Flat Sharpendora?
“Flat Sharpendora?”
“Yeah. That was the name.”
I'd sent Flat back because some documents were missing from his application, then immediately explained the whole story to Fred. It was all because I'd gotten cocky as a still-in-training newbie and blabbed something like 'I'll lend you the money.' Now I had to butter up my senior to get out of this mess.
...Since he's a merman, maybe "butter up" or "sweet-talk" is a bit off? Anyway.
“That Flat Sharpendora came to the bank to borrow money...”
When I brought it up, Fred—who called himself a movie buff—nodded with a meaningful expression.
“A famous actor?”
“More precisely, a formerly famous one. He was huge back in the day.”
“Back in the day—how long ago are we talking?”
“Uh... twenty years? He's just over thirty now, I think.”
“Twenty years ago—that would've made him ten.”
“He was a child actor.”
Fred pulled up Flat Sharpendora's filmography on his smartphone and showed it to me. Of course, having grown up on Earth, I'd never seen any of these movies, but the box office numbers next to the titles were beyond imagination.
“Holy crap, how many zeros...?”
Unlike Earth, movies here were distributed by dimension, not country, so a single hit could rake in royalties enough to live off for generations.
But even more striking than the box office hauls was the ideal pretty-boy face plastered on the movie posters. No matter how much time had passed, I couldn't believe the burly, bearded guy I'd just met was the same person as this kid.
“How does someone who made enough to live off forever end up needing a bank loan?”
“Who knows? Could've blown it all on a lavish lifestyle, or maybe his parents drained him dry.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Anyway, check out the filmography.”
Scrolling down the screen, I saw it was just six movies total.
“Flat debuted with flashy hits and cranked out a few more blockbusters over four years, then vanished without a trace.”
“What happened?”
“Just a bunch of speculative articles—nothing solid. Maybe he hit puberty and turned into a total mess.”
That stocky, bearded guy from earlier definitely didn't look like the prodigy child star from back then. It was common on Earth for young stars to spiral into drugs and ruin during their teens. But Flat's eyes hadn't looked like those of some has-been lost in past glory. Those were the eyes of someone with a clear vision and plan.
An overconfident maniac. Or the real deal. Which was it?
If I trusted my Job Authority, it was the latter.
“So, what do you think, Jian?”
“Me?”
“You're the one handling it. If you think he's legit, I'll try convincing the branch manager.”
Fred said it with dead seriousness. How, exactly?
“You sure that's okay?”
“Honestly? I'm nervous. Lending 30 million gulden—what if his prime looks come back or something?”
“Agreed. Plus, an actor with a 16-year gap might not even land an audition.”
“But Jian, even knowing that, you look like you really want to approve this loan. You've got something to back it up, right?”
My senior sucked at selling financial products but had killer insight into other work—HR had him pegged as a trainer candidate. I knew he was sharp, but damn, he was on point.
“I've got grounds.”
“Your Job Authority?”
I nodded.
“No credit, no collateral—but he can definitely repay it.”
“Handy power. Way better for racking up performance than mine.”
Fred grinned, his nostrils flaring a bit.
“But even if I want to approve it, I can't write 'cosmetics' or 'audition' in the fund usage section.”
“Spot on.”
“Any way around the rules?”
“If you're sure, it's not impossible.”
The moment he pointed to the occupation field on the approval form, I got it.
“Makes sense—banks lend to celebs easy enough.”
Celeb credit scales with fame. Flat wasn't some nobody; he starred in six mega-hits. Even without current name recognition, that filmography could justify 3 million. The branch manager probably wouldn't object.
“No idea how he fell this far, but we can't ignore a famous actor's name value.”
This world's banking scene wasn't much different from Korea's. Celebs borrow huge sums under corporate names to buy fancy buildings—not because banks love stars, but because they open the vaults wide for them.
“Explains why he got rejected everywhere else.”
“You too?”
“Yeah. Tellers didn't recognize him as a big actor. Or they'd seen the movies but forgotten the lead's name.”
“His last film was 16 years ago—no surprise if no one remembers.”
His current look was worlds away from that 20-year-old pretty boy. No recent photos online, so spotting him from the name alone? Impossible.
“They probably sent him packing the second he mentioned audition funds.”
