The Papers on the Table

"Honey, what's this?"

A single sheet of paper lay on the table. Under the dim light, the words on it seemed unnaturally sharp. When I asked, my wife answered with a blank expression.

"What does it look like? Divorce papers. You've seen it coming, haven't you?"

My lips went dry. My fingertips trembled.

"Does it really have to come to this?"

"Yes."

My wife drew a breath and lifted her head, stiff as a board.

"Let's stop here. We don't have kids, and... I can't bring myself to live with you anymore."

"Is it because of that guy?"

A short silence. Her shoulders flinched, almost imperceptibly.

"Yes. It is."

She didn't look away.

"I won't lie ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to you. So... just stamp it."

Silence settled over the room, and nothing could be heard but the tick-tock of the clock's second hand.

I lowered my head for a moment.

Every corner of the document came into view.

Her stamp was already there.

Without a word, I picked up the pen and signed my name.

Honestly, I had no desire to hold onto her.

I wasn't foolish enough to cling to someone who'd cheated on me.

A divorce by mutual consent.

There was no property to split, and nothing left between us worth regretting.

I'd known she was having an affair, but I had no proof.

What would fighting about it accomplish? It was just exhausting.

Revenge, justice—none of it mattered anymore.

And just like that, my three years of marriage came to an end.

A divorce was a divorce, but work was still work.

During the past month of shuttling back and forth to the courthouse, I'd only confided the personal details to my team leader.

But secrets never stayed buried for long inside the narrow walls of a company.

The stares in the hallway, the ones waiting in line at the cafeteria—everyone pretended not to know, but they couldn't hide the pity in their eyes.

After lunch, I headed up to the rooftop.

"Sky's damn clear today."

I put a cigarette between my lips in the empty space.

"Knew I'd find you here."

A familiar voice came from behind me.

Choi Youngsoo.

High school classmate, same university, same company.

A friend who'd walked every stage of life alongside me.

"Dongsoo, why the long face? You look like you've been chewing on dog crap."

Obviously teasing, but coming from this guy, it didn't sting one bit.

"What, you want me to smile?"

I snorted and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Come on, one divorce isn't the end of your life."

Youngsoo clapped me on the shoulder with a grin.

"It sucks now, sure. But is marriage all there is to life? A quarter of married couples in this country end up divorced. Statistically speaking, you're a perfectly normal guy."

"Hearing that from a guy who's never even been married... how is that supposed to comfort me?"

I shook my head and laughed hollowly.

The cigarette's ember wavered in the wind, then scattered.

Still, talking with Youngsoo made the weight on my chest feel a little lighter.

By the time we'd run out of chatter, it was already one in the afternoon.

I headed back down to the office for the afternoon shift.

"Hey. Assistant Manager Kim. Where's that report I asked for?"

The moment I sat down, Team Leader Jung's voice stabbed at me from behind.

I hadn't even brushed my teeth yet. Ten minutes of lunch break still remained.

Without taking my eyes off the monitor, I gave a short reply.

"Almost done."

"Almost? I told you it needed to be up before lunch ended. That's going up for the department head's approval—if you're late, I go down with you."

A smirk rose inside me.

So you're making me do your job... and I'm supposed to die for it too?

The words stayed trapped in my mouth.

The moment they left my lips, my reputation would go into a nosedive.

I'd be finished at this company.

And I knew that all too well.

"Understood. I'll have it up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shortly."

Bowing my head as I answered, I got back to hammering at the keyboard.

From fingers mixing anger and resignation, clean, polished sentences took shape.

In a company, the lower ranks jump when the higher ranks say jump. Simple as that.

That evening, Team Leader Jung ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clapped me on the shoulder with a smile.

"Good work. You deserve that promotion this year."

"Yes, of course. Haha..."

I forced a smile and nodded.

Then again, it wasn't like this was the first time I'd heard those words.

Maybe this year, I'd actually get promoted.

That's what I chose to believe.

And that's exactly what happened.

"Assistant Manager Kim—no, Manager Kim! Congratulations on the promotion!"

Inside the conference room, awash in the applause of my colleagues, I gave an awkward bow.

The employees offering their congratulations—some of those smiles were surely genuine, others surely not.

But in that moment, it hardly mattered.

I was simply proud.

It felt like years of humiliation, overtime, and unfair scapegoating were finally being repaid.

But in less than a week, I understood.

The only thing that had changed was one line on my business card.

"Manager Kim, I'm pressed for time—could you look over these materials for me?"

The orders that used to come from Team Leader Jung now poured from every other team leader's mouth.

The promotion was just the starting line of a new brand of absurdity.

On the ride home, the lights smeared across the dark bus window suddenly looked foreign to me.

Were other people out there achieving something in the midst of all that light?

Or were they just holding on, like me?

Why is life... so goddamn joyless?

Even the rumble of the bus engine in my ears felt distant and dull.

The word promotion no longer meant anything to me.

If anything, it left behind an even deeper emptiness.

"Joyless..."

My chest grew tight.

Out of habit, I pulled a packet of pills from the inside pocket of my jacket and swallowed them down.

Medication for depression and panic disorder.

At some point, my chest had started feeling constricted, and breathing had become a struggle.

The divorce was the final blow.

As the symptoms worsened, I'd gone through every scan imaginable—surgeons, internists, you name it—but every result came back normal.

Yet I was in this much pain.

Not being able to breathe was the worst fear and suffering a human being could feel.

After asking around, I finally found my way to a psychiatric clinic.

That was where I found relief.

The textbook diagnosis: early-stage hyperventilation and panic disorder, compounded by depression stemming from workplace stress and the divorce.

"Whew..."

I took the pills, closed my eyes, and waited for my breath to come back.

Whether it was the medication kicking in or not, my breathing slowly began to slow.

I opened my eyes.

And then.

Something began to appear.

A square hologram floated in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠midair.

And a question, asked with perfect clarity.

As if in a trance, my finger moved.

My fingertip reached for the empty air before my mind could catch up.

The two words flickered and blinked.

There was no hesitation.

"Accept...."

In that instant, the world before my eyes warped.

silence fell, and my vision flooded white.

A vibration rang through my ears and burrowed deep into my skull.

The letters of the hologram scattered into light, and a strange sensation wrapped around my entire body.

A hot, peculiar current coursed just beneath my skin.

My heart beat twice, three times, irregularly.

Something was opening.

A sensation beyond all explanation.

And then, once more, a single line of message appeared before my eyes.

Jackpot?

A first-place lottery win?

A one-time ability?

And what the hell is a tutorial???