Looks Like I Joined the Wrong Company

In a matter of seconds, dozens of comments piled on and the thread shot straight to recommended. Every time I hit refresh, dozens more downvotes stamped in and the comment section went up in flames. Who knew other people's jealousy could taste this sweet.

I was sitting in the 5th Floor Grand Auditorium of Arcana headquarters, a sixty-story tower of glass thrusting into the sky from the heart of downtown Seoul. Arcana — the company they called the best in Korea.

I actually got into Arcana.

Just last week I'd been a shut-in, slurping cup-ramen broth in the corner of my room and churning out shitposts. And now, overnight, I'd gone from the guy hammering downvotes into other people's offer letters to the guy getting downvote-bombed himself.

I bit back the laugh leaking out of me and kept browsing the gallery, hidden in my seat.

Should I stir the pot one more time?

I was about to set my fingers loose on the seething job-gallery lurkers when—

BEEEEEP—

A sharp shriek of microphone feedback seized the auditorium. I jammed my phone away and looked up.

Beneath the welcome message on the massive screen, a middle-aged man in an immaculate suit, hair combed neatly back, was tapping at the microphone. The employee ID on his chest was stamped clearly with his title: Kang Do-hyun, Head of Field Planning Department.

"Ah, ah. Can you hear me all the way in the back?"

Kang Do-hyun took the mic with practiced ease, sweeping his gaze across the room.

"To the 27th class of the Field Exploration Team, who will lead Arcana into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠future — congratulations on joining the company. Truly."

A round of applause spread through the auditorium.

"You all saw the headquarters building on your way in this morning, yes? Magnificent, isn't it? Fitting for Korea's flagship corporation."

At a gesture from Kang Do-hyun, the slide on the screen advanced. The contents were packed so densely with company benefits that it was hard to take them in at a glance.

"I won't belabor the benefits. A company cafeteria overseen by a former five-star hotel head chef is just the baseline, and…"

His voice climbed, gathering force.

"The Arcana Residence — which set a new record last year for the highest sale price in Seoul — will be provided to every one of you, free of charge, as company housing!"

The Arcana Residence?

That ultra-luxury apartment complex the news was always saying celebrities lived in?

Holy shit.... This is a real god-tier company.

Swelling with a gratitude I could barely contain, I secretly dropped my phone brightness to the floor and opened the gallery. There was no universe in which I was not bragging about an apartment.

Dozens of comments had already stacked up under my post. The tone of them, though, was… off.

Missing persons? Obituaries? What the hell kind of bullshit was that.

Unemployed job-gallery shut-ins, I'll give them this — their jealousy game is unmatched.

They pick up some urban legend and come in here to stir shit? I'd been gallery-posting for years. Like I was going to fall for a fake this transparent.

Even PowerUser was in on it, and I still snorted and lifted my head.

Kang Do-hyun was pushing the speech even higher.

"But what you all really want…. isn't petty in-house benefits like these, is it!"

A click. The screen advanced, and a staggering figure filled the display.

The air in the auditorium changed in an instant.

Two billion won.

There wasn't a person in the room who could look at a number like that and not flinch. Around me, someone clenched a trembling fist; someone else's eyes had gone bloodshot.

But a sense of wrongness crawled up my spine.

...Death consolation?

A savage phrase to hear at a new-hire orientation. Hadn't PowerUser just said something about people going missing?

That was when a new comment appeared.

How does he know? Who the hell is this.

The moment I replied that I understood, the original comment vanished. Whether they'd deleted it themselves or it had been censored, something about it felt wrong.

I opened my gallery log with trembling hands.

A bodily waiver?

Half-believing, I quietly reached under the chair and swept my hand along the underside. Near the heel of my shoe, a cold, rectangular object met my fingers.

It was actually there.

"Now then, let's move on to the next item. We've prepared a box under each of your seats — would you take them out?"

The department head's words lined up with what the Anon had said with a precision that made my skin crawl. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and casually pulled the box from under the chair.

Inside, exactly as promised, were a shield-shaped silver badge and a bundle of documents. At the top of the paperwork, in heavy serif type:

What the hell is this garbage?

The consent form the Anon had told me to sign was not something you put your name to with a smile. Dazed, I looked at the woman in the next seat.

The name on her employee ID was Yoo Han-ah. Sand-colored hair, loosely tied and falling down; a face drained of all color. Her red, raw eye rims said she'd been crying somewhere for a long time. She pinned the silver badge to her chest, then, with a lifeless little motion of her hand, signed the bottom of the agreement.

