Bullied Intern (1)

1.

I was being bullied at the publishing house where I worked—more precisely, by the other interns. It had been only a month since I’d been hired, and yet I kept missing work emails in ways I couldn’t even make sense of myself.

Then, by sheer accident the day before, I overheard my fellow interns gossiping in the pantry.

"Hey, did you hear? Mok Hyunsun got chewed out by the team leader again. They said he’s hopeless when it comes to checking email."

"Heh. Well, facts are facts. If he’d actually had his head on straight, how could he have missed what we hid?"

"Still, isn’t that bad? Isn’t he the son of Mok Pilhyun, the writer? What if he comes after us later?"

"Come on. Parachute hires deserve a little rough treatment. It’s obvious the intern got in on the pull of some famous novelist father too. If we just sit here and do nothing, the ones who get cut are going to be us."

"Fair enough. There’s no way they’re keeping all three interns anyway. You know I’m only backing you."

"That’s right, kid. Since when was justice anything other than the strongest hand winning? This is justice. If you’re free later, let’s grab a drink. I know a place with a good atmosphere."

They were taking advantage of the fact that we shared the intern email address.

"Justice can freeze over and die. What kind of justice is snooping through other people’s business?" ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠If I were really some parachute hire, I wouldn’t have felt wronged in the least.

Back in college, I had cut things off cleanly with my father, who was a novelist.

He probably didn’t even know I was at Gyeongseong Publishing. Four years ago, at twenty-two, I had walked out of that house with nothing but the clothes on my back.

I had agonized over it for a long time. Just being a Korean literature grad in an age of brutal joblessness was enough to make my head ache, and now I had lost my family’s support on top of that. So I chose to go straight at it.

If this was the only life I got, then fine—I’d rather starve to death buried in books I loved!

If I was born a bookworm, then I’d become the best damn bookworm there was. That had been my goal ever since: getting hired by Gyeongseong Publishing.

Gyeongseong Publishing was the most prestigious literary publisher in Korea.

It wasn’t just the reputation; the pay was pretty good too, so for anyone who actually read books, it was a dream job. Anyway, after clawing and scraping my way there, I had finally made it as far as intern.

And this was the kind of luck I had with coworkers? Fine. From today on, intern or no intern, I was going lone wolf.

I wasn’t going to keep taking this lying down. I raised my fighting spirit and buttoned my shirt with a force that bordered on violence.

By the time I finished getting ready for work, my face was hot. Breathe. Inner peace... ah, right, I need to grab the assignment materials. This internship assignment had been handed down by the editor-in-chief himself.

We had to read five short stories submitted to Gyeongseong Publishing and choose the best one.

I picked a piece called One of Us.

It didn’t have any particularly dazzling charm, but its theme was clear and the sentences had a certain polish to them. Even if someone asked me why I chose it, I could explain it without trouble. The materials were on the top shelf of the metal bookcase I had assembled myself.

That old, oversized bookcase had been in my tiny one-room apartment from the beginning.

Truth be told, I had never had much talent for keeping things organized, so I had tucked the materials away on the top shelf, where there was at least less stuff to deal with.

Thud. I absentmindedly pressed one hand against the lower shelf and reached up with the other, and the whole thing wobbled.

"Uh—?"

Crash!

The bookcase toppled forward, and books and odds and ends came raining down on me. I went sprawling backward still holding onto the frame, and then—thunk.

"Ow!"

Of all things, a thick hardcover major textbook slammed straight into my forehead. And in that instant—

!

Flash!

It was as if I’d been struck by electricity. The world exploded white in front of my eyes. Every neuron in my brain seemed to light up at once. Flash after flash, unknown letters ricocheted wildly through the glare—appearing, vanishing, tangling together, pulling apart, receding, then rushing close again.

"W-what is this...?"

Even shutting my eyes didn’t help. It felt as though the letters were swallowing my mind whole, ferocious and hungry.

How long had it been?

Just as my vision finally began to sink back into darkness, I opened my eyes.