“That's why number-crunchers who just grind metrics get passed over for promotions.”
“Other banks don't have Job Authority either.”
“True.”
I pulled out the half-finished approval form next to the loan app and jotted notes in the remarks: box office for his hits, Job Authority intel, and every favorable detail.
“A genius actor breaking 16 years of silence for a comeback...”
“Write that in the remarks, Jian. Manager gets sentimental on cloudy days like today.”
It hit me again, what I'd always wanted as a banker.
“Pretty cool, lending money.”
“I think so too.”
To people grinding on without giving up.
“Kinda romantic, even.”
Banks should always extend a helping hand.
Flat returned less than an hour later with everything. Phone check confirmed he was the corp rep himself. Data said his stepmom ran the agency as his only family—something fishy there. Maybe tied to why he was broke. But that's personal; none of my business.
I just had to do my job: lend to those who need it.
“Yes, fill it up to there.”
“I leave it in your hands.”
“Same here.”
Input the details, finished the form. Address check: not a house or apartment, but a rundown inn on the edge of Podoks City. Weird.
Wigdrasil Wiki said he lived in a countryside house—sold it for cash? Online encyclopedias lose credibility here too, apparently.
“Is this inn yours, Mr. Flat?”
“No, checking in long-term since the day before yesterday.”
“You need your registered address, not the inn. Just this part—”
“I burned my house down myself.”
“Pardon?”
“Won't go back till I reach my goal.”
“......”
“Registration's done—don't worry.”
Resolve burned in his eyes. Even without Job Authority, he might've convinced me.
“Got it. Address stays.”
No need to note the house-burning. Instead, I prayed the manager signed off smooth.
If the loan failed, next to burn might be the Dimensional Credit Vault West Podoks Branch.
“We'll call after review.”
“How long?”
“Maybe text by tomorrow morning.”
Flat clenched his fist, stood, beaming genuinely. Seeing it, something hot welled up in me—I stood too, mesmerized.
“Thank you, Kim Jian. You've helped big time.”
“Not approved yet.”
“I'll repay it for sure.”
Repay. Come back as a star, stocks soar, buy bancassurance, wrap accounts—boost my metrics. Sign up for VVIP asset management via my referral? Perfect.
“If it works out, tell investors to move staff deposits our way.”
“Noted.”
Too greedy sounds bad long-term—kept it light, joking.
“Good luck with the audition.”
I watched his back as he left, murmuring softly.
My first loan consult: success.
Now for the rest—
Fred, the black-skinned merman with catfish whiskers as his trademark, was sweating bullets in the manager's office. He'd bragged to his promising junior it'd be fine, but stepping in? Nerves hit hard.
Rabido Del Monte, West Podoks Branch manager, was human-like for a clockwork automaton. But compared to other races, they were obsessively meticulous.
Normally, approval forms came from section chiefs or deputies—not a one-month newbie. And this client? No credit, no collateral, no proper home.
“Hm. Okay.”
Thankfully, the ordeal ended quick.
“I'll send the big one to HQ review. Rest approved—execute the loans.”
“...Pardon?”
Unexpectedly, Del Monte signed Kim Jian's form without a peep. Low fixed rate, long repayment too.
“Miracle on 7th Street pizza gift. Christmas staple. Flat Sharpendora's thirty now? Unbelievable.”
“Fan, sir?”
“Not swayed by personal feelings.”
“Then—”
“Want to see how amazing the Job Authority is that the president handpicked.”
Del Monte smiled—a rare sight in Fred's two-plus years here.
“Keep this form on file, report progress regularly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fred bowed deep, exited. His gaze landed on the enigmatic parachute newbie—eye of the storm?
“If even the manager's interested, Jian's the key player.”
Post-merger, execs split into three factions battling for power at Dimensional Credit Vault. Kim Jian's unprecedented Job Authority? A hot new blue-chip in the corporate politics game.
“Storms brewing soon, big or small...”
Of course, first watch if Flat succeeds with the loan.
“HQ or others'll poach him soon.”
Kim Jian: talented newbie, fast-track material.
“Hope they suit him.”
Fred grabbed a vitamin drink from the vending machine. No clue how long they'd work together, but as his mentor, he'd help all he could.