The Five-Person Cutoff

"No." Park Jihun replied in a firm, resolute tone. Kim Taejun’s expression stiffened. "Please, just this once. Help me."

"I told you, it’s not happening." After a brief silence, Kim Taejun asked, "Is there really no other way?"

Park Jihun remained unshaken. "You know my streaming rules."

Kim Taejun was silent for a long time. Then, he quietly set down the money bag he had been holding. Park Jihun’s gaze sank, turning cold. "Take it with you."

Kim Taejun looked at Park Jihun for a moment, then smiled as if resigned. "Use it, donate it, throw it into the Han River—do whatever you want with it. I’m leaving it here."

Park Jihun’s expression hardened. "I told you to take it."

Only then did Kim ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Taejun hesitate. But in the end, he didn’t look back. He climbed into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and hurriedly sped out of the alleyway. Park Jihun stood his ground without a word until the red taillights faded into the distance. The bag containing 100 million won remained right at his feet.

Park Jihun lifted the bag and muttered, "Ha, what a reckless guy."

"Tell me about it. Is he crazy?"

At the sudden voice from behind, Jihun turned his head. Usik poked his head out as if he had been waiting. "What the? How long have you been standing there?"

"Since a little while ago. No, more importantly..." Usik’s gaze drifted to the money bag in Park Jihun’s hand. "Is that really 100 million won?"

"Yeah."

"And he just left it here?"

"Yeah."

"Wow..." Usik, who had been momentarily flustered, continued, "There are plenty of people who would lose their minds over 100 million won."

"Rules are rules, though."

"Yeah, you did well. Once you break a rule, there’s no turning back." Usik glanced at the bag again and asked, "So, what are you going to do with this?"

"I’ll just not use it."

"What if he doesn't come back for it?"

"I’ll find a way to return it." Park Jihun spoke as if it were no big deal, then parted his lips. "That’s why I’m planning to tweak the reservation system."

"Oh? How?"

"The structure itself is fine. One free, five paid. That stays the same."

"Then what’s changing?"

"I’m changing the reservations to a first-come, first-served basis on the day of the broadcast."

"What about the people who already reserved?"

"I’ve cleared out almost all the backlog. Turns out, a lot of people make reservations and then don't even show up."

"Ah, then that shouldn't be a problem." Usik pondered for a moment before asking, "So, you’re not going to do private readings anymore? You could just do them like you did for your mother."

Park Jihun downed his drink in one shot. "If it’s necessary."

Usik tilted his head. "What are you going to do if just anyone asks for a private reading?"

Park Jihun said calmly, "I won’t take just anyone."

"What’s the criteria?"

"Only if it’s a matter that’s difficult to discuss publicly, and I judge that it needs to be handled privately."

Usik nodded slowly. "That should work. If you leave it wide open, things just get tangled up."

"If I play it ambiguously, it just becomes more of a hassle." Park Jihun took out his phone on a whim. "I need to post an announcement."

"Now?"

"Yeah."

Opening the community board, Park Jihun pressed the write button. He typed on the keyboard without hesitation.

Park Jihun scanned the notice he had written. It was concise. "What do you think?"

"It’s clean. Just like you."

Park Jihun immediately pressed the register button. *Click.* The notice went up on the board. A moment later, comments began to appear.

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

Park Jihun chuckled as he read the comments. He suddenly remembered registering for classes back in college. Back then, too, if you were late, it was over.

Usik raised his soju glass and said, "Tomorrow’s going to be loud."

"Probably. But this is better than playing it ambiguously." Park Jihun turned off his phone screen and continued, "I need to draw clear lines."

The next morning. Kim Taejun walked straight into the office the moment the elevator doors opened. Lately, Kim Taejun had been arriving earlier than everyone else and staying late into the night. The smell of alcohol that had been ingrained in him had long since vanished. Taejun scanned the documents piled on his desk. They were materials he hadn't finished reviewing the night before.

A month ago, he had taken the position of Head of the New Business Division at the Chairman's request. It wasn't that he had been given the entire company. Instead, what the Chairman had placed in his hands was a bio-project that had been dragging on for some time. It was a project that was a waste to simply fold, but a burden to push forward. The Chairman had only assigned it to him without setting a direction. But it was clear he would be watching until the end to see how he handled it.

A moment later, the door opened and his secretary entered. It was the secretary his father had assigned to him. "The meeting is in ten minutes."

Taejun nodded. "The bio project is on the agenda as well."

"I’m aware." The secretary checked his tablet and added, "You need to establish a direction before reporting to the Chairman."

Taejun bit his lip at those words. Shortly after, he arrived at the conference room. Meeting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠materials were spread out across the long table. The screen on the wall displayed the schedule and progress status. From the start of the meeting, the atmosphere was heavy. The first to speak was an executive from the finance department.

"It’s correct to fold PJ-302 here. It was a pipeline originally developed for diabetes, but the primary indicators are falling short of expectations. The longer we drag it out, the greater the losses."

Directly opposite him, his uncle, Park Sangheon, the Executive Director of Strategic Planning, continued, "It’s right to fold this project here."

Once his uncle’s words fell, the conference room went quiet for a moment. Taejun lifted his head without a word. His uncle continued, "You’ve only just settled into your position. There’s no need to shoulder a project like this from the start."