"Excuse me. Are you actually going to sign that body-disposal thing?"

She hadn't expected me to speak, and surprise flickered across her face. She answered in a murmur.

"Of course. Everyone here... we all came because we've got circumstances we can't handle on our own. Money, or... whatever it is."

Yoo Han-ah let the sentence trail off and dropped her gaze to her knees. Whatever her reasons were, she already looked like she'd given up. She glanced at my employee ID and went on.

"You knew all this when you joined too, didn't you, Jeon Yul...?"

Knew about it? I just spray-applied to every posting I saw and ended up here.

I wanted to whine that I'd been baited into this knowing nothing, but the Anon's warning not to advertise my ignorance came back to me, and I barely managed to swallow the words.

God, I really don't want to sign this....

Whatever. If I'm dead either way — signature or no signature — I might as well fight it out.

I scrawled my name across the bottom of the agreement, then turned the page. The next sheet was an explanation of the silver badge that had come in the box.

Entering an Anomaly? Blocking reality interference?

Unfamiliar terms dumped on me all at once; my head throbbed. If I pieced it together from context, they handled some kind of anomalous phenomena? Wasn't that the government's job....

As if answering the mutter I hadn't voiced, Kang Do-hyun spoke.

"Judging by your faces, you're picturing those disaster-class phenomena you've seen on the news—"

He waved it off with a laugh.

"What we handle isn't nearly that dangerous. The government directly manages only high-grade phenomena. Private companies like ours take everything below that."

The unrest in the auditorium settled a little.

"As long as you properly memorize the manual and have a bit of nerve, resource extraction isn't difficult at all."

Kang Do-hyun paused, then continued.

"That said, a certain amount of harm can occur in the course of operations. The documents you just signed are precisely the procedures for those cases. There's no need to worry overmuch."

A certain amount of harm?

For 'a certain amount of harm,' the payout is way too high.

I watched the screen advance and swallowed dry.

"Today's field exercise is the most basic corridor-type Anomaly, so there's no need for serious concern."

They toss us an objective and don't say a word about what to actually watch out for.

I snuck a glance at the next row. Everyone was copying the contents of the screen into their notebooks.

"You've all reviewed the pre-orientation materials, so we'll go over the manual briefly."

Kang Do-hyun's words drove the nail in.

Pre-orientation materials? Wait. Am I actually the only one who came in blind?

The day of the final interview came back to me. The interviewer had asked if I could handle the frequent business trips. What had I even said back then.

"I'll grind my own body to dust if that's what it takes to see it through!"

I was beginning to understand why the interviewers had smiled so pleasantly.

"We'll take a ten-minute break before the practical. For security reasons, the auditorium doors are locked, so please use the restroom to the right of the podium."

The instant Kang Do-hyun finished, I made a break for the bathroom. I ducked into an empty stall, locked it, and perched on the lid. Hands ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shaking, I turned on my phone and opened the gallery log.

He answered immediately, like he was laughing at me.

?!

A sensation like electricity running through my fingertips made me yank my hand off the screen. I flinched back, but nothing further happened.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

An employee was knocking on the bathroom door from outside.

"New employees, we will now begin the practical. All of you, please assemble in front of the podium."

I'm so fucking dead.

I swallowed dry and took hold of the door handle.

By the time I came back, the new hires were already lined up in front of the podium. Yoo Han-ah, who I'd spoken with earlier, was standing toward the front of the line. Seeing her wound so tight actually loosened something in my own chest.

On a stand at the head of the line, a card-like object had been slotted into place. My batchmates took turns touching the card, then vanished ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as if the thing had swallowed them whole.

Now only I — the last to arrive — and Kang Do-hyun remained in the auditorium.

"Jeon Yul, you're the last one, I see."

Kang Do-hyun said it with a faint smile.

"Place your hand on the Level-2 Jade Authorization Sticker attached to the bottom of the card, and you'll be able to enter."

I swallowed hard and brought my hand to the silver sticker.

The instant I touched it, another space opened into view.

A painfully bright, narrow concrete corridor. Fluorescent lights packed tight along the ceiling, a yellow solid line running ruler-straight down the floor. Far ahead, the backs of the batchmates who'd gone in first. They all seemed to be staring at some writing on the corridor wall.

I started to walk forward to check the text myself — and a headache so vicious it felt like my skull would split made me clutch my head.

Nngh...

Ding—

A clear chime, and the headache stopped as if it had never existed. Blue system windows burst across my entire field of view.

...What?

The notifications slid away, and in their place a site with a painfully familiar layout appeared.

What the hell is this.