Jump In Three Seconds: Promotion to the Frontlines

As instructed to barge in within three seconds, I entered the office, gauging the branch manager and Slick Ellama's moods.

"Um, may I ask what this is about…?"

The branch manager's office was pitch black. The only light source was sunlight slanting through the blinds at an angle. The air in the office carried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the uneasy tension of a noir film. What the hell kind of mise-en-scène is this? My current state is a total spectacle.

"We ask the questions here."

Slick Ellama, leaning against the branch manager's desk, cut me off sharply. The branch manager held section chief rank, equivalent to a department head. Was it okay for a mere deputy like Ellama to act this way in front of one? But since he was a heavyweight from HQ, I guess it was fine….

"We've met before, haven't we?"

The clean-cut, East Asian-looking middle-aged human with an impressive face—Slick Ellama—asked without twitching an eyebrow. His smooth skinhead gleamed. If he'd had tattoos and earrings, he would've looked even scarier.

"Yes, during the interview."

"You remember well. So, you still have no idea why you've been summoned?"

"……."

I couldn't even guess. Why am ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I getting reamed out like this? The interview ended eight months and two weeks ago—why another pressure session? Had I fallen into an inescapable infinite loop?

"Ah."

Maybe this scolding was about that too…. I racked my brain for any problematic words or actions and responded.

"As a result of my thoughtless remarks lumping male pattern baldness sufferers together as the axis of evil, I deeply apologize to you, Deputy Ellama, and all the good bald folks out there for causing such great offense." I bowed my head with maximum sincerity. Using that chaebol heir's apology as a reference—often cited as the gold standard—my remorse would surely get through.

"……."

"……."

But the branch manager and Ellama kept staring at me with rigid expressions.

Not it, then.

"I'm sorry, that was a slip. My comment about bald people wasn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my usual thinking—"

"Cut the nonsense and sit down."

I'd been bowing at a perfect ninety degrees when Ellama's words made me look up. His face still showed no change. Up close, he didn't seem particularly angry.

"What do you think, Deputy Ellama?"

"Like I felt during the interview, he's an entertaining guy."

They exchanged some cryptic words and sat side by side across from me.

"Section Chief Kim Jian."

"Yes."

"This isn't baldness—it's a self-shave. Remember that."

"…I'll keep it in mind."

He wasn't mad, but it clearly bugged him. So, what the hell did he call me here for?

"Since you don't seem to grasp your situation, I'll spell it out."

Ellama pulled a approval pad from his bag and handed it to me.

"This is…."

I opened it, checked the document inside, and was speechless for a while.

…An internal notice is a confidential pre-announcement of promotions or transfers to the individual involved before public disclosure.

"January, not February…?"

And if this was real, I'd be getting assistant manager after just five months—without finishing the standard half-year probation. Even if section chief to assistant manager was automatic, was this even possible?

-Pop!

A sudden burst of confetti. Del Monte the branch manager held a conical party popper. Colorful paper and ribbons fluttered down onto my head. A disco ball popped out from atop his head, spinning with upbeat music and scattering dizzying lights.

"Congratulations, Assistant Manager Kim Jian."

-Congratulations protocol terminated.

I watched the disco ball retract into his head, too stunned to speak.

"I thought probation was fixed at six months."

"Exceptions exist with the personnel authority's approval."

Ellama answered my question. Some might say, "What's the big deal about a month early?" But this defied common sense. In the closed world of banking, half a year of probation as a section chief was absolute. Dimensional Credit Vault tellers—public or special hires—all started as section chiefs for six months to adapt to fieldwork. Exceptions like special promotions for stellar sales came after assistant manager. Shortening probation by even a month was unprecedented.

"You're beating your peers by a month to assistant manager. Do you understand what that means?"

Ellama asked with a faint smile. I'd thought he was hostile during the interview, but that was wrong. He was just the only field guy there doing the pressure test. That made sense.

"…It means I'm the most promising new hire from the second half of 2021 public and special recruitment combined."

"Damn, saying something so embarrassing without batting an eye."

Ellama's mouth corner twitched up.

"Not wrong, though."