"..."

"It is a manager's rational judgment to end things while they can still be ended as a loss."

Yun Jeongho, the Research Director sitting on the other side, spoke up with a stiff face. "I disagree."

Research Director Yun Jeongho continued with a resolute expression, "We shouldn't fold it here. If we do, all the data we’ve accumulated will die."

"Director." The finance executive immediately countered, "You said that at the last meeting as well."

"This is different from last time. The indicators for diabetes were weak, but we are seeing reactions in other targets. The problem right now isn't efficacy, but reproducibility." Yun Jeongho’s voice was firm. "We just need to look a little longer."

"How much longer do we have to look?"

When Kim Taejun asked, Yun Jeongho replied immediately, "Give me until the week after next. I will show you the results then."

"What is the basis for that?"

"We just need to re-run the verification batch for the newly identified reactions. Once we secure those results, there will be no reason to fold it here, at the very least."

The finance executive’s face hardened. "That’s an additional budget for fifteen days. You know well how much money goes into just re-running a verification batch."

His uncle added, "Projects that can't be explained with numbers should be folded here."

Taejun looked down at the materials without a word. In his head, the finance side was right. To reduce losses, folding it now was the correct move. From the Chairman’s perspective, that would be the most safe and standard judgment. But strangely, Yun Jeongho’s words kept bothering him. He recalled the scene he had seen when he went out for the on-site inspection a few days ago. Faces that clearly showed they had pulled all-nighters. Researchers who were clinging to the data until the end despite being exhausted. He felt it wasn't a project that could be easily folded.

'...I didn't see it wrong, did I?'

No one had proven it with numbers. It wasn't something that could be explained in a single line of a report. But the things he had seen and heard himself were telling him not to let go of this.

The problem was that Kim Taejun couldn't trust that. He was more accustomed to hiding behind the judgments made by others. That way, even if he was wrong, he could make excuses. If he could, he wanted to put in his own money to buy more time. He could afford that much easily. But the moment he did that, it wouldn't be a judgment—it would be an obsession. That probably wasn't what his father wanted to see. Ultimately, this wasn't a problem of money, but a problem of showing what kind of person he was when it came to making judgments. That was why he was even more scared.

Taejun made a decision. "...Let’s watch it a little longer."

The meeting ended. While people were packing up their materials one by one, he remained seated. Since returning from the inspection, one corner of his heart had already tilted. Yet, he hadn't been able to take that final step. Because he felt that if he was wrong this time, it would truly be the end. Taejun checked his wristwatch. There was still plenty of time until 8:00 PM. He bit his lip and muttered, "He said to get in line."

He steadied his breath and continued, "So I have to get in line."

He planned to grab a reservation the moment the broadcast turned on tonight. Then, he wanted to be confirmed on whether he could trust what he saw and push forward.

Even though it had grown dark outside the window, Taejun was still in the office. He leaned his body against the back of his chair and slowly loosened his tie. The stuffiness that had been tightening around his neck loosened a bit, but he felt no better inside. He immediately pulled up the Ocean window. The 'Perpetual Job Seeker' broadcast waiting room. His login status was displayed in the top right. He checked his donation history again. He had enough Water Droplets. The problem wasn't money. He had to enter the moment the broadcast turned on and get in line.

Taejun checked his wristwatch again. 7:58 PM. Time was moving strangely slowly. He sat and waited with the broadcast window open on one side of the screen. The strength in his fingertips holding the mouse tightened and loosened repeatedly.

7:59 PM. People began to flock to the chat room one by one.

Taejun frowned. Unintelligible stories were being exchanged in the chat room. 8:00 PM sharp. The broadcast turned on. The waiting screen changed, and a familiar face appeared. It was Park Jihun. Taejun immediately pressed the donation button. But the donation function was disabled.

"What is this?" Taejun furrowed his brow. He refreshed the page thinking it might be a glitch, but it was the same. At that moment, Park Jihun opened his mouth.

"You all saw the notice, right?"

The chat room surged in an instant.

Park Jihun continued, "Reservations start at 8:05. I’m only seeing five people. Anything sent after that doesn't count as a reservation."

The chat room became noisy.

Taejun gritted his teeth. "Ha..."

It was only five people. Out of thousands of viewers, only five. He bit his lip and displayed the time on one side of the screen. The second hand was moving sluggishly. 8:04:52 PM. The chat room was heating up. Taejun also gripped his mouse tightly. He couldn't be late. And then, when it hit 8:05 PM, the donation function was activated. At that moment, Water Droplet notifications began to surge on one side of the screen like crazy.

Taejun’s gaze scanned the donation list. Four spots filled up in an instant. Neyton was in the fifth spot. Taejun’s eyes widened. "...I did it!"

The chat room was exploding with cheers and screams mixed together.

Park Jihun said briefly, "Today, it’s FrogKing, HaraHyang, dldlgar2, NeoUnya."

A moment of silence. "And Neyton. That’s the five I’m seeing."

For a moment, Taejun held his breath. His arms were still trembling. His heart was beating like crazy. Only then did Taejun slowly lean his body against the backrest. The corners of his mouth, which had been stiff, twisted upward.

"...Damn it." Laughter spread behind the low-leaked curse. "This is it."