12. Dangsan Dowon (2)
Do you know Save the Children? That group's all about sponsoring poor kids around the world.
But the organization the world really needs isn't Save the Children.
To put it bluntly, what we need is Save the Adults.
"Oh, Junior... about that presentation of yours..."
From a strict utilitarian standpoint, there are far more suffering adults in the world than unfortunate kids.
"It's intriguing, but isn't it a bit too vague? Especially the part about countermeasures for undiscovered anomalies."
Now that my presentation was over, Jo Gil-taek's sharp rebuttal hit me right in the gut. In that moment, I became an adult who yearned more than anyone for Save the Adults to exist.
"The way I see it, it sounds like pie in the sky. No supplementary explanation?"
Jo Gil-taek paused there.
'Let's see you counter that.' His face said it all.
And then...
'What do I do?'
No need to explain—his impression was spot on.
Why? Because my presentation style crammed in endless info that wouldn't click for anyone without the Office Work trait.
'Problem is, I can't exactly say that.'
No doubt about it—the company hated my "trait."
A junior who could access classified info anytime was less a person and more an anomaly from the company's perspective.
So I had no choice but to respond like this.
"But we can't deny that it's necessary. You've already agreed to that much, haven't you, sir?"
"True enough. But what I'm saying is we need a more concrete plan."
Jo Gil-taek continued.
"Don't take this the wrong way. Considering you've only been in this world a short time, it was a solid presentation. But in this industry, clarity is everything."
My hair stood on end. And right then, he added, "Otherwise, you die. Usually."
Something was off.
This guy, who normally acted like a salary Lupin, was suddenly spouting wise axioms.
"Skipping straight from test site flaws to industrial espionage? That's suspicious from the jump. Instead of that leap, why not just request a site change?"
Why... why?
Why did this unmotivated baldhead get so sharp on this?
Twenty years of tenure sharpening his instincts?
"A site change request isn't feasible. It could introduce unnecessary variables."
"Enough to risk dismissing the chance of a preemptive anomaly outbreak?"
Yes. Absolutely necessary!
Because this containment failure had nothing to do with the anomaly designated as the test site, Dangsan Dowon!
'But I can't spill details about my trait...'
I sank deeper into thought.
How to convince him? How to get past Jo Gil-taek?
He spoke again just as I neared panic.
"One more time: the direction's fine. I'm saying this won't convince upper management. We're talking full authority, total support—but this is a black project."
That was the hint.
The company didn't operate like this. Efficiency issues.
"Black project" meant black budgets too. No big money moving around.
Total support? Just a few extra hands, some gear, and a handful of chickens—each costing ten million won.
So...
'Make them see that changing sites costs more than it gains.'
I had it. The company guarded against personnel losses in weird ways.
Hit that nerve.
"This operation involves the lives of nearly 2,000 people. Yes, 2,000. Even a giant like Mirae Co., Ltd. can't ignore that scale of loss."
Jo Gil-taek nodded slightly. Keep going.
"That's why we can't overlook a single possibility. We must maximize what I've confirmed from Mirae's futures."
I gauged his reaction, eyes pleading that's enough, right?
"Fine. Say more."
Not enough. Personnel losses wouldn't sway the top.
Then what nerve to hit?
...Assets.
Yes. Assets. Show them there's no need to discard cards already in hand.
The company hated inefficiency—and this was blatant inefficiency!
"Changing the site is inefficient. And the inefficiency here isn't just the losses from the switch."
Jo Gil-taek cracked a faint smile.
I was right. Now drive it home!
"Mirae—that's our biggest weapon. If things proceed as is, we know what future we're facing."
"And?"
"Ignorance is the biggest enemy here. But we know what we don't know. We know. No reason to shuffle our hand back into the deck. That's massive loss."
Jo Gil-taek grinned. Then clap, clap, clap.
"Bravo."
I couldn't even muster a faint smile. My back was soaked in cold sweat.
My gut said it wasn't over—and sure enough, he continued.
"But... Oh Junior—or should I say Acting Senior? Even dressed up, it's just repeating your earlier points, right?"
Mountain after mountain.
But it was fine. I'd seized control of the conversation.
"Yes. My answer won't provide crystal-clear solutions."
"Then why should we accept it?"
Because.
The company would want it.
"Because it's closest to what the company desires."
Silence. Staring contest. Tension.
Finally, Jo Gil-taek grinned.
"Hey, punk. I said 'we,' not the company? Even I have face to save as your boss. You gonna follow orders even if they say die?"
Did it fail?
No—if so, it'd be rebuttal, not griping.
It worked!
"Still... not bad."
"You mean...?"
"I'm for your direction, Acting Senior. Anyone else?"
No one shook their head.
"Good. Do as you like then. Your project, your responsibility."
Wait, if it's approved, why say it so chillingly...?
My inner turmoil stayed unspoken. The meeting wasn't over.
"Alright, others—opinions?"
With Jo Gil-taek's declaration, toxic phrases clashed in the air, shattered, and scattered like dust.
And at the end.
"By the way... you agents and juniors ever entered Dangsan Dowon?"
"......"
"......"
"......"
"Nope? Figures. You haven't done new recruit exams."
We realized we'd been saddled with unwanted extra work—like unscheduled anomaly entry.
"Hey, ease up. This is like the service oath. Real-combat training. Got it?"
Deep down, I desperately wished for that secret Save the Adults lurking somewhere.
The meeting ended. Lunchtime neared, and Dangsan Dowon entry was set for after eating.
"Even Geumgang Mountain's best after a meal—what makes anomalies different? Anyway, eat what you want. My stomach's off today."
Jo Gil-taek waved dismissively and left.
