The First Night on the Job
Kim Namhu’s answer brought a gleam of amusement to both the Main and the Ace.
Of course hosts had sex. A host capable enough not to bother with a one-night stand was the kind of thing people talked about. There were plenty of women who paid for sex, so the thought of turning a girl down felt almost wasteful.
But in Korea sex-for-money was officially illegal. The same went for women paying men. Hosts simply worked within the legal frame of “drinking parties,” and that was the line they were taught never to cross.
Choi Moon-ho’s face hardened. An upstart who didn’t even know the industry well was casually throwing out things that could get you in trouble.
Lee Sang-soo, on the other hand, seemed genuinely entertained and egged Kim Namhu on.
“That’s interesting. Keep going.”
“I know how this industry works from the inside. Everyone’s a man, right? If a woman likes you, she spreads her legs. Either she gets free dick or she pays for it. That’s how I’d like to live.”
In the end Choi Moon-ho couldn’t hold it in.
“Hyung-nim.”
“Yeah. Moon-ho. What is it?”
“May I say something too?”
Choi Moon-ho had complaints about Lee Sang-soo’s management style, yet he still respected him. So he received permission and turned to Kim Namhu.
“What’s your name?”
“Kim Namhu.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“What did you used to do?”
“I was a student, but I took a leave. I probably won’t go back.”
“Where did you hear about hosts?”
“I just saw it on the internet.”
If he told them he had been the top host in Korea and had regressed back in time, they’d never believe him, and there was no point in bragging anyway.
“Yeah. There are hosts who sleep with clients. But there’s a reason we don’t talk about it. Know why?”
“’Cause we’d get caught by the police?”
“And there’s another reason.”
Kim Namhu spoke before Choi Moon-ho could put on airs.
“Once you get hooked on fucking clients, no matter how good a host you were, you’ll break.”
That was the decisive reason. If the police suspected sex-for-money, you could just do a few months in the slammer. Hosts weren’t the kind of job that checked academic records or criminal history, so a red mark on your ID didn’t matter. And the punishment for sex work was surprisingly light—fines for first-timers and a short stint in the slammer. Go back to work the next day and you were fine.
But hosts were people too. If one woman hooked you and you stopped thinking clearly, your ability to entertain would drop hard. That hurt not just the host but the entire box.
Telling hosts not to do secondary outings was ultimately about money.
Kim Namhu knowing the deep workings of the industry made Lee Sang-soo even more interested. This kind of insight normally took years to learn.
Choi Moon-ho felt something suspicious.
“Were you working somewhere else?”
There were hosts who came from other venues. And most never hid their past.
Most showed off their experience to prove they were skilled. Only those who had caused big trouble lied about it.
“If you’re lying, it’s better to quit now. The bottom of this industry is narrow. If you’re not from some backwater town, you’d better say where you caused trouble.”
“No, I really was a student until a month ago.”
Kim Namhu pulled out the student ID from his wallet and showed it.
Choi Moon-ho leaned back in his chair after asking those questions. He wasn’t the curious type. The only thing he cared about was his own income. A kid who had just walked in had nothing to do with it. He had asked those questions simply because he didn’t like a cheeky young punk talking about the industry like he owned it.
*Well, he’s gonna clash with me again this time.*
Kim Namhu had clashed with Choi Moon-ho in many ways in his past life. Kim Namhu always tried to keep the bare minimum of dignity, and when that clashed with Choi Moon-ho’s “I’ll cause harm if it benefits me,” they inevitably fought.
*Of course, after years of grinding, I eventually crushed him completely.*
People didn’t change even in a new life. The same history was repeating.
Lee Sang-soo found it fascinating that a host who earned him the most money—someone he couldn’t afford to offend—wouldn’t back down with even one word.
If this had been a normal company interview, the cheeky answers would have gotten him rejected on the spot. But this wasn’t normal. This was a bar where every kind of trash flowed in, and trash who couldn’t survive would be kicked out.
This industry was simple. Two things made you successful: the ability to seduce women and the mental toughness to stay stone-faced even when mocked.
Some female entertainers who came to the bar would vent their stress by mocking hosts. They knew exactly how to make a man feel humiliated, and because they were weaker, the shame hit harder than anything an older host could say.
Kim Namhu had proven his own mental strength by not blinking once against a hot-headed Ace like Choi Moon-ho.
“Whoa. This guy’s got something, huh? If you keep it up, you’ll never stop. Just keep delivering the drinks and you’ll settle right in.”
Lee Sang-soo spoke the words to the others. They had no choice but to accept them.
A host who couldn’t speak, no matter how good the drinks, stood no chance. A mute host who couldn’t handle a real client would just quit.
Lee Sang-soo asked his final question.
“When can you start?”
“I can start tonight.”
“Good. Coming in early is always nice. But this isn’t just pouring drinks. You’re going to learn a lot. Since it’s your first time, watch closely. Tomorrow you start. I’ll assign you a senior. Prepare yourself properly.”
Becoming a host was easy. Surviving was not.
Out of ten who came in, three survived. Only one was earning the big money. It required real resolve.
And from Kim Namhu’s perspective, the only thing he wanted was for tomorrow to come quickly.
**
Wherever people gathered, factions formed naturally. Lee Sang-soo’s box was the largest in Gangbuk, so three factions had formed inside it.
Every host had come because Lee Sang-soo pulled them in or raised them, drawn by his charisma. Not all of them got along with one another. Each faction was led by the Ace who brought in the most sales.
Normally a box had one Ace, but Lee Sang-soo’s box had three, each faction with its own Ace. It was unnatural, yet they competed against each other to raise sales even higher. Lee Sang-soo simply watched.
Kim Namhu had gone to the interview. The bar was busy as ever today.
And strangely, at the quietest times, the three faction Aces came one by one to talk to him.
The first to arrive was Choi Moon-ho, the only one who cared about his own money.
“Hyung-nim, got a minute?”
“Yeah. What is it?”
Choi Moon-ho usually worked until dawn, passing tables. He normally found even bathroom breaks too expensive to waste. To spare time for this was surprising.
“There was a new guy interviewed today, right?”
“Oh, Kim Namhu?”
“I’ll make him my senior.”
Pouring drinks and setting the mood wasn’t something anyone could do. That’s why successful boxes assigned a senior like a military unit—teaching and watching over the new host until he could do one person’s work.
And here, the new host would naturally fall under his senior’s faction.
“What? You thought he wasn’t good enough? You were gonna beat him up yourself?”
“No. Why would I bother? I just think he has potential, so I’ll try raising him.”
Creating atmosphere was more teamwork than solo effort. Choi Moon-ho knew how much power one young man who knew how to set a mood could bring.
“But you’re basically solo, aren’t you?”
Every faction had its own vibe. In the faction where Choi Moon-ho belonged, even when a woman entered the room, one host would tilt his glass quietly with her.
“When atmosphere needs switching, think about it. Consider it.”
Charisma Mastery
**Note: This system notification is a direct translation of the Korean term “host bar” (first-night outing) used in the original chapter title. In the host bar context, “host bar” refers to a special promotional service where a host takes a new client out for the first time after joining the bar. It is not a literal English phrase and carries no further cultural or idiomatic equivalent.**