Blink. Blink. All I could see was the little ceiling above me. I slid out from beneath the bookcase and pushed myself upright. "...?" Why didn’t it hurt?

Had it been so painful that I’d hallucinated and lost all feeling? And... my mind even felt strangely clear.

No, now wasn’t the time. I hurried to find the assignment materials first. My room was a disaster, and tears almost came to my eyes, but I could clean it up later. For now, I bolted out of the one-room apartment.

On the bus to Paju Book City, I sat in the very back and pressed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard at my forehead. It was, as expected, perfectly fine. No bruise. No swelling.

Life really did have a way of throwing new absurdities at you.

But the seat beside me had been noisy for a while. Two boys in the uniforms of a famous elite high school had their problem book open and were grumbling over it.

"Damn, this passage is ridiculously hard. Is our academy insane? How are we supposed to solve this?"

"That’s why it’s a killer passage."

"This academy is over the top, seriously. Stuff like this doesn’t even show up on the CSAT."

"Then shut up and solve it. You’re making it even harder to focus."

I glanced sideways at the workbook they were reading.

So they’d gone with works famous for being difficult.

I’d given up on both of those books myself once upon a time. Without thinking, I skimmed the passages. Hm? ...Why was this easy? It read smoothly, without a single snag. Had they simplified it for students?

Well, the original had to be difficult for the questions to work.

On impulse, I looked at the questions beneath the passages too. Hah. That’s supposed to be a killer question? And one of them had been put together a little strangely.

"4, 5, 3, 1, 1. The last one could also be 3."

"?"

"?"

The two boys, who were still reading the passage, turned and stared at me like I was a lunatic.

Shit. That was so embarrassing. Why the hell had I muttered the answers out loud?

Mok Hyunsun, what the hell are you doing?

Was this the aftereffect of hitting my head?

A moment later, one of the boys slapped his pen down.

"Agh! I seriously don’t get it. It’s Korean, but it doesn’t feel like Korean."

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

"I give up too. Hey, wait a sec. My friend probably heard the solution at cram school yesterday. I’ll call him."

Even while I was dying of embarrassment, I sneered inwardly.

What kind of student can’t even solve that? Are you really from an elite school?

"Hey, it’s me. Can you tell me the answer to that killer Korean question? Yeah, that one. The one the academy went all out on, dragging in philosophy professors and Korean literature professors just to sharpen their knives. I heard even the older brothers who got into Seoul National last year couldn’t push the answer rate past ten percent."

"Hey, just ask him already."

"Got it, asshole. Hello? Yeah, so what’s the answer? Oh. It’s 4, 5, 3, 1, 1...?"

The two boys slowly turned back to look at me.

This time their eyes were full of shock and awe.

"What? The last problem was also acceptable as 3?"

I was just as surprised.

Philosophy professors? Korean literature professors? A ten-percent answer rate?

And yet... the answer had looked so obvious.

Then the bus announcement came.

The next stop was Paju Book City. Please stand clear of the doors.

I hit the bus-stop button and got off.

Through the back window as the bus pulled away, the two boys kept staring at me all the way, as if they were looking at a monster.

...It was a coincidence, right?

Yeah. I must have just guessed right by accident.

Besides, hadn’t I been told I was good at Korean language back in school?

And was this really the time to worry about that?

I had two coworkers at the company who were desperate to chew me up and spit me out. I steadied my nerves and walked into Paju Book City, where publishers stood in rows like buildings themselves.

Something was off.

It was 8:30. I had come to the office thirty minutes early, and yet the team leader from Editorial Team 1, who was in charge of the interns, was already in the conference room with all of us.

As a bad feeling settled over me, the team leader and I met eyes through the glass doors.

His brows knit tighter and tighter.

I understood the situation immediately and sprinted into the conference room.

"I’m sorry I’m late."

I apologized at once, because that was the fastest way to read the room.

The team leader pointed to an empty seat, as if telling me to sit down first.

