I Prefer Working in the Warehouse

Hangang Park, as seen from the fifteenth floor.

To call it a river view would be generous — all you could really make out was a faint ribbon of the Han far in the distance — but the wide-open panorama was enough to satisfy Siyoon. It was twice the size of the one-room studio he was living in now, which in his judgment made it more than sufficient until he'd grown his assets enough to buy a place outright. The deposit and monthly rent were quite reasonable, too. Finding a home in Yeouido at this price was no easy feat.

At some point the real estate agent had sidled up beside him, and the two of them stood gazing out the window together.

"Well? It's sixteen pyeong, so I can't call it spacious, exactly, but you'd have a hard time finding a better-value officetel than this one. It's vacant, so you can move in right away."

The agent turned toward Siyoon, who was silently studying the view. There was no expression on his face and no reaction of any kind, which the agent took to mean the young man wasn't thrilled with the place.

"Not as big as you were expecting, is it? We do have other listings, so if you'd like, we can go see them right now—"

"No. I'd like to move in as soon as possible. When can that happen?"

The agent's face lit up with surprise. "Oh — well, in that case! The owner runs a restaurant nearby, so coordinating a time shouldn't be difficult. Shall I call him now?"

"Please."

While the agent spoke with the owner, Siyoon tested the water pressure in the kitchen and bathroom. The flow was strong, and since the unit had been recently renovated, everything inside was spotless.

The agent finished his call and came back over. "The owner says he can do it first thing tomorrow. It's Saturday today and tomorrow's a holiday as well, though — can you handle the deposit right away?"

In the agent's eyes, Siyoon looked impossibly young — barely twenty-seven, a fresh-faced kid new to the working world. A hundred million won was a lot of money depending on who you asked, and most people in his position would have taken out a loan and worked the numbers into the contract.

"No trip to the bank necessary. Let's do the contract tomorrow."

The agent did his best to hide his astonishment.

Back home, Siyoon began sorting through his things. If the agent was right about the immediate move-in, it couldn't hurt to get a head start on packing.

Once he actually started, there turned out to be very little — a computer, a sofa, a single bed, and some clothes, roughly. Everything else belonged to the studio itself. Since none of it was new to begin with — he'd bought it all secondhand except the computer — he decided to simply throw it all out and start fresh.

He was folding away his clothes and collecting odds and ends into a small box when his gaze settled, unmoving, on a black box sitting in the corner. Like Pandora's box, it was one he hadn't opened in a very long time.

Swish.

The lid came off, revealing a handful of items: the cheap watch and wallet his father had worn every day, a scarf his mother had knitted by hand, and an old photo album of the kind you could hardly find anywhere anymore.

He turned the pages and found his childhood self looking back at him. There, tucked into the album, was a photo from a day at an amusement park with his parents. The box held his parents' belongings and the memories of a young Siyoon — and confronting the past like this, the moment he'd tried so hard to bury came flooding back whether he wanted it to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠or not.

Screech—!

BANG—!

A night of driving snow.

The car carrying Siyoon and his parents had hydroplaned on the ice-glazed road and slammed into the guardrail. His father hadn't been speeding, and he hadn't been drowsy — but there was no way to stop a car once it started sliding.

When consciousness flickered back briefly after the crash, the vehicle was upside down. Siyoon, strapped into the back seat, hung inverted and was forced to watch his parents die.

Grief strangled his throat, but for some reason, no tears came. He was on the verge of starting high school.

As he stood staring blankly into the album, something settled onto his knee. He didn't know how long it had been there, but Jeombak-i was perched on his leg, gazing up at him.

Arf arf!

Question marks glowed in the little robot dog's LED eyes as it looked up at him, running its analysis — apparently trying to read his emotional state.

"I'm fine. It's all in the past. What's there to look at."

Arf!

Siyoon closed the box and was turning back to his packing when his phone rang. The landlady of his studio — he'd texted her about the move, and this was her response.

He had a full year left on his lease, but Siyoon wanted out of this place as soon as possible. Living in a cramped little box had gone from tiresome to utterly insufferable.

"I know I'm responsible for finding a replacement tenant before I go. If it's all right with you, would you take three months' rent as compensation?"

"Three months'?"

Dealing with it in money was cleaner than agonizing over every little detail. The landlady thought for a moment, then gave in.

"Fine, fine. Just let me know when you move."

"I will. Thank you."

He hung up, scooped Jeombak-i up in both hands, and held him high.

"Time to move, buddy. Somewhere better."

Arf arf!

Siyoon arrived early Monday morning and logged into the inventory management system. A few teams had worked through the weekend, it seemed, because quite a backlog of orders had piled up.

That was when he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠came across one particular request.

"Hm...?"

The requesting department was the very place Siyoon used to work. But something was off. An order for a single stapler?