Totally unexpected. Sure, I'd notched two big wins in five months. But the second was tricky to claim fully as my merit. Of course, I trusted the branch manager's promise it'd reflect well in my eval. But shortening probation? A miracle.

"Just like I said. HQ and the board have their eyes on you. You know why."

Because I'm the bank president's parachute? Or my Job Authority piercing economic potential? Maybe both.

"I'm humbled by the high regard beyond my achievements so far."

"Spare the bootlicking. Even I admit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you're decent for a greenhorn just learning the ropes."

Greenhorn, huh. Fair enough—from the youngest deputy manager ever, I was still a raw rookie.

"You've done this much already; we're expecting big things ahead."

As the branch manager beamed warmly, Ellama spread his arms dramatically, like a theater actor.

"…Thank you."

I replied curtly, studying his face. Ellama was a handsome mid-aged guy rivaling Flat Sharpendora, but different vibes. Flat's smiles brimmed with warmth; Slick Ellama's hinted at a feral beast. My caricature artist's instinct from observing countless clients was reliable. Not baseless confidence. Bankers' Job Authorities elevated personal talents to superpowers, rooted in the gods' divinity as founders and shareholders. Embarrassing to say, but my potential vision stemmed from my sharp eye for people.

He doesn't seem the type to praise easily….

Ellama struck me as a brilliant lone wolf. For him to say this to a subordinate's subordinate—not even under him—meant something.

"Deputy Ellama."

"I didn't permit questions."

"Forgive my impertinence, but one question."

He eyed me with fascination, like a rare bug.

"Spit it out."

I took a deep breath.

"Normally, promotion and transfer notices are verbally relayed by HR."

"So?"

"But you're from HQ's Corporate Goddess Division. Why deliver it yourself?"

A thin smile crept onto Ellama's lips.

"…If you'd been some giddy fool celebrating, I'd have scrapped it. But you've got potential."

He pulled another approval pad from his bag and tossed it over.

"Here."

I opened it and couldn't maintain my poker face. My mouth corners rose involuntarily. My heart pounded wildly.

"Multidimensional Outpost…."

The document was a transfer notice, shifting me from West Podoks Branch to the Multidimensional Outpost. Looking up, I caught the branch manager winking.

'Even if you move branches, don't forget this.'

Now I got why he'd said that on the plane.

"You'll need to learn to control your face if you're working under me. Even a three-year-old could tell your buddies include a chatty HR type."

"Sorry."

"No need. Not sweating the small stuff."

When Mira mentioned my nomination for the hot new Multidimensional Outpost gig, I'd guessed it was someone from the president's faction among the three vault cliques. Turns out, Del Monte recommended me to rising star Ellama, and I made a good first impression. That's why he could hand over both notices—

"…From now on, it's Outpost Manager instead of Deputy, right?"

-Snap! Ellama flicked his fingers and pulled a business card from his pocket.

Dimensional Credit Vault Multidimensional Outpost Manager, Slick Ellama.

"Outpost Manager—not Manager Sir. Five syllables is inefficient."

"Got it."

"You probably get it, but refusing the transfer voids the early promotion."

"Won't happen."

It was what I wanted. I'd climb up. Where I could best use my gift. Lending big money to those in need.

"One question allowed."

"What will my duties be at the outpost?"

Ellama grinned ferally.

"We're heading to the financial frontlines. Far-flung battlegrounds HQ cowards wouldn't dare tread."

His yellow eyes gleamed in the dark office.

"Your mission: plunder clients and deposits from those damn third-rate bank scum."

Shadow cloaked his face like a demon descended to earth.

"No leaving without my say-so. No weekends at the outpost."

His tone sounded like a threat.

"Even if you puke blood from overwork and collapse, don't expect help. While you're down, aces from the other two factions will steal your kills."

He laid bare the outpost's cutthroat reality, enemies within and without.

"So brace yourself. I'll work you like a dog."

His voice dragged me toward hellish unknown dangers.

But why?

"Music to my ears."

My blood boiled listening.

"Anyone thinking shortcuts are smooth is dead wrong."

We extended right hands in unison. A grip so tight my hand went numb.

"Work like you'll die, Kim Jian."

"Assistant Manager Kim Jian."

If wings sprouted from his back, angel or devil, I'd still shake.