First Day at the Office
Ding-dong~!
A cheerful announcement chimed through the air, signaling lunchtime. The kids rushed out in a stampede. Watching them, I couldn't help but let out a hollow chuckle.
I had no idea why kids were so obsessed with school lunch back then. Instead of eating leisurely, they were desperate to get out even a second faster just to chow down. Where did that passion come from? All I remembered was running off with friends to eat.
I hardly had any memories of waiting patiently to eat. My stomach was always growling too fiercely for that.
"Sora, aren't you going to lunch?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm on my way."
When I was the only one left in the classroom, the teacher noticed and called out to me. She had a kind, round face. It still felt a bit awkward since the entrance ceremony hadn't been long ago. It usually took about a month for teachers and students to warm up to each other.
It had been less than a week now. Maybe that's why she hadn't memorized all the kids' names yet. She knew the standout ones right away, but the quieter kids often got forgotten. That's why we wore name tags on our uniforms.
Teachers learned names quickest by glancing at those tags.
Anyway, maybe it looked odd for me to be alone in the classroom, so she spoke up. I stood from my desk and headed to the cafeteria. With over forty kids per class, it was packed. Even with staggered lunch times by grade, it was always like this.
Byeolbit Elementary went up to sixth grade, with at least ten classes per year. That meant around four hundred kids per grade—2,400 students total. In the future, when low birth rates slashed numbers in half, this would seem unbelievable. But not now.
Making friends with elementary kids was tough. With my adult mind, it was weird enough trying to relate to first-graders. They were so innocent and full of mischief.
I filled up on cafeteria food and headed home. I'd been a day laborer once, but somehow, I was back to being a lunch kid. No one else had scarfed down school meals twice like me. Once you graduate, you could never return as a student. Unless you became a teacher or worked at a school, free lunch was gone forever.
Back home, I tossed my bag aside and headed out again. First-grade dismissal was around 1 p.m. The house was empty. Dad slaved away at construction with overtime, coming home late at night. Mom worked her part-time shift at the mart, getting back around 6 or 7 p.m.
That left me alone for about five hours. A normal kid might mope without parents around, but not me. I was used to it from my orphanage days. Having a family, even if they came home late, felt like a luxury.
Of course, being home alone got boring. Fact. We only had one TV—no smartphone, no computer. Staring blankly at the screen had been my life so far. But things were different now.
Whoosh—!
Waiting at the bus stop, I pulled something from my wallet. A card.
That's right. No more dipping into family funds for bus fare. Songi Media had issued me a transit card. Now I could head there without spending a dime of my own. They'd hooked me up.
It had about 20,000 won loaded—plenty for a discounted kid fare. Round trips daily, and it'd last a month. Long live child discounts.
I boarded the bus to Songi Media.
I had a specific reason for going there.
Kim Sung-ho had said they couldn't buy me a computer.
But using one at the office was fine. The genre novel team had a spare machine idle. He'd asked if I'd like to use it.
Beats writing at a smoky PC bang. Coming straight to Songi Media wasn't a bad option. It was just a 20- or 30-minute bus ride.
Plus, installing one at home meant extra internet and electricity bills. Given our finances, his idea made sense—better than buying outright. Me showing up to use theirs was smarter.
And honestly, tapping away alone in an empty house beat the cozy office with its warm heater. Our place had no proper heating; it was freezing.
That's why I slept in pajamas layered under a puffy coat. We ran the boiler only during brutal cold snaps. Otherwise, we couldn't afford it.
Still better than summer.
Winter was survivable bundled up under thick blankets. Indoors was warmer than outside, at least. But summer? Different story.
Our only defense was a rattling old fan. Air conditioning? A pipe dream—we didn't even have one. The heat waves nearly broke me mentally. Even with my adult mind, it was brutal. So in summer, I'd wander outside instead of staying home.
Outdoors felt cooler than inside. Total opposite of winter.
First thing I'd buy with earnings: an AC unit mounted on the wall. No more panting through that misery. As a guy, I'd blasted AC freely; reverting to primitive suffering hit harder.
Guess I lacked adaptability.
"Hey, kid~ where's your mom?"
Another nosy auntie spotted me alone and asked. I shook my head.
"I'm not lost, ma'am. I get around fine by myself."
"Oh... really?"
Luckily, some backed off at that. Others were persistent, offering to walk me home.
Not a bad impulse. But to someone with an adult mind like mine, it was exhausting. They wouldn't believe I wasn't lost. And in this old-school era, people were extra nosy.
In the future I remembered as a man, approaching kids got you labeled a creep or eyed suspiciously in that hyper-individualistic society. But the 2000s still had that sticky sense of justice. Hence the lost-child assumptions.
Another reason I wanted a taxi someday.
I hopped off quickly at the Songi Media stop and dashed to the building.
Even the security guards recognized me now. No hassle.
Who else would be a kid showing up at an office building?
"Hello."
"Oh, Sora! You're here? Have fun and head home safe~"
I'd gotten familiar with the staff, exchanging greetings. In a way, I was Songi Media's mascot. Probably the youngest "employee" there.
An eight-year-old on payroll.
Labor inspectors might flip if they heard.
They cracked down hard on child labor.
But we had a proper contract and legal guardians, so no issue.
Writing was more mental than physical labor anyway. Not the kind labor board would bust.
On the fifth floor, I pushed open the door.
Creeeak—!
The office bustled into view.
"Oh~ Sora's here!"
"Afternoon, Agent Yoo."
"Sora, seriously. Just call me unnie."
Yoo Min-ah welcomed me warmly.
But "unnie" didn't roll off my tongue easily.
"Noona" might work, but "unnie"? Never said it in my old life.
Uttering it felt... wrong, like invoking some taboo.
Her insistence was giving me a headache.