'd been sliced with a knife, and a metallic tang lingered in my mouth.
That intensity would've left an ordinary person bedridden with DOMS for days. For me, it was just a light sheen of sweat on my forehead.
What really cluttered my mind was the job I'd soon be starting.
The Anomalous Entity Management Bureau.
From what Lee Chang had told me, it was the top of the 3D jobs—dangerous, dirty, and deadly—where you never knew when, where, or how you'd bite the dust.
Yet the reason I'd jumped into this mess was straightforward. The pay was steady with no risk of layoffs, monthly salary on the dot, and a pension for retirement. For an orphan like me, it was a godsend.
No grand sense of duty or anything. Saving humanity? That's for the well-fed. I just wanted to eat well and live better than average—like everyone else, or maybe a cut above.
For that modest dream, I was ready to slice through whatever monsters blocked my path, a few or a horde.
Just like that, three days flew by.
I headed to the National Intelligence Service building at the foot of Guryong Mountain, just as Lee Chang had instructed.
The NIS building was more ordinary than I'd imagined. Just a big, clean government office.
But the security guards at the front gate had eyes like hawks.
"Please present your ID."
I pulled out the temporary agent badge Lee Chang had given me. The guard scrutinized it from every angle, then waved me through with a stone-faced nod.
The first floor lobby felt as spacious and pristine as a luxury hotel.
The desk clerk didn't even look up from her papers, just jerked her chin toward the barcode reader. I stepped up quietly and scanned my badge.
Beep.
A short, dry electronic chime sounded, and the glass gate beside it slid open smoothly.
Security's airtight, I thought, impressed, as I passed through and headed to the row of elevators.
But these elevators were weird.
No floor buttons like a normal one. Instead, a sleek metal panel with a numeric keypad from 0 to 20—like on a bank ATM—and an alphabet pad from A to Z.
Some kind of password?
I panicked for a second but calmly flipped the badge over again. No numbers anywhere—just my name, photo, and barcode.
Great, first day on the job and I'd have to ask random strangers for directions like a lost kid.
'This is gonna suck... What do I do?'
I stood there frozen, too chicken to punch in random digits.
Right then—
"Hold up!"
A deep, booming voice echoed from across the elevator hall.
I reflexively hit the open button. A burly guy clutching a coffee cup came barreling in, panting.
He was easily over 190cm, built like a tank with muscles straining his shirt seams. His buzz cut and rugged face screamed more gangster or pro trainer than secret agent.
"Whew, thanks. Almost missed it."
He casually punched in B5—basement level 5—and turned to me.
Then, eyeing me up and down with curiosity, he asked,
"New face. Which division?"
I blanked. Not even assigned yet—what do I say?
After a beat, I forced an awkward smile.
"Haven't been assigned. Passed the practical exam last week. First day today."
He pulled his coffee from his lips, eyes widening in surprise.
"No kidding? Guess we're fated to meet today. Nice to meet ya. I'm Yoon Seok-ho, chief of Rescue Squad 4 and training instructor for new recruits. And you are?"
"Kim Woojin."
"Kim Woojin? Hmm, rings a bell..."
Yoon scratched his buzzed head, then snapped his fingers as it hit him.
"Oh yeah! The super rookie who diced up that Patrol Entity last week and aced the exam?"
Super rookie.
Flattery like that left me fumbling for a response, so I just grinned sheepishly. Yoon muttered to himself, incredulous.
"Even a weak Patrol Entity's at least Grade 3, and you took it down with one sword..."
His blatant once-over made me squirm. I cleared my throat awkwardly to dodge his gaze.
Ding.
The elevator chimed its arrival at B5, breaking the tension.
"Alright, let's go."
I snapped to and followed him out.
The sight that greeted me left me speechless.
Hot air and sweat hit like a wall the moment the doors opened. My eyes took in dark concrete walls and a ceiling lost in the distance.
From the humming vents came rhythmic cadences, the dull clashes of metal on metal, and earth-shaking footfalls pounding my eardrums.
Dozens—no, hundreds—in workout gear swarmed the vast space, running, rolling, colliding in unison.
Was this physically possible?
It looked big enough to swallow several aboveground NIS buildings.
Then again, questioning common sense here was pointless. Anomalies defied logic by definition.
I resolved not to judge this world by outdated stereotypes.
Yoon led me deeper, explaining as we went.
"As you can see, the whole B5 is the training hall. You'll be in and out for the next month—commit it to memory."
He took me to a small office in the corner and pulled a black mesh tank top and shorts set from a cabinet, handing it over.
"Locker room's that way. Change and come out."
Less secret agency, more high-end gym chain.
I slung the gear over my arm and headed to the locker room he pointed out. The door opened to a dry whiff of sweat and disinfectant. Rows of metal lockers snaked along walls, flanked by long benches and a few battered plastic slippers in the corner.
I changed as ordered and stepped out. The trainees who'd been grinding moments ago now clustered in the center.
Familiar faces dotted the crowd—the burly ex-special forces guy and the lanky hiker from the practical exam.
Both made it through. Good for them. A known face in unfamiliar territory was more comforting than you'd think.
Yoon's voice sliced through the murmurs.
"With the newbies here, let's measure physicals today!"
Physicals? What's that?
I shot Yoon a puzzled look, and a ponytail girl beside me whispered an explanation.
"First-timer, right? Physical just means body stats machine. Measures muscle density, strength, etc., spits out a number. Average adult male's around 80, female 60."
Ah, like a scouter from Dragon Ball.
I nodded thanks.
"Appreciate it. Name?"
"Seo Ji-yoon."
As we exchanged quick intros, trainees started taking turns on the machine.
Most were vets, blowing past the 80 average with ease.
Ex-special forces guy's turn. Result:
"84."
A notch above average, as expected. Next, the hiker:
"75."
A hair below, right on cue.
"Next, Kim Woojin."
My turn.
Whispers rippled as I approached.
"Ninety tops, generous."
"Nah, too low. Ninety-five."
"Heard he carved up a Patrol Entity in practicals. Gotta be ninety-eight easy."
Idle bets on me. I ignored them, stepped onto the cold metal plate.
The machine hummed low, scanning from feet to head. A chime signaled done, and the big overhead screen lit up.
"......"
The number appeared, and the rowdy hall plunged into dead silence.