Song Min-hoon and Yoo So-hyun, sitting beside me, looked at me with fake sympathy.

"Why are you only getting here now? You were told to come an hour early today because of the assignment. It was in yesterday’s notice email."

"Oh my, did you forget? We should have reminded you again. Sorry, Hyunsun."

Again. That damn email again.

You two had really crossed the line this time.

Playing little tricks on an assignment? The team leader looked at me through the round lenses of his glasses as if I were beneath his notice.

"Mok Hyunsun, I think you need a little more sense of urgency. This isn’t school. It’s a workplace, and livelihoods are at stake here."

"I’ll keep that in mind. I’m sorry."

It was a polite rebuke, but it was dry enough to make my teeth itch.

He might as well have been angry.

This would absolutely be reflected in today’s evaluation for full-time conversion, I knew it. My temper was ready to boil over.

But complaining about injustice without evidence would just make me look stupid.

For now, the safest thing was to look as apologetic as possible and salvage at least some points for attitude. But they’d called us in early because of the assignment?

What assignment?

Just then, the team leader spoke again.

"The editor-in-chief says he wants the reason for your selections by nine o’clock. In simple terms, he wants you to explain why you chose what you chose. The two of you have already finished yours."

Only then did I notice that there was a sheet of paper in front of each of them.

An assignment neatly printed on one side, completed with care.

"Mok Hyunsun. There are fifteen minutes left until nine. What do you expect me to do?"

Today’s luck was truly awful.

First the book had hit me in the head.

Now I was getting blindsided again before the morning was even over.

Still, there was only one answer left to choose.

"I’ll do it now."

The thing to do was simply do what I could. Besides, this was an assignment from the editor-in-chief himself.

Walking away from it would be no different from packing my bags.

"Then do it."

As soon as he gave permission, I left the conference room.

I didn’t head for the interns’ room.

I didn’t have time to boot up a computer and print anything out.

Instead, I came back with an A4 sheet that was lying around and a Monami pen. The team leader’s eyebrow twitched at what I’d brought. Song Min-hoon and Yoo So-hyun were barely holding back their smirks.

I ignored them and glanced at their assignments.

They had both chosen One of Us.

So much for variety. Still, there was nothing I could do about two people ending up with the same selection. At least I’d already organized my own reasoning in my head. The real challenge was writing it down quickly.

I picked up the pen and began copying the format they had used.

And then—wait.

Something in my head flickered into focus like a photograph.

One of Us was sitting there in my mind, but why did it suddenly look so... bad?

It was the story of a poor couple who refused to lose their love even under social oppression. The setup was immature, the descriptions were clumsy, and the theme was blunt. The only thing that looked decent was the surface-level style of the sentences.

How had I ever thought this was a good novel? I couldn’t understand it myself.

Just as I was hesitating, unable to even write down the selected title, another manuscript came vividly to mind.

The Man Who Searches for Ghosts. A novel about Korean soldiers left behind in the Vietnam War, wandering through the jungle in search of ghosts. It was the kind of story that felt dreamlike, as if the whole thing were shrouded in fog.

I had always felt there was something appealing about it, even through the awkwardness of the prose, but no matter how many times I read it, I couldn’t make sense of its meaning, so I had eventually given up.

But now... now I could see it clearly.

Its meaning, its symbols, its phrasing.

It turned out to be exquisite, rich, and beautiful.

So vivid it made goose bumps rise all the way up my arms.

As if possessed, I wrote:

That left only the most important part: the reason.

I had too much to say. Far too much. How was I supposed to organize the language surging and surging through my head? Writing everything down was impossible.

Then I needed the single most efficient sentence I could find. Even one line would do.

"Time’s up, Mok Hyunsun. Hand it over now," the team leader said dryly.

Just a moment.

I could feel it surfacing.

The language flooding my mind was pointing in one direction, unquestionably.

"Mok Hyunsun?"

One sentence sliced through the chaos like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blade, and I wrote it down in one ruthless stroke.