Goal (6)
"I was born an orphan." "And I could only finish elementary school." "But even while working, I never stopped studying." "That's how I kept dreaming."
"Excellent answer. How did you learn Spanish in that kind of environment? It must have been difficult. Impressive."
What am I doing? Taking a university interview. I'm challenging the system that dangles educational opportunities in front of a handful of underprivileged students just to look good. Song Miju kept pushing me every time we met, asking what I was going to do with my life. After thinking it over, I found this. My specs are solid, aren't they? Orphan, elementary school graduate, passed the middle and high school equivalency exams. Somehow I even picked up Spanish? Suddenly I miss the trio brothers in Cancun. I wonder if Gonzales is doing all right.
I applied to a fairly well-known university in Korea, located in Heukseok-dong. After much deliberation, I chose the Department of International Trade and Logistics. I figured someone in the trading business could move freely between domestic and international scenes, just like the reporter role I once planned. Plus, it has that sales vibe. If I create the right opportunities, the excuses for making money should hold up. Song Miju's face lit up when I told her. That was what I liked most about it.
In my mind, a trader is basically a broker—connecting buyers and suppliers and taking a commission. In Korea, companies like Samsung C&T, LG International, and Daewoo International each have their own trading arms. To be honest, I'm not thinking about getting hired by one of the big ones. I'm planning something smaller. To look like the hardworking type, I prepared my answers carefully, and the interviewers' eyes were favorable. It felt strange. Every gaze I'd seen lately had been hostile. It had been a long time since anyone looked at me that way besides my seniors.
The following week, I received the acceptance notice. I beat three-to-one odds. The competition ratio was similar to regular admissions. The trade department must not be very popular. A few documents and a ten-minute interview later, the enrollment certificate found its way to me.
When I told Song Miju about the acceptance, she got as excited as if she had been accepted herself. She congratulated me on becoming a university student.
"Thank you. I'm a university student now, just like you."
'Boss, this is Assistant Manager Seon. Are you available to talk?' —powersun(36.8)
Our ace, now promoted to Assistant Manager Seon, reached out.
He wanted to make the delivery work a little more official. I asked if that was even possible with our line of business. After hearing him out, it made sense. The friends who deliver to hospitals are getting strange looks from nurses and aides because they're supplying from places with no name on them. Ah, so complaints had come in. He suggested registering at least as a medical equipment delivery service.
I don't know much about that side… I needed to buy time.
Assistant Manager Seon must have already prepared it, because the proposal arrived in less than an hour. In the meantime, I had studied up by asking around on the internet and consulting our organization's executives. After reading the plan, there was no reason to reject it. I had assumed it involved pharmaceuticals since it was hospital supply, but it was just simple consumables—gauze, bandages, disinfectants, things you can buy without a prescription. They would even issue proper invoices and handle actual deliveries. Money would change hands. They planned to skim a fee and file taxes. The risk looked minimal no matter how I looked at it. Even Director Jo, our risk manager, gave the okay.
Just like with the Sleeping Series, I approved the tentative name: Dream Medical. Nice name. If you deliver sleep, you get to dream.
Bang, bang! While waiting for the semester to start, I visited the welfare center and oversaw training for the security team. The team had grown from four members—including Eun-seong and the younger guys—to seven. The three new additions were the deputies whose wrists had been severed by the Chinese guys. All three wore prosthetic arms. When I looked at them with guilty eyes, they said it was fine and even thanked me. They said they would have been abandoned in any other organization. That only made me feel more sorry.
I suggested going to the range so I could practice shooting after a long time, and they all tagged along. Curious, I asked if they could actually fire a gun. They said they could. Come to think of it, Eun-seong shouldn't have been able to either. Back during the Bucheon incident I assumed he could shoot because he was holding a gun. He explained that modern prosthetics were good enough to handle firearms. The fixed grip even improved accuracy. Fortunately, the section chief from that day had developed trauma and could no longer work in sales, so he had been reassigned to the welfare center farm as support staff. The blond employee had been given severance and released. No one knew where he was now. The police weren't interested either. After receiving the severance, he apparently went overseas on vacation. These days the bank app doesn't even ask about part-time jobs anymore. They must know there aren't any people left. Lucky for me.
So the security team was now doing nothing but actual security work—guarding the welfare center. We had received expansion approval, but I still felt uneasy because the members had physical limitations. Still, there had been times when we had no one at all. Having seven people now was reassuring. The organization had plenty of money, so this was the least we could do for welfare.
I stayed at the welfare center for about two weeks, looking after the orphan siblings, having coffee with the department head and Director Jo, and practicing at the range. Then the month-end report came in, and I was surprised. The numbers were different from last month. Last month had been the launch phase—product went out, but money hadn't come back yet. With BS I had set the unit prices and managed things closely, but this time I had delegated a lot to Assistant Manager Seon.
When I saw the sales figures for the Sleeping Series, I rubbed my eyes. Two million won per transaction? The volume was small, but the payment per delivery was two million won. How much were the users paying for this? The Sleeping Series was manufactured and supplied in vial form—containers you insert a syringe needle into. They were colorless, with no barcodes, and packed in plain brown cardboard. I had opposed adding any signature. I still remembered what my senior once said: in this line of work, reputation is worse than notoriety.
I heard Min-cheol was working hard folding boxes. I should buy him a pizza sometime. Most of the vials were Chinese-made; we bought in bulk and even purchased a filling machine, so packaging went smoothly. Yeoni had wanted more work, but she said she was fine and that everyone was working hard. I returned to the Noryangjin house and prepared to go to school. Not the main house—the one near the university in Heukseok-dong. At least the liberal arts department was still in Seoul. The science departments were way out in Gyeonggi Province. Noryangjin was close, so I didn't have to worry about finding a new place. I would just keep living there. When I told the landlord I was staying longer, she was pleased. She said there weren't many tenants who lived as quietly as a student.
I took Line 9 from Noryangjin and got off at Heukseok Station. There were a lot of students around, probably because it was the entrance ceremony. But which way was the school? Heukseok Station and Chung-Ang University Station—shouldn't the campus be right there? Muttering to myself, I opened the app and saw it was a fifteen-minute walk. Damn. As I walked from the main gate, a shiny new building greeted me. Why did the university look like a company? There was a coffee shop, and people chatting seemed to be talking business. While I stood there awkwardly looking around, I spotted some classmates I had seen at orientation. They were gathered together. Orientation—here they called it "sae-teo." I hadn't wanted to go, but Song Miju insisted until the end, so I reluctantly attended. I'm glad I did. There were people who actually welcomed me.
"Hello, Eunsu hyung."
One of the sociable ones spoke to me. He was a year older than the others—he had mentioned retaking the exam. These days they didn't go by student number; they went by age. That was a relief. I would have felt uncomfortable if twenty-year-olds spoke casually to me.
"Yeah, hey."
For a moment my social anxiety flared, but I held it down. The self-introductions at sae-teo had been the hardest part.
"What classes are you taking?"
?? Weren't the schedules already set? Like at the Noryangjin academies? That day I learned from my younger siblings. It was embarrassing, but I was grateful. I bought them dinner that day. I got closer to my classmates. And I earned a nickname: Water Lord. Creator? Building owner? All of them were fine. It felt good to belong somewhere.