Manager Kim's Crisis (1)
Sunday.
Young-hoon had stayed up a little late working on his writing the night before, so he slept in again today, just as he always did after a creative spree.
Su-jin, apparently having just finished her night shift, had only just walked through the door.
“Big brother, you don't even have a girlfriend? It's a holiday—shouldn't you be out somewhere?”
“It's freezing out. Warm indoors is the best place to be. Sunday's for resting up properly at home so you can sprint through the next week with energy.”
“Ugh, I shouldn't even bother talking to you. I'm going to wash up and sleep. Don't wake me.”
“Got it. I won't. Sleep well.”
Exhausted, Su-jin dragged herself into her room, where she would no doubt sink into the land of dreams before long.
Come to think of it, when am I supposed to clean this whole big house? I should ask Hee-joo. She's probably up by now. Maybe I'll head down there.
Young-hoon went down to the third floor and pressed the doorbell, and his little nephew opened the door.
“Where's your mom?”
“Mmm... sleeping.”
“Sleeping?! At this hour? Is your dad asleep too?”
The boy answered with a nod instead of words.
“Then did you two eat breakfast?”
“Mom gave us money, so we bought triangle kimbap at the convenience store.”
Suddenly, a lid blew off somewhere inside Young-hoon.
He'd drunk the elixir yesterday, sure, and it was a holiday, granted—so the two of them had obviously run off on their marathon without a care in the world. Still, a parent ought to feed her kids breakfast, no matter what.
“That damn woman!!”
Just as Young-hoon, horned up with fury, was about to charge for the bedroom, he heard murmuring from outside, and his cousin emerged from her room.
“Oh, you're here?”
“Forget how much you enjoy yourselves—you still have to feed your kids, don't you?”
“Why? They say they haven't eaten?”
“Mom, Dad, when you're both home you're supposed to look after them. Triangle kimbap for breakfast, seriously?”
“Take that up with your brother-in-law. He's the one who caused all this.”
A moment later, the brother-in-law pushed open the door and came out. He looked completely wrung out—no doubt from a violently contested match the night before.
“Oh, if it isn't my brother-in-law.”
“You know you kept your wife up all night and couldn't even get the kids breakfast, right? I heard you're the one who caused all this?”
“Did she say that? That I'm the cause?”
Huh? This situation is turning strange. Why does he look so genuinely wronged?
“Brother-in-law, say it again. You're telling me I caused this?”
“…Yes. That's what your sister said.”
The man vented his indignation like a soul unjustly accused.
“I made it perfectly clear last night that we'd play only until the second half and then go to sleep. It was her who came at me demanding overtime all the way into the morning—and a penalty shootout on top of that. And now she's pinning the whole crime on me?”
For an instant, Young-hoon felt a pang of regret.
This won't do. I've gone and picked a fight between husband and wife for nothing. Best to retreat for now and come back down later—by then things will have more or less settled.
Having reached this swift conclusion, Young-hoon bolted back to his own apartment.
Once home, he briefly considered tackling the cleaning he'd put off all week, but quickly gave it up as hopeless—one look around the place and he couldn't tell where to even begin.
Deciding he'd grab lunch once Su-jin woke, he picked up the drama script he'd left unfinished the night before and started writing again.
If merely transcribing what lay inside the Archmage Hains's mind took Young-hoon this long, he could only imagine—no, he couldn't imagine—the unspeakable agony other writers must endure, creating something from nothing.
Fortunately, the end was finally in sight. One more episode, and it was done.
Even as he transcribed the drama, Young-hoon found himself doubting whether such a clichéd love story would actually work on viewers. The Archmage Hains's brilliance had already been proven through the music, so there was no question of his talent—but to Young-hoon, a hopeless romantic failure himself, the story didn't particularly move him.
Well, we're nearly at the finish line anyway. First I'll wake Su-jin for lunch, take a nice long nap, then write the final episode.
Just as he was about to go wake her, Su-jin came out of her room on her own—apparently hunger had done the job for him.
“You're up? Time for lunch.”
“Have you eaten, oppa?”
“No. I was waiting to eat with you. By the way, you're looking awfully well-rested.”
“Right? I was on the night shift, but after just three hours of sleep I feel completely recovered. Must be the bed.”
Watching her credit the most absurd possible thing, Young-hoon's blood boiled.
Hey, you. Do you have any idea how much that booze you guzzled last night was worth? You drank down the price of at least two houses like this one. Ugh. My heart aches, but I'll just make more. You're my little sister, after all, and it's not like I'm out of ingredients.
What was spilled was spilled; the arrow had already left the bow.
“Big brother, should we go mooch a meal off unnie's place?”
“I'm all for it, but you go first and scope out the mood. If it's safe, call me down. If not, come back up.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Mmm... I have a feeling I might have started a fight down there...”
“Good grief, you are so useless to my life, you know that? Fine, I'll go check.”
A little later, a text arrived from Su-jin.
He texted back right away and headed down to Hee-joo's place, where the atmosphere turned out to be perfectly fine. It seemed they'd gotten over whatever spat Young-hoon had ignited without ever knowing he was the cause. Then again, a quarrel between husband and wife is water cut by a knife—there's no wound that lasts.
After freeloading the lunch Hee-joo had laid out, Young-hoon got drawn into a serious discussion about hiring a cleaning lady. If they didn't bring someone on soon, the state of his house was going to become unwatchable.
