Life's Great Turning Point (1)

Manager Lee's pronunciation was starting to slur — he was clearly drunk. He had put away a considerable amount of Gekkeikan, a well-known Japanese sake, and it seemed he, too, had come here hoping to wash away the stresses of work and home.

"Manager! I think it's time we headed back."

"Y-yeah, maybe so. I figured Gekkeikan was like regular sake — didn't think the alcohol was that strong — but it sneaks up on you."

Kim Chirok helped Manager Lee settle the bill. The tab seemed about the same as what you'd pay at a bar back in Korea. Together they made their way back to the hotel, and the moment they arrived, Manager Lee collapsed onto the bed and was snoring within seconds.

Kim Chirok couldn't sleep. Manager Lee's snoring was thunderous, and the thought of the trial waiting for him back in Korea made rest even more impossible. He left the hotel and walked the streets of Kyoto.

When it came to the sexual harassment case, he could look up at the heavens without a shred of shame — because he had never committed the act. But he could still lose at trial. Judges were only human; they were capable of getting it wrong. And the lawyer Oh Ha-young had hired would surely come at him with every rhetorical weapon in the book to win.

Should I hire a lawyer too?

There was no telling how much that would cost, and no guarantee he'd win even then.

If I get branded a sexual offender, living in Korean society would be nearly impossible.

The thought of finding work in Japan crossed his mind. He spoke a fair amount of Japanese, and English as well. If his Japanese failed him, he could always fall back on English. But then there were his elderly parents to consider.

After walking for some time, he noticed a magazine-like publication wedged into a streetlamp post.

Like those classifieds papers back in Korea?

He pulled out the thin booklet. It ran about thirty pages, and the cover, written in hiragana, read Hello Job.

Yeah. It's just like a classifieds rag.

He took the booklet back to the hotel and flipped through it. There were no office-job listings. Most of the ads were for delivery drivers, restaurant staff, forklift operators, and construction laborers.

He'd exchanged a bit of Japanese currency at the airport on the way here. A hundred yen didn't even amount to a thousand Korean won, which meant the pay wasn't particularly better than Korea's. Back home, a truck driver could easily make 2.5 to 3.5 million won a month. Kitchen assistants at restaurants were listed at 1,060 to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠1,400 yen an hour. That, too, didn't seem much different from Korea.

Japan's economy seems about the same as ours.

Of course, Kim Chirok was a highly skilled professional — he'd earn two or three times what these workers made. But even if he found a job in Japan, once you factored in rent, living expenses, and transportation, there didn't seem to be much of an advantage.

Korea's economy has come a long way. There's no real need to work in Japan. My path is still Daechi-dong — becoming a star lecturer.

I might not make a hundred million won a month, but ten million, at least. That'd put me on par with Japanese people earning around a million yen a month.

He decided that once he got back to Korea, he'd buy a high school math reference book and work through it. He'd forgotten a lot of the formulas. Even he knew that without studying, he wouldn't be able to teach Daechi-dong's gifted students.

The next day arrived. The study-abroad student serving as their guide showed up wearing sunglasses. After checking out of the hotel, they spent the morning touring a shrine and a temple, then did some shopping at a department store near Kyoto Station.

Kim Chirok bought a simple gift for his mother, but Manager Lee bought a mountain of things — so much he could barely carry it all.

"What did you buy so much of?"

"Gotta buy this much or the wife'll kick me out."

Kim Chirok smiled. Manager Lee was definitely a henpecked husband.

Manager Lee handed the student guide an envelope.

"Good work. I'll tell your brother you did a great job showing us around."

"I'm sorry I couldn't guide you more smoothly."

"And you — study hard, you hear? It's a tough world out there to find a job, so put your back into it. And find yourself a nice Japanese girl while you're at it."

"Hehe. Japanese girls aren't really my thing."

Kim Chirok thought of Jang Min-soo, the real estate company employee. Jang Min-soo had said he liked Japanese women. And yet this student was saying they weren't his type. People really did have different tastes.

Still, Kim Chirok found himself thinking Japanese women might not be so bad. Perhaps that was because he'd been burned by Oh Ha-young and Bang Mihee.

Kim Chirok returned to Korea.

When he got home, his mother was out — visiting a friend, perhaps. On his desk sat a piece of registered mail from the court.

Mom didn't open it, did she?

He unfolded it. Sure enough, it was a notice of trial date.

Damn it. So I've become a defendant — something that was never in the cards for me. Will Oh Ha-young even show up on the day of the trial?

If she did, he wanted to spit in her face.

At the sound of his mother coming in, Kim Chirok quickly hid the court papers.

"Chirok, you're home!"

"I just got in. Here — a gift for you!"

"You bought something again? What is it?"

"Japanese cosmetics! Shiseido wrinkle-care cream — the kind you like."

"Hoho. Thank you."

His ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mother turned the cosmetics box this way and that, examining the label. Then she set it down.

"Oh, by the way — you saw the papers from the court?"

"Ah, that's nothing. It's a company matter. They just want me to appear as a witness."

"Is that so? I was worried something had happened. Have you had dinner?"

"Yeah, I already ate."

