The System's Silence

After work, I headed toward the station three stops from the branch.

I entered the Starbucks cafe, ordered a drink, and settled into a corner seat.

After catching my breath, I unconsciously turned my gaze.

A quick glance revealed a system window floating in the corner of my vision.

Another line had been added to my career record. Other than that, nothing had changed.

It had been two days now with no new notifications or messages appearing. Just one extra item in the list.

“Why isn’t anything showing up?”

The Biryong Tournament was a big-money, well-regarded event. It carried the same prestige as the Presidential Cup among amateur tournaments. I had expected some system reward or at least a bigger shift in my status. But there was nothing. Just silence.

In the end, my conclusion was simple: “I’ve already gotten everything I can from the amateur circuit.”

The prize money and compact car were tempting, but they were bonuses, not goals. They added a touch of luxury to my real life. I had nothing more to gain on the amateur stage.

Just as that thought settled in my mind, a vibration rang out. The familiar name appeared on my smartphone screen.

Jang Yu-na 2-dan.

“Thank you. By the way, has any challenge request come in?”

I had wanted to face as many professional players as possible before the main tournament, especially those close to the top.

A moment later, a reply arrived.

I had revealed my identity as the amateur Kim In-ha at the start of the integrated preliminaries. There was no longer any reason to hide or lie. I had proven my strength.

But I had also lost something: the opportunities to play against professional players that the anonymity mask had made possible.

The reply cut off for a moment, then continued cautiously.

“Me?”

“Ah…”

I remembered the time I had gone to Magnolia Go Cafe. The young professionals had gathered to review my games and speculate about my identity. Now that I thought back, what emotions had they felt when they realized the amateur was me?

More than surprise, it had been bewilderment. Perhaps even disgust and discomfort.

I exhaled slowly and accepted it calmly. The ripples had been caused by my own choice, and I had to bear them fully.

“No choice.”

It was a shame the matches with Chinese professionals had fallen through, but maintaining my real-game feel through the research circle would do.

“Sunbae!”

I looked up to see Yeon-hui smiling brightly as she stood there. Since it was after work, she was in casual clothes—a bright knit sweater and a subtle checkered skirt. Her neatly styled hair and light makeup completed the neat, cute look that drew a few curious glances from the cafe.

“What are you looking at?”

“Oh, just talking to someone for a bit.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, you’re popular.”

“Popular? What do you mean?”

I gave a small laugh and wrapped up my conversation with Jang Yu-na 2-dan.

“You’re late.”

“Ah, um… work got pushed back.”

“Really? You’re not busy, are you?”

I tilted my head in question, and Yeon-hui gave an awkward smile.

Then she smoothly changed the subject.

“Oh, right. Are you going to some academy?”

“Academy?”

“The interview academy! ‘Until You Lose. I’m undefeated.’ It’s like a movie line.”

“I just thought of that line.”

At that, Yeon-hui burst into laughter.

“So you got the three million won prize money?”

“Yeah. I got it earlier.”

“Wow… then the car? Hey, let me drive!”

“Not yet. It said it takes about two weeks.”

“Kabi.”

Yeon-hui smiled regretfully, took a sip of her drink, and stared at me with her head tilted.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Suddenly I feel a distance. You swept through the amateur tournaments, you’ll be joining a pro team soon, and you’re even a bank model. It feels like I don’t really know you.”

“Hey. What distance are you talking about?”

“What kind of distance are we talking about?”

Yeon-hui’s question hit me like a hook and left me speechless.

“Huh? I mean…”

“Ah, don’t say it. Ah, I don’t want to hear it.”

Yeon-hui tapped her ear with her palm and cut herself off.

“What are you doing?”

“If I answer, it feels like we’ll get even farther apart.”

“Farther apart? Who? Me?”

“Yes, senior.”

Yeon-hui continued quietly with eyes free of any teasing.

“Honestly, it’s weird that you’re still working as a guard at this point.”

“That’s…”

I trailed off without a ready reply. I couldn’t bring up the system, and I didn’t want to brush it off either.

“Anyway…”

Yeon-hui took a small breath and went on.

“I’m happy that senior is doing well, but I don’t want you to stop… becoming a pro player is cool, but I don’t want to miss you every day when you’re at work…”

Her words trailed off with an awkward smile.

A bit strange, a bit honest.

I remembered the time she had first come to the branch as a new hire and confided in me about work issues with Assistant Section Chief Ha.

“Did I get close to you?”

A cautious, awkward smile.

At that sight, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Same building, same office. We ran into each other often, talked often. After work, sharing time like this had become natural.

“Hey, let’s stop with the sweet talk. Buy me dinner.”

“Sure. I’ll treat you.”

“For real? Today I’m going to eat well. They say you have to eat delicious food to clear your mood when you’re like this.”

Yeon-hui packed her bag with enthusiasm.

“What about tteokbokki? You like it, right?”

“…Huh? You remember?”

“Yeah. Back in university, remember?”

At that, the corners of Yeon-hui’s mouth lifted faintly.

It was obvious she was in a good mood, but she tried to hide it.

“Is there a good restaurant nearby?”

“Not exactly a restaurant, but there’s a new brand called Tteokmidang. I was thinking of trying it.”

“Huh? That place is hot on SNS and Shorts. I wanted to try it anyway.”

“Really?”

Yeon-hui’s approval made my heart settle.

“Good. I was wondering what your opinion would be anyway.”

“My opinion?”

“Yeah. Is it really delicious or just marketing?”

“If it’s just that, I know a thing or two. Let’s go, senior. I’m getting hungry.”

We got up from our seats and left the cafe.

We walked about five minutes along the main road until we saw a sign written in brush calligraphy.

Tteokmidang.

