The Taste of Negotiation

Three installments a day.

It was a lot, if you wanted to call it that — but the more I turned it over in my head, the less impossible it seemed. Nothing in the contract forbade me from working on multiple series at once, so the harder I threw myself into it, the faster I could finish out the contract. Of course, once a serialization began, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I couldn't let a work run more than two days late or drop it mid-run, which meant every extra series would demand that much more diligence from me... but it looked doable.

Time wasn't a problem, either. I had no need to take on freelance work just to keep myself fed. The contract explicitly stated that Lee Suho would handle everything concerning daily life, expenses included.

There were, however, a few vaguely worded points I needed to nail down precisely.

I'd better flag anything that could turn into a poison clause before it's too late.

"Um... hey. Uh, hey."

"Call me Suho~ nice and affectionately, please."

"Uh... fine. Lee Suho."

He'd asked me to call his name, so I did — and Lee Suho shook his head slowly from side to side as he came over to me.

"What is it?"

"Are there no days off? Do I really have to run daily updates, Monday through Sunday, on every single one?"

Sure, I'd brought this on myself, but if I kept serializing for months on end without a single break, the odds of me collapsing somewhere in the middle were excellent. So I voiced my protest to Lee Suho, and he gave a thoughtful nod.

"Hmm... days off would be your birthday, any major family occasions, and twelve days a year. And how about this — at least one work has to stay on a daily schedule no matter what? I'll write that in for you. Hand me the contract?"

He picked up the ballpoint pen rolling around on the notebook, clamped the cap between his teeth, propped the contract against the notebook, and scrawled the same clause onto both copies like a man dashing off his life's signature.

Both copies carried the same words in tidy, rounded handwriting, easy on the eyes. I nodded.

"This one... looks fine. I'll call you if anything else comes up. Go do... whatever it is you do."

"...There's nothing for me to do, though? I already finished the dishes."

"...Then move away from me. I can't focus. Or go make me something to eat, either works."

At that, Lee Suho rose from his seat, grumbling too quietly for me to catch, and went to plant himself in a chair far across the room.

"Noona, do you seriously have no sense of crisis whatsoever?"

Whatever he was muttering, my hand had already drifted toward my pocket on pure habit, reaching for that trusty companion of mine. Only then did it dawn on me that I was wearing nothing but one enormous boxy T-shirt.

"What do you... hm? Hey. Where are the clothes I came in?"

Lee Suho whipped his head around at that, and a wave of exasperation washed over me.

What is he, a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl?

"Suho~ my clothes. Where are they?"

"They went into the meeting room trash can... no, wait. They're probably in the company dumpster by now? Your top was torn practically to ribbons, and your bottoms looked far too much like a middle-aged man's."

"Hey! Then what about my belongings?!"

When I shouted, Lee Suho plugged both ears with his fingers and turned his head away.

God, he is so high-maintenance!!

"Suho~ did you at least pack up my things?"

Everything except my phone was there — but the one item I was actually looking for was not.

"Hold on... where did my cigarettes go?"

"Threw them out. You're quitting as of today."

"Why!?"

I let out an indignant squawk, and Lee Suho, who had briefly covered his ears, slowly peeled his fingers away and explained.

"The medicine won't work later otherwise. And you can't go blaming me for that afterward."

So he really did intend to hand over the cure as my payment.

Setting that aside...

Ugh... my mouth is so bored the words won't sink in.

I smacked my lips, old habit taking over. Lee Suho watched me do it for a long moment, then remarked, oh so casually:

"I do have some candy. Would you like one?"

"Yeah, sure, give me that at least. Not peach, though. I can't eat peach."

He rummaged through the candy, then looked up at me.

"The rest are all peach... and the one strawberry that was left? I ate that one."

"Then hand over the one you were eating. My mouth's so bored the contract won't stick in my head. You don't want me singing a different tune later, do you?"

"......"

Heaven knows what I was even saying at that point — he was already pressing the candy between my lips, and I snapped it up without lifting my eyes from the contract.

Does this kid have presbyopia or something? Why is he shoving his face in so close...? And his fingers are surprisingly soft. For a second there I almost thought he was about to push his tongue in instead.

After that, I crunched my way through the sweet strawberry candy and read back down through the contract.

"Hey, by the way... why is this so tiny? Was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠candy always this small?"

"Uh... um......"

Lee Suho stared at me, looking for all the world like he had plenty to say, but he kept it to himself. He mumbled around for a while without giving an answer, so I moved on to the question that had been nagging at me.

"Oh, right — and why do you want me doing internet streams?"

At my question he rose and ambled back, unhurried, to the chair he'd occupied earlier. Then he spun it around and settled against the backrest as if settling in for a lecture.

"You're a chronic series-dropper, Noona. With a record that's practically legendary, at that...?"

"That's right. Crunch."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

I chewed away like I'd fed the candy into a grinder and listened.

