10. The Board of Directors (2)
The door opened.
The 31st floor was one massive cylindrical room. Lights dotted the ceiling sporadically, and far off, pale blue sunlight streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows.
But the surroundings were dark.
I couldn't say why. Maybe motes of darkness floated in the air.
Department Head Jo walked out of the elevator without a word. I hesitated for a moment, then followed.
The floor was soft. Thick carpet covered the entire thing.
It felt like the pelt of some living beast—unsettling, somehow.
Simply put, the atmosphere was eerie.
The more we walked, the stronger it grew.
The distant windows showed no sign of getting closer, and now the floor emitted a subtle warmth, as if it were truly alive.
How much farther did we go?
A desk appeared. Behind it sat a woman with an ordinary face.
She wore a well-tailored business suit and glasses.
Probably a secretary or receptionist.
"Department Head Jo Gil-taek, you've arrived. Come on in."
Department Head Jo nodded. She returned the bow, then turned to me.
"And you?"
"Oh Sung-jin, the assistant manager who pre-observed this containment failure scenario."
Crisp, formal speech.
For a secretary to a high-up, that was normal enough. But seeing Department Head Jo put up with it was new.
Of course, I didn't have time to dwell on it.
"Ah, you're him? Younger than I expected. Your personnel file..."
The secretary picked up a document from inside her desk. She adjusted her glasses—she must have terrible eyesight.
"Says you joined the Field Division four years ago. But still just an assistant manager? That's light experience for an internal transfer."
She'd said something absurd. Her eyesight really was bad.
It was true I'd joined Mirae Co., Ltd. four years ago.
But back then, I thought it was just a normal megacorp. I had no idea about the Field Division, let alone anomalies.
...Honestly, it still felt fuzzy.
Like I couldn't grasp that this shit happened behind everyday life.
Anyway.
I didn't correct her. Thanks to Department Head Jo's advice.
Good call. He jumped in right away.
"Oh Sung-jin's Field Division assignment was last Friday. Before that, he was a civilian."
"Hm? Really? And he pre-observed a containment failure scenario?"
She adjusted her glasses again. Scanned the document. Then looked up.
"Hmmm... confirmed."
Her eyes—beyond the lenses—fixed on me. Half curiosity, half wariness.
My gut started twisting again.
And it didn't twist for no reason. It was my benchmark.
A way to spot the big shots!
She's higher up than she looks. Not regular staff—executive level at least!
I snapped to attention.
This woman wasn't just some secretary.
And that thought proved right soon enough.
"Fine. Welcome, Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin. I'm Executive Director ■■■, secretary to the Mirae Group board. Looking forward to your performance."
I couldn't hear her name.
Made sense.
Made sense, really. Mirae Co., Ltd. was shady as hell.
Execs' identities were classified, obviously.
The unhearable name was probably some anomaly trick. And that plain face? Disguise, no doubt.
Kang Mi-young's words came back.
"Field Division employees' bodies stop being human at some point. Usually starts at department head level, but I'm elite, so."
Meaning this executive director in front of me was closer to an anomaly than a person!
Executive director?
And worse than that—the fact she was an executive director.
Why the hell an executive director?
Department Head Jo had warned me we'd meet bigwigs, so I'd half-expected it.
Uh... ah?
I'd prepared. Deep breaths aplenty.
Only regret was skipping the calming pills—but that seemed overkill. Execs were still human, right? Like meeting a division commander in the army.
...No.
Aaah?
Not overkill at all! Far from it—totally justified!
I should've taken the damn pills!
Executive director? Why her?
Vision blurring, dizziness hitting, when Department Head Jo elbowed my side.
I snapped back. The executive director was offering her hand.
What? A death threat?
No, idiot—she wants a handshake!
I grabbed it hastily.
My ingrained business instincts executed a flawless professional shake.
"Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin of Follow-up Special Duty Division 1! Please take care of me!"
Too loud?
No. Clear but not shouting—perfect volume.
Brain in panic, body on autopilot business mode.
As a lowly employee, this was impeccable exec etiquette.
But...
Why wasn't she letting go?
Why the stare-down?
And why...
"Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin—or should I say, what exactly are you assisting as an assistant manager?"
...ask something like that?
"Was that vague? Let me rephrase. I, for example, represent the company's interests on the board. My job is to support the company itself as one of its members. That's why I'm an executive director—and secretary to the board."
A bit roundabout, but she meant registered, inside director.
In other words, C-suite. Not exact, but close enough.
"You're an assistant manager because you're assisting with something, right? Isn't that so?"
And now the C-suite asks: Who the hell are you, and what do you do?
Brain froze. No answer.
Obviously.
I'm just an assistant manager! And 'assistant manager' is a rank, not a role!
Any assistant manager who could answer that was the owner's kid.
Or soon-to-be kid.
Or maybe the owner's spouse. Male or female.
"Executive Director."
Tears blurring my vision, trapped in agony—Department Head Jo saved me.
"Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin is still green. No real duties yet—just learning the ropes."
"Is that so?"
Her sharp gaze pierced Department Head Jo's face.
He responded with impeccable business speak.
"Yes. But he's sharp. He'll adapt fast and show his stuff."
"Good. We'll watch."
Her sharp gaze swung back, stabbing my face mercilessly.
Only then did she release my hand.
...I wanted to cry.
The tightrope chat with the executive director ended. She returned to her desk, picked up the receiver.