My pants pocket buzzed almost simultaneously. I pulled out my phone for a quick check—a text.
'15th floor terrace.'
I glanced at the half-open door. An empty hallway stretched outside. Looked like no peaceful lunch today.
That's when Ko Kyung-min spoke up, as I sighed inwardly.
"Sung-jin, cafeteria again today?"
Meaning: join me?
Bonding with a fellow transfer might be smart, but...
"Nah, skipping. Thinking about anomalies upsets my stomach."
I had prior plans now. No helping it.
Of course, excuses were needed. Didn't want to sour colleague relations and wreck my office life again.
"Fasting sharpens the mind, right? As project lead, clear-headedness is key."
Kyung-min muttered.
"Indeed... sound logic. Guess I'll skip lunch from now on too."
Uh oh.
Backfire.
He took my plausible excuse way too seriously.
"No, no need. Everyone's different. Fasting clears my head, but for you..."
I backpedaled desperately, but no dice.
"Then I'll test it myself."
"......"
His eyes sparkled.
Intimidating.
What did he expect from me? I was just a plain junior, civilian till recently.
"Clear mind is crucial."
I knew that gleam from back then. I was under expectations.
...Why?
"Uh... yeah."
Wasn't he a long-time freelancer? Why pin hopes on me?
"Yeees... got it."
No answer came. I just wrapped it up.
"Mm. Yes. I'll head out then."
Kyung-min left after that. Even skipping lunch, no one lingers at work.
I watched the women huddle over lunch options, then slipped out quietly.
15th floor was quick.
Glass doors opened to a garden—Mirae Co., Ltd.'s employee welfare perk.
More like exec smoking lounge, though.
Regulars don't dare come—too conspicuous.
Suits who screamed "higher-up" eyed me: Who's this kid?
'Welfare, right? Should be for all...'
Too awkward. I quickened my pace. Soon, face-to-face with my summoner.
"Oh, you came."
What good were words? Jo Gil-taek.
Cig unlit in mouth, he waved from the no-smoking bench.
"Sit. Smoke?"
"No. Quit after college."
"Lucky bastard."
He chuckled.
"Yeah, quitting's best. Fail then, and it's ugly—bald, beer gut..."
Right on cue, his scalp gleamed.
"Not that it happened to me. Anomalies."
Embarrassed, he stared skyward silently.
Anxiety crept in. Being called aside by the boss rarely meant good news.
And my anxiety slipped out.
"Anyway, may I ask what this is about?"
"Nah, nothing big. Just something to tell you."
His teasing made me more uneasy.
And he pounced on it.
"Hey, Oh Sung-jin. Good at office politics?"
Sudden shift.
Confident in it, but admitting to the boss felt sleazy.
"Office... politics?"
Played dumb. Best move.
"Yeah. Looked like you had it in the meeting. Right?"
He saw through me?
No, play neutral.
But he pressed on, knowing all.
"What's with you and Senior Choi?"
I flashed an innocent smile.
"......Haha."
"Hm... personal issues, huh."
He wagged the cig between his lips, glanced, grinned.
"Hey, Oh Sung-jin. Advice."
Top five scary boss lines. Instant tension. Eager listen mode.
"I'll take it to heart."
"Don't—half-listen. Not scolding."
"......"
"Anyway. No eternal enemies here. Yesterday's foe allies with an excuse."
Random again. He wagged the cig.
"Cutthroat world. Pretend they're yours, even if they use you."
"......Is that so?"
"Yep. Key: know they're using you. You said it: 'Unknown's the biggest foe.'"
I tilted my head—didn't click. He side-eyed me.
"Unknown's scariest. Known ones, you can screw over."
"......"
"No guess? Simple: don't make enemies."
"Some still come at you..." He continued. "Smash 'em total. Kill so they can't rise."
He turned. Stared straight.
That instant.
Odd familiarity crawled up my spine.
"That's 'real' office politics. Human relations scarier than anomalies—pure venom. Get it? Half-ass it, no happy retirement."
He tsked, snapped the unlit cig.
"Eh, you'll manage. Politics pros always do."
Unease swelled. Jo Gil-taek felt too friendly lately.
Definitely weird.
And as always, he read my face.
"Why? Weird? Suddenly wanna be buddies?"
"......"
"But you know? You've been like this from the start. And that's odd."
Yes.
Looking back, it was strange.
I was standoffish.
My politics weren't so sloppy as to show on my face.
'When did I get this close to him? When did we start chatting openly?'
But he knew.
As if, as if...
"Feels anomalous, right? Weird. We've been boss-subordinate what, two weeks?"
Yeah. Like an anomaly.
Strange.
"Heard this? Mirae field staff stop being human at some point."
"......Yes."
He smirked, and my mouth moved against my will.
Strange. Didn't know what I wanted anymore.
"Real advice: talking politics is cheating. Topic: traits."
He whispered. Easily exposed my secret fragment.
"That meeting? Your trait, right? Not your thoughts."
Casual, like nothing.
Silence. Shock. Terror. Speechless.
"Don't rely on it. Traits are what make you less human."
His smirk hardened, and all the friendliness flipped.
"Got it?"
"That... that..."
I stammered in confusion; he slapped my back.
"Snap out of it, punk. Don't space."
That instant.
Unease vanished. I clutched my chest, gasping.
A question hit.
Overkill method, but real advice.
"Sir? That just now...?"
He wryly smiled at my question.
"You guessed. My trait. Can't control it anymore."
"Related to this advice? Your trait, I mean. Or..."
"...Half for me."
"Half?"
He rolled his eyes, chuckled, pulled another cig.
"Emotion closest to baseless love? Fear."
He stood, waved, left the terrace.
I stared blankly at his back until it vanished.
For a long time.