Sinnam Halmang Foundation

Payday wasn't the sort of occasion that made my heart race the instant my eyes opened in the morning.

To me, payday was simply the day I received fair compensation for hard labor. There was no real reason to feel giddy, nor was there any reason to feel down.

"Thank you. Mind if I take a look inside?"

"Go right ahead."

Even so, a faint smile tugged at my lips at the Boss's thoughtful gesture. It had been quite some time since I last held a genuine cash envelope like this.

"Boss."

"Hm?"

"Haven't you given me a bit too much?"

Peeking inside the paper flap, I counted six crisp, bright yellow fifty-thousand-won banknotes. Beyond the sheer amount, the fact that she had gone out of her way to procure freshly minted bills showed just how much care she had put into it.

"If it were entirely up to me, I'd give you even more. It's really not that much."

"Are you sure you can afford this?"

"Hehe, of course. You know roughly what our daily sales look like, don't you, Jeongseo?"

"Well, I don't know the exact operating expenses."

"Our overhead is pretty much the same as always. But lately, delivery orders have spiked, and we're packed on weekends too. Revenue has surged even during the hours when you aren't on shift."

A fond smile graced the Boss's lips at my display of concern. She teased me lightly for worrying about her, assuring me that the cafe's finances were in excellent shape. In fact, she took the time to explain how much indirect profit my presence had generated for the business.

"Besides, whenever you're on the floor, the rush is twice as intense, which means your workload is far heavier. It's only natural that you get paid extra."

I understood her reasoning, but it still felt somewhat excessive. Ultimately, returning customers kept coming back for the quality of the coffee. Still, rather than pestering her with more questions, I offered a sincere bow of gratitude and tucked the cash envelope deep into my bag.

"I wanted to treat you to something nicer for lunch, but we don't really have the time."

"This is more than fine. Black bean noodles are delicious anyway."

After polishing off a quick delivery order of jajangmyeon and sweet-and-sour pork, we began bracing for the lunch rush.

Lately, more and more patrons were coming in looking for light meals alongside their drinks, and some even voiced their disappointment whenever the tables were full. The Boss insisted that this, too, was entirely thanks to me.

"Hellooo..."

"Oh? You're back again. Isn't your lunch break almost over?"

"Yes... Could I have an Oreo chocolate shake, please?"

While the overwhelming majority of our midday clientele consisted of office workers, a few students occasionally trickled in. Among them, I had memorized this particular girl's face completely, seeing as she ordered that exact same Oreo chocolate shake every single day. She always showed up right at the tail end of the lunch hour.

"How come you only ever wear tracksuits?"

"Ah, well... that's..."

The high schooler had arrived just as the frantic lunch wave subsided. For once, there was no line behind her, so I decided to make casual conversation, something I rarely did.

"You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. I just thought your school uniform looked nice, that's all."

"I've... gained weight... so..."

She spoke slowly, drawing out her syllables at the end of each sentence as if it were a lingering habit.

"Ah, I see. Here is your drink."

"Thank you."

"Head back safely."

When I waved at her, the girl's pale cheeks flushed bright crimson, and she dipped her head in a clumsy bow. She was undeniably plump, which was part of why she stood out in my memory. Pale skin, a heavy build, and a dowdy haircut that hung over her forehead like closed curtains—she clearly paid little attention to her appearance.

"You know, I've noticed you're always sweeter to kids."

"Me?"

"Yeah. The way you smile at students is a little different from the smile you give adults. Just a tiny bit."

The Boss struck up a conversation the moment the girl in the tracksuit shuffled out the glass doors. Until she pointed it out, I hadn't realized there was any difference in my demeanor. Thinking about it now, she might have had a point.

In my experience, reading children's expressions was infinitely easier than reading adults. Kids wore their likes and dislikes plain on their faces. Perhaps that fundamental transparency was the reason.

"I suppose I feel a bit more at ease around kids."

"Really?"

"Yes. They rarely hide malice behind a pleasant face."

"Aha, that's not always true these days. Kids can be shockingly sly."

As I began washing the accumulated mugs, the Boss busied herself restocking the empty containers behind the counter, regaling me with horror stories about unruly young customers she had encountered over the years.

"At least running a cafe keeps the worst of it away. People who work at convenience stores or bars have it way worse."

She bustled back and forth behind me, and every so often, the soft swell of her chest brushed lightly against my shoulder or the curve of my back. The supple, cushiony pressure had an oddly addictive sensation to it.

"Jeongseo, hold on a second. Watch your head."

"Yes, Boss."

Especially moments like this. Reaching for the overhead cabinet right above me, she leaned in close. When I instinctively tilted my head back to give her room, the back of my skull nestled straight into the generous cleavage of her full bust. She wasn't deliberately hugging my head with her breasts, of course, but it certainly felt like it.

"Oops. Sorry about that."

"It's fine."

It was a task that could easily have waited until later, yet there she was, standing on tiptoe right behind me and huffing with exaggerated effort. At times, I couldn't help but suspect she was doing this on purpose—casually brushing or pressing her chest against my body under the guise of work. Perhaps my complete lack of fluster had only emboldened her. These little contacts were growing noticeably more frequent. Then again, maybe she was just genuinely growing comfortable around me.

