10. The Board of Directors (1)

My head throbbed. It felt like a nail had been driven into my forehead.

The monitor was showing a blue screen. I stared blankly at it for a moment before burying my face in my palms.

It was morning. Work hadn't started yet, and the office's drab colors felt utterly alien.

That very ordinariness was violently jarring after witnessing my own death.

"Sung-jin."

"Eek—?"

Someone tapped my shoulder.

I couldn't even scream—I just tumbled off my chair.

"What's with the fuss?"

It was Department Head Ham.

"D-D-Department Head?"

"...Must've been a pretty gruesome death if it left you speechless. Anyway, you're out. I'll send you the form—write up the report."

Department Head Ham rattled it off casually.

The screen went black right then. I had no idea what was happening and just alternated between staring at her face and the monitor.

"Ah, damn, it's doing it again. Hang on."

She muttered as she smacked the computer tower a few times. The screen flickered, then lit up.

"There. Fixed. Work hasn't started yet, so handle any personal stuff first."

Department Head Ham headed back to her desk. Only then could I finally crawl back into my chair.

A little later.

Deputy Director Jo arrived. It was just before the end of morning rush hour—a late arrival.

"I'm here."

"Good morning, sir."

I greeted him. He nodded curtly, then spotted Department Head Ham waving lazily.

"Huh? Ham Seo-yoon?"

"Yes, sir. Department Head Ham Seo-yoon is back from field duty. Nice to see her, right?"

Department Head Ham saluted playfully. Deputy Director Jo scratched the back of his head vigorously.

"Today's her first day back? Man, time flies. Totally slipped my mind."

"...Nice to see her, right?"

"Huh? Oh, uh... yeah."

For some reason, Deputy Director Jo started watching Department Head Ham carefully.

He scanned the office, spotted me, and hurried over.

"Oh, right, Ham. You don't know this guy yet? This is Oh Sung-jin, our team's new hire. I've been watching him—he seems decent so far......"

Department Head Ham cut him off.

"I know him. Pretty sharp kid."

"Oh, you do. Anyway, get along. He's a bit of an airhead, but the basics are there."

Deputy Director Jo muttered quickly and slapped my shoulder. A bead of sweat rolled down his gleaming scalp.

In the end, I was the confused one.

What the hell is going on? I don't get any of this.

It felt like their hierarchy had flipped. The documents I'd seen last time showed no sign of that.

Were they fighting over lines of power? Inside the same department?

Maybe. So which one was the new lifeline?

Hmm......

...Don't overthink it. Just gives me a headache.

I decided to stick with whoever was helpful at the moment.

Playing both sides wasn't usually my style, but...

I'm on the brink of death here.

Line wars could wait—survival came first.

"S-Sir..."

I wedged myself between Deputy Director Jo and Department Head Ham, who were glaring at each other.

Deputy Director Jo brightened.

"Yeah! Our newbie! What's up? Got a question?"

He kept glancing nervously at Department Head Ham. It made me uneasy too.

Before speaking, I looked at her. She winked. I nodded and opened my mouth.

"Actually, something happened to me earlier..."

I reported what I'd seen in the "watch three ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠times and die" video.

As the story went on, his reactions shifted from "Uh-huh" to "Hm?" then "Hm, uh-hm..." to "Huh? Hm?"

By the end.

"...And that's how I confirmed my own death. It's abnormal."

"Wha... what? Say that again."

"...And that's how I confirmed my own—"

Deputy Director Jo waved his hands.

"Not that, idiot! Of course you die in a 'watch three times and die' video! You think I'm asking about that crap? What about the company?"

I felt a little hurt.

But I couldn't stay quiet.

"The company failed."

I spat it out bluntly. I wouldn't have normally, but for some reason, emotions slipped out easily around Deputy Director Jo.

"......"

He furrowed his brow.

I flinched. Gauged the mood. But it didn't seem to be about my tone.

Department Head Ham wore the exact same expression.

"Sir, this..."

"Yeah... looks like it."

The mood turned grave. They stayed composed, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the pallor creeping into their cheeks was unmistakable.

"Damn it, why now of all times..."

"I just got back from field duty..."

By then, even I couldn't bear the anxiety.

