Baek Ya-seong's Interviewer
Baek Ya-seong. As Korea's top assassin corporation, Baek Ya-seong was the dream job every assassin aspired to. Not only did it offer the highest salaries, but its employee benefits and social status were unmatched in the industry. That's why even when scouted by the number two or three firms like Hwanghon or Moomyeong Yahang, some turned them down flat, holding out solely for a shot at Baek Ya-seong.
So how did one get in? If anyone asked, the answer was always the same: Getting into Baek Ya-seong was like chasing the wind.
Unlike other major corporations that recruited twice a year, Baek Ya-seong required submitting paperwork and then waiting indefinitely. Their ranks were already filled to capacity with assassins. You had to bide your time until enough of them died off and Baek Ya-seong announced openings for new blood.
That made entry as fleeting as the wind—miss the moment while distracted by something else, and it was gone. Aspiring assassins kept their ears perpetually tuned to Baek Ya-seong's every whisper.
About half a month ago, word spread of Baek Ya-seong's third child, Jin Yeon-ah. The moment her name hit the streets, assassins scrambled to prep for interviews. A new direct descendant meant she'd soon be handling missions—and that meant she'd need her own exclusive assassin. Interviews were a sure bet.
The hunch hardened into certainty. Every applicant with paperwork on file waited breathlessly for the call. And sure enough, exactly half a month later, today, the messages arrived: terse notices with date, time, and location.
Three days after those texts flew out, nearly 500 assassins packed the underground testing ground at Baek Ya-seong—the cream who'd cleared the basic paperwork cutoff.
Predictably, the vibe was razor-sharp, far from welcoming. These weren't civilians; they'd spent lifetimes honing combat, clawing through fights to earn their licenses. crammed together with rivals? Tension crackled like a live wire.
"Phew, interview day's finally here."
"Third time for me already. If I bomb this one too..."
Familiar faces clustered, chatting to ease the edge, but the air stayed taut, eyes darting suspiciously.
In that charged atmosphere, one interviewee—Choi Do-ah—rubbed her trembling hands, fighting the nerves.
Don't tense up... don't tense up...!
Choi Do-ah had come up from Daejeon on her dojo master's word that she had "something." She'd started small, dreaming of just scraping by with martial arts gigs, ignoring assassins altogether. But luck—or talent—struck. She had the gift.
Innate combat sense, a soft demeanor that hardened in battle, mental steel against gore, no family ties from her orphanage upbringing to hold her back. Her master even pushed her: "Play it right, and you'll rake in more than any bureaucrat."
Money-obsessed, she aced assassin academies, confirming her edge. Why settle? She aimed for the top: Baek Ya-seong.
Cleared paperwork easy. No sweat... just stay cool.
Her scores sailed past their bar, landing today's slot. Whatever the outcome, she'd face it head-on. Deep breaths slowed her hammering heart.
Then chaos erupted at the testing ground door.
"What'd you just say?"
"Oh, you heard that? Wasn't meant for your ears."
"You fucking bitch, calling that 'talk'—?!"
A snarling man and a smirking woman traded barbs. Choi Do-ah flicked her gaze over—nothing beat a fight for distraction, especially now.
She wasn't alone; the sharp mood thawed as eyes locked on the duo.
The man ignored the stares, cocking his fist. "What? That I'm such a loser I failed five times? Think I won't smash that mouth shut?"
"Didn't say anything wrong, did I? The infamous five-time reject... water under the bridge now."
Choi Do-ah pieced it: Guy was a known flop at Baek Ya-seong interviews; girl was poking the bear.
Oof, I'd be pissed too.
First-timer or not, she got his rage. But the woman played dumb, fanning the flames.
"Look, straight up—if you're bombing this bad, you'd die quick inside anyway. Quit while ahead. Switch to MMA; at least you'd touch some cash."
Shrugging like she meant it, concern faux-thick. But her sneer screamed bullshit. Everyone watching knew.
The man exploded. "You goddamn whore!!!"
Fist flew as she dodged back against the door. It slid open mid-swing.
Whirr—
"Huh?"
Choi Do-ah swallowed a yelp. Sliding door, not auto—innocent newcomer was about to eat knuckles.
The puncher froze, too late to pull back. Door parted; fist arced.
Thud!
"What the—?"
The intruding woman caught it effortlessly, smooth as silk, no quiver.
"Eh?"
Choi Do-ah blinked hard. How? Fist was inches away the instant the door cracked.
The puncher gawked too. But she brushed it off, voice ice.
"Explain this mess. You weren't aiming for me, right?"
He stammered: spat with the bitch, swung in heat. Concise.
She eyed them both. "One picks a fight for kicks, the other can't hold his temper. No need to watch more. You're both out. No interview—door's that way."
"What?!"
"H-Hey, wait!"
The fresh-faced woman—barely adult-looking—dropped the bomb. Gasps rippled; Choi Do-ah and onlookers stared. Only an interviewer could axe hopefuls pre-exam.
Choi Do-ah squinted: logo gleamed on her suit. Unmistakable Baek Ya-seong emblem.
Real deal!
They clocked it too, but damage done. Pleas flew.
"P-Please, one shot! No telling when next chance comes...!"
"Why me?! He swung—you can't DQ me for his violence!"
Man clasped hands; woman fumed. The interviewer paused, then:
"Hmm... fine. Deal: Survive my attacks for one minute without passing out—and land one hit on me. You get a redo. Sound fair?"
One minute, no blackout, tag her: interview reinstated.
They traded looks, trapped. No choice.
"Deal."
"Okay."
She tapped her heel, nodded. "Timer starts... now."
Phone out, set to one minute, start pressed—visible to all.
They charged like bulls.
"Heh, game on."
From charge to floor? Under five seconds.