The interior was surprisingly spacious. It served Korean desserts but in a refined, non-cliché way. Under warm lighting, tteokbokki and sides cooked in the open kitchen were beautifully displayed.

Yeon-hui looked at the menu and exclaimed.

“There are so many kinds. There’s instant tteokbokki and the premium line that you boil. Bulhyang Charcoal, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cheese omelette… wow, it’s like a buffet.”

I nodded and casually looked around the store. My expression gradually darkened.

If a franchise like this opened near my mom’s shop…

The target customers might be different, but the impact couldn’t be avoided. Although the premium tteokbokki was the main focus, instant tteokbokki was also being sold.

“Should we try the Bulhyang Charcoal? The side meat stick fries look good.”

“What about the instant tteokbokki?”

“Sure.”

Yeon-hui operated the kiosk and placed the order.

A short time later, a steaming hot pot filled with appetizing ingredients was placed on the table.

Bubbling.

The broth began to boil.

At the same time, the instant tteokbokki I had ordered separately arrived.

Yeon-hui picked up a piece of tteok with her fork and said,

“Let’s eat. Mmm? It’s delicious. The sweet-salty flavor sticks to your mouth.”

“Really?”

I picked up a piece of tteok and took a big bite.

The flavors dissolved in my mouth. Rice cakes and a thick, savory broth-based sauce. It wasn’t as spicy as regular tteokbokki, but soft and refreshing. The perfect sweet-salty balance that went well with the fish cake.

“No strong aftertaste.”

With this taste…

I thought even the students passing by my mom’s shop would be satisfied.

Meanwhile, the premium tteokbokki in the hot pot began to boil.

Yeon-hui scooped up some broth with the tteok and ate it, exclaiming,

“Wow, it’s delicious.”

I took a spoonful.

The Bulhyang flavor was subtly infused, and the rich taste of the charcoal perfectly complemented the gochujang base.

“This is it?”

Our “Inha Bunsik” sold traditional tteokbokki. We had thought the customer base would be different, but

Instant line. Premium line. Takeout, delivery, marketing.

This could swallow up the entire market. The fatal sales impact was inevitable.

I quietly set down my spoon and stared at the steaming pot.

“…We need a countermeasure.”

Inside the bank.

The branch interior was quieter than usual. It was the slowest time of the week, but the entire branch was wrapped in an awkward tension.

The reason was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the notice posted at the entrance.

-Bank promotional filming is taking place at this branch. Please understand if you experience any inconvenience in using the facilities.

Slide.

The automatic doors opened and customers entered.

It was a rather stern-looking grandmother.

“Welcome. Ciel Bank. What business can I help you with?”

“Why do you have to ask me that…”

The grandmother’s sharp gaze turned toward my back.

The moment she spotted the filming team and cameras led by Team Leader Jeong Soo-yeon, her expression changed completely.

“Oh, I’m taking my grandson’s allowance. I need to withdraw some money.”

“I see. If you would please sit, I will call your number.”

I took a number tag from the machine and handed it to her.

The grandmother nodded with a sullen face and went to the waiting chair.

Then she glanced sideways at the camera.

“…”

It was the same as always—wearing the usual work clothes, guarding the entrance, guiding customers. But today it felt like she was working at a completely different post.

It was because the cameras of the filming team centered around Team Leader Jeong Soo-yeon had changed everyone’s attitude.

“Kim Jumin, are you okay? Work while drinking this.”

Assistant Section Chief Ha approached with an awkward honorific, holding a takeaway coffee from the Starbucks brand. His tone and actions were overly gentle. Someone who usually wouldn’t even meet my eyes was now trying to butter me up.

It was the same for Section Chief ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Park.

“Kim Jumin.”

He casually tossed out the words as he passed.

“…”

“If you have any difficult work when you’re busy, let me know anytime. I’ll help.”

I felt even more awkward hearing it.

Consideration I had never received before. I wondered what they were talking about in front of the camera, whether my name would even come up.

They seemed nervous, as if afraid.

It was clear they were aware of me.

“Thank you both.”

I gave a short bow.

Only after hearing my words did their stiff expressions soften a little.

A faint sense of relief passed by.

Yeon-hui, watching from the counter, smiled quietly. A playful light in her eyes as if she thought, “They’re all idiots.”

“Let’s move on to the next interview.”

Following Team Leader Jeong Soo-yeon’s instruction, the filming team moved toward the VIP room.

There, the branch manager stood with visible tension.

Dressed in a suit and neatly tied tie, he began speaking enthusiastically in front of the camera.

“Having a diligent, exemplary employee like Kim Jumin is our branch’s greatest asset. And by not being lazy about self-improvement…”

I watched the scene and quietly turned away.

I came out to the cash corner and checked the ATM status as usual.

Was the machine operating normally? Was there anyone needing help? Was the receipt disposal bin full? Had anyone left food behind?

I checked each one as usual and did my job.

“…Should be fine.”

It was when I finished the final check and turned to leave.

Slide.

The automatic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠doors opened.

An elderly woman in a work vest and pulled-down cap rushed in.

Her steps were quick but cautious, and her hand holding the smartphone pressed to her ear trembled slightly.

“I, I’m here now. Wait. I’m not familiar with the machine. Huh? It’s not disconnected. Keep listening…”

Her voice was low and hurried.

Her eyes shook anxiously, like someone being chased.

The gaze scanning the ATM was heavy with unease.

“Account number is three-six-seven… say it a little louder. I can’t hear well. Seven-six-three…”

At that moment.

My instinctive intuition roared.

A single word, a gesture, a small voice leaking from the man.

An emphasized sentence in the manual.

A typical pattern in educational videos.

Now, all those warnings overlapped perfectly in front of me.

This was

“Voice phishing.”

I reflexively held my breath.

And quietly took a step toward her.