Once they'd reached a rough agreement, he turned down the women's invitation to go for a neighborhood stroll, went back upstairs, and knocked out a long, luxurious nap.
By the time he woke, dusk had settled. He cadged dinner off Su-jin, then threw himself back into writing.
“Finally done—all twenty episodes. Well, 'writing' is a bit of a generous word for it. Still, without me, Hains's masterpiece would never have seen the light of day, so I figure I've earned a little pride. Now, what should the title be? It's a story about lovers who parted ways finding each other again... I'll just call it Love Met Again for now. I can run it past the professionals later.”
Young-hoon saved Love Met Again to a USB drive and went to bed. And so passed a golden holiday.
Monday.
For once, Young-hoon made breakfast together with Su-jin. According to her, she was on the afternoon shift today, so she'd rest at home a while, have lunch, and then head to work. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy.
Prying his reluctant feet off the floor, Young-hoon dragged himself to the office—and, as always, was the first one there. The same machine-like routine played itself out on repeat.
Alone in the empty office, Young-hoon organized his work notebook. This week was packed as always, but nothing particularly thorny waited in it. All he had to do was keep to the schedule. Nothing major hung over the company internally at the moment. As the year's end drew near, everyone focused on preparing for the year ahead, which meant far more wrapping-up work than starting new projects—so nobody stirred up extra trouble if they could help it. In conclusion: Young-hoon had very little to do.
The supply audit had been a sudden eruption, not something on the plan—and preparations for it had been finished to perfection last Friday.
Today, though, was the day that bastard Deputy Hong returned from his training and showed his face at the office. The odds that he'd actually learned anything were slim to none.
Externally, on the other hand, there was plenty on the plate. First, today was the day to register Returned Love, the OST track for Love After Separation, with the music platforms. And today Five Girls were scheduled to appear on the radio yet again. Last, he needed to show the drama script he'd written to Executive Director Yoo. He hadn't set a time yet, but it would have to be this afternoon.
Young-hoon took a sip of his magic coffee—that elixir he now felt obliged to drink at least once every single morning. Right on cue, the text would come any moment now.
We plan to register Returned Love with the music platforms this morning.
Ah, and one more thing—Five Girls' radio appearance today has been provisionally postponed. PD Jang's opinion is that the girls are far too hot right now to bother with a radio slot, so we've pushed it to a suitable date around December.
Lastly, PD Shin Hye-yoon's side has requested a meeting tomorrow. Please advise.
Please make sure today's music registration proceeds without a hitch.
Postponing the radio appearance seems like the right call.
As for tomorrow's meeting with PD Shin Hye-yoon, please schedule it for the evening.
With the text reports finished, Park Dae-ri would be strolling in any moment now. And sure enough, in he came through the office door, a cup of coffee in hand—apparently he'd stopped at a coffee shop on his way to work. But there was only one cup. Was this guy seriously stingy enough to buy just for himself? Then, out of nowhere, the cup was shoved right under Young-hoon's nose.
“Huh? I already had coffee... well, I can't exactly refuse when you're buying. Thanks, I'll enjoy it.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Go mix the powder in. That coffee's for you.”
“Ah—so you're telling me you bought exactly ONE cup and now you're ordering me to put my magic herb powder in it? While I drink vending-machine sludge from the break room? Do you even have a conscience?”
“Then you could've bought some on your way in and mixed it yourself. Don't sulk over something so trivial.”
“Ugh, fine—I'll be the bigger man and let it slide. But from tomorrow, if you don't bring me one too, you're getting nothing from me ever again. Understood?”
“Yessir.”
“By the way, you think Deputy Hong'll actually show up on time?”
“Bet you lunch? My vote: he doesn't.”
“Then the bet doesn't even happen, genius.”
While Young-hoon and Park Dae-ri bickered, most of the staff finished trickling in—everyone in Team 3 except one, of course. Manager Kim said he wanted a word with Deputy Hong as soon as he arrived.
At nine thirty, that slouch finally oozed into the office, dragging his feet and rattling off the same threadbare excuses as ever.
“There was so much traffic. I spent half my morning out on the pavement.”
Yeah, yeah, whatever excuse you can dig up, pal. How is it your repertoire never changes?
Before long, Manager Kim called the meeting.
“Deputy Hong, the training must have been a lot of work. Was it rough?”
“It was nothing. Barely any tests. You doze off for a bit and the day's over—came back with a nice new layer of fat, honestly.”
“Glad to hear it. As you know from the email, the supply audit starts next week, so have all your outstanding paperwork ready by the end of this week. The rest of us are more or less done, but since you were away on training, you won't have much time to spare.”
“Don't worry about me—just do your own job well, Manager. So what if my supply documents are a little short? Nothing's going to happen to me anyway. Was there anything else? No? Then I'll head out. First day back in forever and my whole body's stiff—I'm off to hit the sauna.”
Deputy Hong, who had apparently left his conscience back at the training site, was a walking one-man rebellion. Even the good-natured Manager Kim, pushed past his limit, finally spoke a bitter word.
“Deputy Hong, what on earth are you saying right now! Is this company a playground? When your supervisor gives you an order, you follow it—that's the bare minimum.”
But Deputy Hong showed no sign of backing down either.