Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Ultimate Troublemaker
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After realizing the shocking truth that I was the real voluntary slave.
I quietly set down the rubber gloves I was holding and slipped away from my seat under the pretense of cleaning the chairs.
Phew, that was close.
I almost fell for their scheme.
Thanks to my quick wits, I saw through their sinister intentions in advance. If I'd been an ordinary person, I'd have been totally oblivious and ended up collateral for those two.
Probably renamed Hyo-sik and forced to work double shifts every day.
They'd eat premium ramen costing over 1,000 won a pack while feeding me the cheapest stuff.
Hell, they might even call kimchi a luxury and hand me danmuji instead.
Ugh, horrifying.
Cleaning the seats seemed easy enough on its own, but with a whopping 300 of them, it took some serious grit.
They say a blank sheet of paper is hardest to draw on, and this felt like scrubbing a whole phone book.
Scraaaape.
Swish swish.
I wiped down the keyboards like playing a melody on a wet rag.
Thud thud.
I rhythmically slammed them against the floor to shake out the debris stuck in the keys.
No matter how much I did, the end was nowhere in sight. If there was such a thing as the Eight Hells of repetition, this had to be it.
Lost in a trance-like state as I diligently cleaned the empty seats, I happened to spot a shiny coin next to a keyboard.
"Whoa, 500 won? Nice!"
Under the PC bang's Tenth Commandment that lost coins belong to the finder.
I snatched it up and tucked it safely into my pocket.
The unexpected windfall lifted my spirits.
A tune even started humming from my lips.
Whistling a cheerful melody as I scanned for more forgotten coins, that's when...
"…."
"…."
My eyes met the customer next to me.
The startled customer staring at me.
And the organizational grunt caught red-handed embezzling.
A suffocating silence fell between us.
You... saw that, huh?
The perfect crime scene busted.
No choice now.
Twist the witness's neck and eliminate the threat...
...or instead, I quietly raised my index finger.
Not to poke out the customer's eye.
I brought it to my lips in a silent gesture.
What you just saw is something you'll take to your grave. Otherwise, I can't guarantee what'll happen to that vixen daughter and bunny wife of yours in the future.
Your wife might order chicken behind your back, or your daughter's kindergarten drawing might have mom and sis but no dad.
You don't want that tragedy, right? Nod slowly if you understand.
With a straight face, he nodded once.
Nod.
Nod.
A peace accord so solid, even the UN would weep.
The PC bang had hundreds of seats, and I'd cleaned a matching number, but sadly, no more lost coins turned up.
Despairing at the tragedy, I went to the bathroom to wring out a mop for the final floor cleaning.
"Fuck, what the hell did you just say?!"
A furious roar echoed from afar.
Wondering what was up, I headed over and saw a flustered part-timer A, Choi Myung-jin.
Next to her stood a male customer, face beet red, jabbing a finger at her.
"What's going on?"
From what she explained, it went like this.
The computer lagged too much to use.
It ruined his promotion match.
So give him a refund for the time.
My eyes shifted to the offending computer.
Blink blink.
What the...?
Was I seeing things?
It showed a solid three hours of usage logged.
Damn, lagged so bad but squeezed every penny, huh?
A promotion match taking three hours? Even I, who'd never played, knew that was bullshit.
Let alone for Choi Myung-jin, the senior part-timer who'd been here longer than me—she knew exactly how absurd that lie was.
Rules say no refunds. Should've called a part-timer sooner or switched seats.
Standard back-and-forth turned into an emotional showdown.
The ultimate troublemaker, refund fanatic, had appeared—popping up once a day like clockwork.
'Yeah, wouldn't be right without a refund troll.'
Time to show off the skills honed from years of part-time gigs.
"Aigoo, sir, I get you're upset, but let's calm down and talk it out nice and easy, yeah?"
You can't spit on a smiling face, after all.
I approached with a grin, and his gaze locked onto me.
"And who the hell are you? Another part-timer?"
"If by 'part-timer' you mean someone providing limited-term labor, then yes, sir. I am indeed."
His face screamed, What kinda bullshit is that?
Angry people get flustered by nonsense and cool off.
Sure enough, my sophisticated humor eased his rage—the corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
Or rather...
Twisted.
Like he was sneering.
"Part-timers ain't supposed to mock customers like this! Get your boss out here!"
Customer Class Final Technique: Boss Summon. Choi Myung-jin let out a small sigh.
But now I noticed something off about the guy.
Couldn't even stand straight, swaying like he'd been drinking.
Sure enough, a faint booze stench hit me.
His red face wasn't just anger—it was drunken flush.
Two part-timers caught in the side trap of a drunk masquerading as a regular troublemaker.
A quick eye contact exchanged: Too tough solo, team up?
Meanwhile, he blinked at me, scanning up and down.
"Ha! Why're all the part-timers here such messes? One guy's got no backbone, and this chick shows up to work all dolled up like a flower."
Snide jab.
Right in my sore spot.
My conscience twinged too.
Sure, I was forced into it, but that didn't matter here.
What mattered was full makeup for a mere part-time gig.
Ye-eun, see? That's why this bro said no.
Dragging me despite my protests led to this snowball.
Caught off-guard by the DDoS attack, I shrank, and he crowed triumphantly again.