From the next day on, Kim Chirok didn't go to work. He went to a study room and read. He bought a copy of The Standard of Mathematics, the classic high school textbook, and worked through every problem one by one. It wasn't easy — it had been a long time since he'd studied. All the while, he kept checking ads for private tutors.

On the second day, a posting went up recruiting a high school math instructor in Daechi-dong.

Finally. Yesterday's listings were for elementary and middle school classes, so I skipped those. But it says the salary will be determined after consultation.

The next day, Kim Chirok carefully prepared his resume. He'd briefly worked at H Chemical, H Heavy Industries, and an investment securities firm, but he omitted all of that. He simply wrote that he had joined H Group and left the H Group Strategic Planning Office. Then he dressed neatly and headed to Daechi-dong.

Arriving in Daechi-dong stirred up old feelings. The neighborhood right next door — Dogok-dong — was where he'd spent his childhood. Things had changed a great deal since then, but the abundance of private academies was just as it had always been.

That's right — that alley over there is where Lim Jae-geun robbed me and beat me. That convenience store is still there. I got hit by Jeong Chan-young right in front of it. He beat me just for looking at him while he was eating ice cream.

Now Lim Jae-geun and Jeong Chan-young were thriving. And here he was, walking around with a resume, trying to find work all over again. The thought made him feel pathetic.

The place recruiting a math instructor was called OO Edu, wasn't it?

Kim Chirok found the academy near the Daechi 4-dong Community Center. It occupied the fourth floor of a modest building. It wasn't large — just a few small classrooms and an office.

He met the director, a woman in her late forties wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

"I'm here about the job posting."

"Please, have a seat. You brought your resume?"

"The application period hasn't closed yet, has it?"

"We're still accepting applications."

Kim Chirok submitted his resume. The director personally prepared him a cup of green tea. After looking it over, she spoke.

"You don't have any experience as a math instructor."

"I believe I can teach at the high school level."

"I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠see you left your company recently."

"Yes. I quit to become a star lecturer."

The director smiled.

"Every instructor here in Daechi-dong dreams of becoming a star lecturer. But you need more than skill — you have to connect with the students as well."

"I'll give it everything I have."

"The lack of experience is a weakness, but... you graduated from Seoul National University, so I expect you'll do well. Though I see you majored in business, not mathematics."

"A business degree isn't entirely unrelated to mathematics."

"These days most places are on a five-day workweek, but we work six days."

"That's not a problem."

"And if you join us, you'll teach high school math and also handle parent consultations."

"Parents?"

"Parents may request consultations themselves, to help improve their children's math scores."

Hmm. Sounds like I'll be dealing with overbearing mothers breathing down my neck.

"I worked at a major corporation, so I can handle consultations without any issue."

"You'll also need to develop teaching materials and study resources. You'll be lecturing beyond just the reference books, after all."

"I-I'll do that as well."

"What salary are you looking for?"

"W-well, that is..."

"Since you'd be starting out, we can't offer a great deal. Let's try to settle around six million won. If the students' grades improve, we can adjust the salary later."

Six million won wasn't that far off from a conglomerate salary. And with no experience, he could hardly ask for more.

"Understood. I'll work hard. Does this position include the four major social insurances?"

"It does. We don't process it ourselves — the labor attorney's office just up the street handles everything."

Kim Chirok thought it was worth a shot. The director smiled.

"Mr. Kim, you have a good appearance, and you're at an age the students will like. Once you pass forty, the kids start calling their teachers old fogeys."

"Thank you. I'll do my best."

"Then if you could bring a few additional documents, even as soon as tomorrow. A copy of your resident registration and your final academic diploma, if you would."

"Understood. I'll have them ready."

"I'm sorry? A sexual offense history check?"

"The police station will issue one for you on the spot."

At those words, Kim Chirok's vision swam. Because of Oh Ha-young's accusation, he had already received a 1.5 million won summary order from the prosecution. He'd filed for a formal trial, arguing the order was unjust, and a court date had even been set — but there was no telling how it would turn out.

Will the 1.5 million ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠won fine show up on a sexual offense history certificate?

He felt his body trembling, unbidden. But he couldn't tell the director he wouldn't be able to provide it.

"Ah, understood. I'll bring the sexual offense history check."

Kim Chirok had no idea how he got from Daechi-dong back to Bongcheon-dong. The sun was still high in the sky; he couldn't go home yet. So he headed to Sharosu-gil, near Seoul National University Station in Bongcheon-dong, and stopped into a restaurant that served sundae-guk. He ordered a bowl of the hearty blood sausage soup along with a bottle of soju.

Kim Chirok wasn't much of a drinker. A glass or two of beer was his usual limit. But the despair crashing over him left him no choice — that was why he'd ordered a whole bottle. He drank the soju with the sundae.

Am I falling apart like this?

He'd graduated from a good university, landed a good job. He'd thought his life would unfold smoothly. He had never imagined that women, of all things, would tangle it into this mess.

Fear seized him — how was he supposed to live now? If finding work was this hard, would he have to sell bungeoppang, those cheap little fish-shaped pastries, from a street cart?

Tears spilled from his eyes before he even realized it. Somewhere behind him, he thought he could hear his old classmates' mocking laughter.