My shift was nearly over. My base wages would be deposited straight into my bank account shortly after I clocked out, calculated down to the final minute of today's hours.

"That customer comes in every day too, doesn't she?"

"The woman who just left?"

"Yeah. Haven't you noticed? She drops by every single afternoon and sits there for hours. It's almost uncanny how she always manages to slide in the exact moment a seat frees up."

Sipping a cup of coffee, the Boss spoke up the second the female customer who had been occupying a corner table stepped outside.

"No, I hadn't realized."

"Really? How odd. At first, I assumed the two of you knew each other."

"Why would you think that?"

"Hmm... her attitude, I guess? The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way she talks to you feels like someone who's on familiar terms."

Our idle chatter always took this relaxed rhythm once the cafe emptied out.

"Were you getting jealous, Boss?"

"Wh-what? No! Of course not. It's just... the vibe was different, you know?"

"Don't plenty of customers act friendly toward me?"

"Well, yeah. But this is different... Ugh, it's hard to explain. Call it a woman's intuition."

According to her, there was something distinctly peculiar about that woman. Yet when pressed on what made her so different, she couldn't offer a concrete answer.

"That is a little strange. Usually, I recognize anyone who comes in every day."

"Maybe it's because she always has a ball cap pulled low over her eyes? Though I catch a glimpse of her face once in a blue moon."

"Is that so? How did you notice her, then?"

As we spoke, I tried to recall the woman's features. Nothing came to mind. With a low-brimmed cap, dark glasses, and a face mask covering the rest of her features, her impression was practically a blank slate.

"Her cigarette smell. It's the exact same distinct scent my old team leader used to reek of back when I worked at the corporate office. A very unique brand."

Perhaps because I didn't smoke, I hadn't picked up on the lingering odor of tobacco.

"I'll go wipe down the tables and tidy the hall."

"Leave it, leave it. You're off the clock soon. Want me to whip up a drink for your walk home?"

"I'm all right. I had one earlier."

"You can have as many as you want, silly."

That was where our conversation about the mysterious patron ended. Putting the matter out of mind, I performed a swift sweep of the dining area and prepped for my departure.

"Oh, right. About that customer earlier."

"Which one?"

"You know, the cigarette smell."

"Yes?"

I had finished wiping down the floor and was just about to head into the back room to hang up my apron.

"There's something else odd about her... Actually, never mind."

"Come on, you can't just trail off like that. It leaves me hanging."

"Chuckle. Sorry, sorry."

The Boss hesitated for a brief second before leaning over the counter again.

"Her arrival time changes every day, right? But the time she leaves is always identical."

"Boss, you really pay attention to the most random details."

"I know, right? But she always packs up and walks out just a few minutes before your shift ends. It kind of stuck in my head."

She could simply have a recurring appointment every afternoon, which would explain why she sat in the cafe until a specific hour before departing.

"Don't pay it any mind. She isn't an acquaintance of mine, so there's no need for you to be jealous."

"Hey, I told you I wasn't jealous!"

"Sure, let's go with that."

Leaving the sputtering Boss behind, I clocked out. Ever since I started indulging in the simple pleasure of teasing people, my personality seemed to be growing progressively more mischievous.

Bzzz.

I was waiting at the crosswalk for the pedestrian signal to change when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glanced at the display.

A push notification from the mobile banking app. True to her word, the Boss had transferred my hourly earnings the moment I stepped out the door.

Bzzz.

Almost the exact split second I registered the deposit, a second alert flashed across the glass, overwriting the first.

This made no sense.

A substantial chunk of my hard-earned salary had vanished within a single second of entering the account. A rough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠calculation told me it was roughly thirty percent of my total monthly earnings.

The Sinnam Halmang Foundation?

I had never heard that name in my entire life. Had my personal financial data been leaked? Or was this some kind of catastrophic clerical error in the bank's automated systems?

Even so... how can an external entity just snatch money straight out of my private account without authorization?

The situation defied all logic. Determined to get an answer, I dialed the bank's hotline on the spot, but the automated voice droned on and on without connecting to a representative while I waited for the traffic light to turn green.

"Excuse me..."

At the very least, there were no further withdrawals. Clutching the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠phone to my ear, I crossed the street at a brisk pace.

"Hey there."

"Yes?"

"Listen, there's something I need to ask you."

A woman's hand clamped down firmly on my shoulder.

"I'm extremely busy right now."

"Wait just a second. I just wanted to—"

I had no idea what her business was, but I didn't have a single second to spare for strangers on the street. Without even turning to look at her face, I gave a curt nod and shook off her grip, marching forward.

Why the hell aren't they answering?

The vanishing funds were infuriating enough, but there was an even graver issue at play. Someone had blatantly robbed me of my rightful earnings. I would not tolerate the theft of a single won.

This is dangerous... I need to get home immediately.

If I lost control here, the dormant impulses buried deep inside me might burst through the surface. Recognizing that I was rapidly entering a volatile state, I broke into a dead sprint. My priority was to isolate myself within the walls of my room before something snapped.

Perhaps it was because of that blinding rush of urgency.

When the strange woman had grabbed my shoulder, an unmistakable, pungent stench of heavy tobacco had washed over me—the exact same scent the Boss had described just minutes ago.

Yet in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that moment, consumed by the sudden robbery of my labor, the scent barely registered in my mind.