"See that? One word and you're offended? Gonna cry now? Huh? Life's so easy for you girls, right? Shed a few tears, sniffle a bit, and guys come running with pity."
What the fuck?
This asshole turned me—a drought-hardened cactus of a soul—into a crybaby in one shot.
I looked up in disbelief, and a gasp escaped him.
Choi Myung-jin eyed me and him anxiously, alternating.
Hey, Myung-jin. It's not like that.
Bro doesn't cry.
This delusional nut was spreading baseless slander as truth.
About to deny it quick to save my dear colleague from the rumor...
But he beat me to it.
"That's why women should stick to laundry at home."
Incredible—he wasn't just delusional; he packed full-blown sexist ideology. A grade-A piece of shit.
Me? Laundry was daily life, so no hit.
But the key was: his indiscriminate bombing included my little sister.
What?! Making my Ye-eun do laundry?!
Our family's pampered jewel, never touched a drop of water.
Imagining those delicate hands ravaged by housewife's dermatitis nearly squeezed tears from my decade-dry ducts.
My face twisted at the vile attack on family.
He caught it perfectly.
"Holy shit! Now you're scowling? If you don't wanna hear harsh truths, stay home meekly. Women gotta be proper, y'know."
Women gotta be proper.
Proper.
Y'know.
Y'know.
His words echoed like a mantra.
Not content with turning us siblings into sheltered virgins, he slapped a full curfew on us.
What era does this dinosaur think it is?
Guy must be a Joseon-era time traveler.
Then my patience whispered.
'Gonna take this?'
I shook my head, and it whispered again.
'Revenge... right?'
In my imagination.
Ye-eun, trapped at home doing laundry, forbidden from going out.
Her vengeance.
I nodded faintly and said,
"Yes, sir. Your mother must be so proper, she does laundry like a pro."
"H-Hyo-jeong!"
"Wh-what? What'd you just say?"
Choi Myung-jin tried to stop me frantically, but I was an eight-ton dump truck with busted brakes.
For my sister's free outings, I'd gladly torch hell itself.
"Your mom's quite the crier, huh? Assuming all women are like that."
Guzzling booze midday, stirring shit at the PC bang—home life's gotta be a nightmare.
Definitely a fire-attribute filial son.
A serial arsonist torching his parents' hearts had slunk into the PC bang to spark more chaos.
"You little shit, mom-ripping me?!"
"Bullshit, you started the mom-rips."
"H-Hyo-jeong, calm down!"
Wow, hypocrisy much?
If you punch first, brace for the counter.
Throwing a tantrum over a mom-rip he started himself was pathetic.
Overreacting 'cause it hit home, right?
"Argh! Think I won't hit you 'cause you're a girl?!"
He yelled, raising a hand. I glared back fearless.
The commotion drew PC bang customers lifting heads like meerkats one by one.
Initially amused spectators now buzzed with concern.
Hey, no biggie.
Even if Eun-gun beats me, no nosebleed, no tears.
Don't worry, keep gaming.
Queen never cry.
Perfect chance to debunk the rumor.
Time to prove I'm no crybaby—I'm General Guan Yu.
'Oh, drew drew.'
Luck out, snag a fat settlement.
Happened before.
Back in my evil-eyed, guts-only days.
Middle-school me, tanking hits for easy cash.
Memories of facing off troublemakers at the station flooded back fresh as yesterday.
Thanks to them, big help to family finances.
That era's demon stirring awake.
'….'
No, wait.
Time out.
My inner demon paused, confused.
[Middle-school Han Jeong-ho: Why, master?]
'Can't have marks on my face.'
It sighed softly and faded away.
Reason I banished it quick?
A childhood memory hit.
[Bro, what's with your face? Panda cosplay at school?]
[Ah, popularity rivaling Tutu Bao.]
[Bullshit. Which bitch? That girl who confessed before? She get friends to jump you? Want me to handle her?]
[Ye-eun, do I look like I get beat by girls?]
[Yeah. Totally.]
My spunky Ye-eun from way back.
Born a guy, she'd command armies. Seeing her bro's black eyes, she fumed uncontrollably.
'Can't worry sis as her bro.'
I changed tack.
Ditch settlement, full defense.
From his raised hand and stance, no pro fighter.
Plus blackout drunk.
Priority: protect face.
Other spots hide under clothes, face shows instantly.
I took guard, and he flinched.
Like he never meant to hit, but my reaction spooked him.
Planned WWE, got UFC'd back.
"What's going on here?!"
Right on cue, thundering steps as a wild bear... no, Heo Jun-tae charged in, pink rubber gloves on both hands.
Must've been handling the dishes I'd ditched.
"Hyo-jeong, what the...?"
Eyes met, he saw my battle stance, eyes bulging.
Spotted the standoff guy, jumped.
"You! What do you think you're doing!"
Rushed in to subdue.
'O, MMA?'
The fluid takedown to the floor drew an unwitting gasp from me.
But even in a powder keg, slamming first?
Is that okay...?
Misunderstanding? Nah, not really.
He was gonna strike...
Right?
Threat or assault intent—only he knows.
After brief thought, Schrödinger's right hand under Heo Jun-tae's bulk let out a cartoonish kraaaack!