It was Monday of all days, the busiest morning of the week, and someone had filed a formal release request just to receive one stapler? He couldn't make sense of it — but an order was an order, and it had to be fulfilled.

"Nothing to be done, I suppose."

He loaded everything onto a cart and pushed it out of the warehouse. The first stop was the Trading Room.

The moment Siyoon appeared, a man rose from his seat as though he'd been waiting for exactly this. Kim Sanghoon, the section chief. He waved a hand with practiced nonchalance.

"Oh? Kang Siyoon. Long time no see."

He flashed a smile, the kind that made it clear this was all a game to him. The man had used confidential internal information to line his own pockets, taken nothing more than a two-week unpaid suspension as his slap on the wrist, and strolled right back into the office like nothing had happened.

And suddenly, Siyoon understood.

He knew exactly who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had ordered this item.

Picking up the stapler, Siyoon walked straight toward him. "Yes. It has been a while, Section Chief."

"Ha... you know, come to think of it, that work uniform suits you better than a suit ever did. You shouldn't have joined our department in the first place — you should've gone straight into a delivery job."

At Kim's words, the Trading Room staff burst out laughing. Siyoon didn't so much as flinch. He hadn't come here to trade barbs with Section Chief Kim. He'd come to deliver an item.

"It does have its entertaining moments," Siyoon said, holding the stapler out. "Thanks to you, I'm gaining all kinds of valuable experience. Here you go. One stapler, as requested."

Kim tilted his head, confused — and at that moment, the hulking figure of Team Leader Oh Joo-han came striding over from the back of the room.

"I ordered that."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I ordered it. The stapler."

"......"

Before Siyoon could even work out what was happening, the team leader cut his eyes coldly to Kim Sanghoon.

"Market's open. What are you doing? You were crowing about jumping on El-Tech right at the open today, weren't you? Planning to work at all?"

"Ah — yes, sir."

Kim sank back into his chair. Then the team leader rounded on the entire floor.

"What are the rest of you looking at? Quit gawking and go make some money. Money!"

"Yes, sir!"

Only then did the staff all turn their faces back to their monitors. With the situation defused, Team Leader Oh spoke to Siyoon quietly.

"You. Come with me."

The place Team Leader Oh summoned him to, once again, was the outdoor smoking terrace. He was puffing away with a grave expression, apparently sorting through his thoughts alone.

"Team Leader, you're going to ruin your health like that."

"Haah..."

He stubbed out his cigarette with a look of sheer exasperation and turned to Siyoon. "And whose fault is it that I'm smoking more? You know the answer to that, don't you?"

"I do. I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry with a face that isn't sorry at all!"

The stapler order had simply been his way of getting Siyoon alone — he had something to say. Having apparently organized his thoughts, he began speaking in earnest.

"I met the Head of Division yesterday. Separately."

"Yesterday, sir?"

"I sweet-talked him into letting me buy him a meal — hadn't done it in ages. And right there, I asked him. Why is Kim Sanghoon still sitting at that desk, comfortable as you please, after what he pulled?"

Bold and reckless, as always. It was a thoroughly Oh Joo-han move. Siyoon perked up his ears, and the team leader continued.

"Turns out he's Director Park Hyunwook's friend's son. Kim Sanghoon, I mean."

"......"

So that was it, then. He'd pulled something that reckless because he had an executive's backing behind him.

"The compliance team, the audit team — at the end of the day, they're all just salaried employees too. Get on the wrong side of the brass, and all you've done is make your own life at the company miserable. There was no reason for anyone to sacrifice their rice bowl chasing justice."

So the inner workings had reached Siyoon's ears at last. But would anything actually change? Kim Sanghoon would remain at the company, and Siyoon's post in the warehouse would remain exactly where it was.

"It doesn't matter to me. Whoever Section Chief Kim is connected to is of no interest to me right now."

"Well, it matters to me."

Siyoon turned his head and looked at Team Leader Oh.

"Kim Sanghoon is going to do it again. Same thing, same trick — except next time he'll scale it up. And when it all goes wrong, the one left holding the responsibility will be me." The team leader's eyes hardened. "Just you wait. I'm getting you back on that desk. I swear it."

The warehouse after lunch.

He'd finished most of the morning's deliveries, so there was little left to do. Sitting alone in his little booth, Siyoon found the team leader's words resurfacing in his mind, over and over.

He's going to get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me reinstated?

He worried the team leader was courting a backlash for trying something that wasn't his to fix. And that wasn't even the real problem — the truth was, Siyoon had no intention of returning to the Trading Team at all.

He opened his laptop and pulled up the stock screen.

The stock he'd bought had taken wing in the morning session, climbing another fifteen percent. His profit alone had already passed 230 million won — earnings accumulated in a matter of days.

Do I really need to go back to the Trading Team at all? Siyoon murmured, eyes on the screen.

"Honestly... I prefer working in the warehouse."