What the hell is going on? Why can't anyone in this company just speak plainly?

The agonizing didn't last long.

"Sir? Department Head? What exactly is happening?"

Silence.

They turned to me. Their gazes hit like stomach acid.

"Oh Sung-jin."

Deputy Director Jo spoke.

"That sounds like a containment failure scenario."

I was exempt from morning duties.

"Oh Sung-jin, skip morning work. No—hand it all to Department Head Ham."

"Is that okay..."

"It's fine! Totally fine! Obviously! Start with the report. What you saw, what you heard, what anomalies you witnessed."

With that, Deputy Director Jo started making calls. Grave terms flew by, followed by low mutters or shouts filling the office.

My gut twisted into knots.

Feels like a hole's gonna burn through my stomach.

Still, I had to write the report.

If I broke down here, it wouldn't end with just a hole in my stomach.

I forced myself to download the form from Department Head Ham and hammered the keyboard.

The keys felt stiff.

The blank word processor page and blinking cursor terrified me. No context, no flow.

This wouldn't have been so blank normally...

Department Head Ham's grave advice added to the pressure.

"Sung-jin, treat this like your big important project. It really is."

She'd said that the moment I typed the first line—and I ended up deleting everything I'd squeezed out. I was on the verge of tears.

I'm just an assistant manager. Not cut out for projects...

This sucked.

A bit later. Lunchtime approaching.

Done...

I finished the report. Quality was crap—a mishmash of guesses and leaps.

But it was my best.

Data was too scarce.

Still, I got it done somehow.

I printed it from Word. The office was tomb-silent. Department Head Ham and Deputy Director Jo watched my every move.

Whirr—. The printer's faint vibration stopped.

Deputy Director Jo shot up from his seat. I slowly reached out, grabbed the printed report.

With the hot paper's warmth, my trait activated.

Text burrowed into my pupils. My sweat-soaked back went cold.

This is...

Reporter: Oh Sung-jin. My name. Same affiliation. No mistaking it.

The person who wrote this document is me.

And not me at the same time.

Because I've never written anything like this.

I skimmed the report as fast as possible.

It was divided into preface and entries by round.

Dated tomorrow. The form's dry language described an event that hadn't happened yet.

A flash hit my mind—a realization about my trait's limits.

One. My trait, Office Work, activates on contact with company anomaly-related documents.

Two. All documents created within Mirae Co., Ltd. are treated as "files."

Three. The ability has no spatial or temporal limits.

Conclusion.

The report came from the future.

Morning duties ended. Lunch began, and weary colleagues shuffled like zombies down the hall to the cafeteria.

But I couldn't go.

"Oh Sung-jin, follow me."

Deputy Director Jo, holding my report, led the way. We headed not down, but up.

"......"

"......"

Through the panoramic glass, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ground receded. Speakers played elevator classical, like in a hotel.

We weren't in the freight elevator. That explained the silence.

"Hey, Oh Sung-jin."

Making a mockery of my thoughts, Deputy Director Jo shattered the icy quiet effortlessly.

"Yes, sir."

"Watch your words from now on. I'll handle the talking, but they might question you too."

Vague, evasive speech again.

I now knew it was the defense mechanism of someone who'd learned too many unspeakable truths.

They told me not to tell anyone about the containment failure. When that piles up...

Deputy Director Jo had over 20 years at this insane company.

Meaning he'd been through this a dozen times more than me.

Of course his lips are sealed. Not frustrating—it's PTSD.

Fortunately, he wasn't the type to hide info from his team. Ask, and he'd answer.

"May I ask what's happening up here?"

"Seeing the big shots. Means the company takes your report seriously."

...Shouldn't have asked.

"Anyway, if they question you, no personal opinions. Just facts. What you saw, heard, perceived. Got it?"

"......Yes, sir."

"Good. You'll do fine. You're handling this well already. Keep it up."

He muttered and slapped my back.

"Got it? I trust you."

Because of that, I couldn't ask how to answer questions that inevitably required personal opinion.

Truth be told, I realized even if I knew, it wouldn't change much—and shut my mouth.

Ding—.

The elevator arrived.

We'd arrived one floor below the top.