"Do you really think readers will cut you slack just because a serial dropper suddenly picks her pen back up? They'll all think, 'She'll drop it again anyway,' won't they?"

He had a point.

"So think about it — this pretty-girl body of yours is going to vanish like it never existed the moment you complete the contract. Shouldn't you use everything you've got while you have it? If you personally go live, apologize, and announce that serialization is resuming, your readers will come back."

"Hmm... okay, fine, granted. But what does it matter whether anyone watches?"

Lee Suho fired back his answer instantly, as if he'd rehearsed it.

"Once you complete the contract and turn back into a man — my hyung, instead of my noona — you'll be leaving this place, won't you? And you'll need money to live on right away, won't you?"

Nod, nod.

"Mm... true."

"If you have readers who'll read your works when that time comes — or if you've saved up money before then — wouldn't it cover your living expenses for a while? Until you go back to freelancing, or join a company?"

Just how far ahead has this kid planned everything?

No wonder he'd founded several companies in so short a time; his mind moved frighteningly fast.

"I have no intention of touching a cent of what you earn, of course. If you'd like, I could even manage it for you like a pension fund......"

He paused there, unwrapped a candy of his own — a replacement for the one I'd confiscated — popped it into his mouth, and went on.

"So the more you can earn, the better, don't you think? Write while chatting with your readers. Take donations on top of that."

Even the devil himself, I suspect, doesn't come this well prepared when he tempts a soul.

"So what do you get out of this contract?"

"I'll tell you when the opportunity arises."

I didn't like how smoothly Lee Suho dodged the question, but pushing harder didn't seem likely to shake an answer loose.

"Mm... but it says I have to give at least a week's notice for the resumption and the apology stream. So I get a week before I have to start serializing again, right?"

Clack. Clatter.

Lee Suho, who had been rolling the candy around in his mouth, answered.

"Yes. If you mean to continue your stories, you'll have to reread them first, after all."

"I suppose...?"

Far from stockpiling a buffer of chapters, this looked like a stretch where simply rereading all twenty-nine novels would eat up the entire week.

"What, no day off every time I complete a work? You're planning to run me through twenty-nine completions like some kind of finishing factory, but I'm a human being, not a machine."

"Hmm. Twelve days a year should be plenty, no? I don't imagine you'll need days off for anything besides family occasions."

"Ugh... fine, then give me a week of vacation every time I finish one."

I said it like a kid throwing a tantrum, fully expecting a refusal. If he said no, so be it; if he said yes, all the better.

To my surprise, he nodded along agreeably and added a provision to the contract: seven additional days of rest would be granted upon the completion of each work. I broke into a wide grin at the sight of him.

"Negotiation really is the best part of any contract. Am I right?"

I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow as I said it. Lee Suho looked at my beaming face, pressed his lips together firmly, then opened his mouth slowly.

"This should be enough for you, then?"

Every dangerous clause is settled... and I've gotten a fair deal out of the terms that ran against me. So I should sign... right?

"Yeah."

I entered my signature twice in the signature lines — once with my pen name, once with my real name — and Lee Suho began signing in the space just above ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mine.

We laid the two copies face to face, added our signatures to the middle section of each, and with that sealed the contract that could not be refused.

"Well. This isn't quite how I saw my day going, but... here's to working with you, Lee Suho."

"Yes, and I look forward to it as well, Song Ga—"

It had been ages since I'd last signed paperwork in person, so I pulled Lee Suho into a hug — the same light, friendly embrace I used to exchange with my overseas clients once the documents were done.

Except I couldn't hug him quite the way I'd intended.

Because a certain part of my body — one I hadn't yet fully registered as mine — pressed against him and got squashed flat.

Uncomfortable as it was, I simply held the embrace, gave his back a couple of hearty pats, then stepped away and said:

"By the way, I'm starving."

"The contract states that our meals are your responsibility, Noona. Your food and mine — you're cooking from now on."

"Aw, come off it. It's our very first day — one day off can't hurt! Hm?"

I clutched his hand and pleaded, and he turned his head toward the refrigerator. He wavered for a moment, then gently slipped his hand free and headed for the kitchen — and I cheered silently.

Now then. Let's see just what kind of dish comes out of this.

What drifted out of the kitchen wasn't the sound of anything raw being prepped but the brisk clatter of actual cooking, and the bowl Lee Suho brought back was one I distinctly remembered him taking from the dish rack beside the sink.

The bottom of that bowl was so slick with grease it might have come not from a kitchen but from an oil field. And the fried rice he'd made was far too salty, too.

One spoonful in, and I understood exactly why he'd wanted me to do the cooking.

"Lee Suho."

"Yes."

He was playing dumb — but I watched him swallow hard, the way a man does while awaiting his verdict.

"You are genuinely terrible at cooking. Your dishwashing is a disaster too. I'll just handle it all myself."

"Whew... that's exactly why I said you should be the one doing it, Noona!"

Watching him cry out with his head bowed, I rose from the bed.