"We're entering."
A door appeared behind the desk.
Black, sturdy wood—ebony, maybe.
It seemed to suck in all nearby light.
"Department Head Jo Gil-taek, Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin. Come in."
The executive director, opening the door, beckoned us.
We stepped inside. Total darkness.
Absence of light.
And I hated the absence of light.
If not for knowing the top brass were in here, I'd have screamed.
This won't last, right? Big shots are here, so...
Deep breath. Didn't help.
Throat tightening—then light poured from the ceiling.
A table. We stood at the center of a donut-shaped round table, hollow in the middle.
The executive director waved her hand, ghosted across to the other side.
Ten seats. Nine occupied. Curtains. Shadows.
Numbers etched on the curtains. Division codes—easy to spot.
Silence. Then someone spoke.
"You've finally arrived."
Code 04: Containment. Head of it, board member—so director.
Thus, Chief Containment Director.
Tension like my breath might stop.
"Don't you grasp the gravity? A containment failure observed, and you're so casual?"
Reprimand followed. Chief Containment Director was furious.
"Even the directors arrived earlier than you. And you're not execs—just employees..."
Made sense he'd be touchy. Containment failure was his responsibility.
Screw-up meant maybe losing his job.
"Enough, Chief Containment Director. They did their best. Didn't you see the report?"
Code 03 cut in: Ethics.
Ridiculous for this company to have an Ethics Division, but it existed.
"What? What did you say?"
Anyway, Chief Containment Director's rage shifted to Chief Ethics Director.
"Chief Ethics Director, you saying it's not your responsibility?"
"Of course not. I'm just talking efficiency."
"Ha, that's rich. The guy who hampers company efficiency most, lecturing on efficiency?"
The chiefs' spat didn't last.
"Quiet. We're not here to assign blame."
Code 01 spoke.
And as far as I knew, code 01 was...
Field Division.
Tension spiked beyond anything before. I stared at the lit curtain 01.
That's the Field Division Head.
My highest direct superior sat behind it.
"Containment failure hasn't happened yet. We're here for countermeasures. So..."
Like the others, just a silhouette.
But somehow, I knew he was looking right at us.
"Department Head Jo Gil-taek, Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin. Brief us on the containment failure observation."
Briefing done.
Whether it went well? No clue.
"So the conclusion is some lowly assistant manager is the key figure in this containment failure. Incredible."
04 muttered. 03 followed up.
"Chief Containment Director, ease up. We knew something would happen during this new hire batch. We prepared."
"Prepared? By sending ragtag staff to a backwater division? Then why bother calling these two for a briefing!"
Suddenly learned the full story of Deputy Choi Soo-jung's transfer to our division.
No time to freak, though. 04 turned to me.
"Well? Speak, Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin. Do you think you're suited for this?"
Department Head Jo tapped my hand. Meaning he'd answer.
"Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin is..."
"Stop."
Field Division Head cut him off.
"Not asking you, Department Head Jo Gil-taek. Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin, you answer."
Silence.
Gut twisting.
Sweaty palms.
How...?
The shadows watched me. All chiefs with "chief" before their titles.
One slip, and it wasn't just me who'd pay.
What do I do?
Brain raced. Thoughts tangled. All eyes on me. Even Department Head Jo sweating on his bald head!
And I was just a lowly assistant manager. No reason or responsibility to speak here.
Hell, I'd failed three times in anomalies already? 'Oh Sung-jin' called himself 3rd run...
Wait.
3rd run?
Lightning struck.
'He' said 3rd run.
Not third—3rd run.
Reports prioritize efficiency. No reason to use 'run' over simpler words unless necessary.
Meaning there was a reason for 'run'.
And I knew it...
I've been deployed three runs. Prior runs had no 'me'.
And all those prior runs? Failures.
After, the company saw potential in 1st-run 'Oh Sung-jin'.
Result: I handle this from here on.
So I had to.
Sorted my thoughts. From the directors' view. How to explain to them?
Directors were management. Prioritized efficiency above all.
My three deployments? Company's decision.
Most efficient. Closest to success.
Done thinking. Opened my mouth.
"...I trust the company's judgment. So I'm the right one for this."
I'd just announced—in business speak—that sidelining me was self-sabotage, and doubting their own call made them idiots.
Moment later.
"That's all."
Opinions voiced. Did I convince the board? No idea.
Silence enveloped us.
No more statements. No heated debate or emotions.
The not-quite-human directors behind the curtains hit harder than ever.
"Meeting adjourned. Time to vote."
08—the executive director—broke the quiet.
Voting was smooth. 9 yes, 0 no. Unanimous, minus the empty seat.
"Resolution passed. Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin is responsible for this containment failure scenario."
01 declared. Then addressed me directly.
"Assistant Manager Oh Sung-jin."
"...Yes."
"The board's judgment has never erred. Like how internal transfers always shake up the Field Division."
Gut twisting.
"But this resolution... even we find it questionable. So give us a word of resolve. Reassure us."
Gut, really, twisting.
"I'll... do my best..."
I'll do my best..."
Brief silence. Then the directors laughed. My answer too textbook.
Amid the laughter, 01 continued.
"Best isn't enough. Give your all."
I'd heard it.
A mere assistant manager, addressed by at least a senior exec—maybe the president.
Conclusion reached.
I'm fucked.
No doubt about it.
I want to die...