Pouring the Sauce Is Best

The Starlight Research Institute was an organization devoted to studying and gathering anything that might help hunters in the field: the habits of monsters subdued inside the gates, their weaknesses, and everything in between. On the side, it turned a profit by putting the less violent creatures on display.

After Hana arrived, all of that changed. An institute that had been limping along on whatever headquarters deigned to send it could now stand on its own two feet, earning its money openly and without apology. No—self-sufficiency didn't even cover it. This was independence.

Frankly, if the place walked out of the Starlight Guild tomorrow, it would still rank first among research institutes for being able to stand alone. It had once barely clung to annual revenue in the tens of billions of won. Now it boasted monthly sales in the hundreds of billions, and nearly every won of it was pure profit, the cost of goods hovering somewhere around zero.

Ask anyone what "sales" really meant and they would tell you that once you subtracted costs, salaries, and all the rest, more than half of it vanished. Starlight was different. For the first time since its founding, the institute was living through a golden age.

Perhaps that was why the staff no longer went around with their backs hunched. Shoulders that used to bow and scrape in front of the other companies in the group now sat at a proud right angle, and no one could deny it. People needed to make good money. Once the money came easily, there was no reason left to sound needy in front of anyone.

The institute cleared an entire floor of the building for Hana and hired staff whose only job was to look after her. In a way, it was only natural. She was a jewel so precious they would not have traded her for a fortune in gold.

That Bora and Haru—who had been with Hana long enough to grow close to her—ended up among that staff was just as natural. Hana liked the two of them, too. They liked seeing her. It cut both ways. Their work was to notice whatever made her uncomfortable and send it upstairs as a report. They had other duties, of course, but the most important one was clearing every obstacle out of her way so she never had to feel ill at ease.

And because the day might come when Hana lived on her own, they were also meant to build up her social sense and teach her as much of the world's common knowledge as they could. Hana already knew all of it, naturally. They just had no way of looking inside her head, and so now and then they caught themselves thinking how strangely fast the girl was picking these things up.

Write down one of Hana's grievances and file it, and the feedback came back at once. The cafeteria went into expansion immediately, and more nutritionists and kitchen staff were hired. The convenience store signed on with additional vendors until the shelves filled with more goods than before.

Employee morale shot through the roof. The cafeteria that used to serve nothing but tasteless weeds now offered a menu so varied, and so good, that it could have scoffed at the conglomerates famous for feeding their people well. Staff who had been watching for any chance to escape could feel the institute's fortunes improving in their very bones. Their first day on the job had left them wondering, is this even a major company??? These days the thought arrived on its own: maybe it actually is...?

The more they watched the money stack up in their accounts, the harder that thought was to shake. The institute had once been notorious for stingy performance bonuses and incentives. Lately those sums had climbed a great deal. It was an enormous change.

There had been no end to the places that made Hana uncomfortable, and once they were fixed, it was simply a fact that the company had grown comfortable enough to feel like home.

Even so, some of the staff couldn't help wondering what would happen if Hana suddenly vanished. She accounted for ninety-nine percent of the institute's revenue. If she disappeared one day, they would be back to the old Starlight—no. They had already poured money into the infrastructure, so the upkeep would cost far more than it used to. Management's answer to that particular worry was a clown meme that had been drifting around the internet: the famous photo whose whole point was—

They were not entirely unprepared, of course. More than half the net profit was set aside as internal reserves and then pushed out into one investment after another—stocks, bonds, insurance, and the rest. The wails of the department that handled Starlight's finances rang through the whole institute, and everyone did their very best to ignore them. Being ground down like grain in a millstone was a fate reserved for Finance. The other departments, flush with money for once, were in far better shape than they had been.

Whirrrrr—

In the break area, Bora and Haru had surrendered themselves to a pair of massage chairs. The latest models, apparently; the hands working their backs were anything but ordinary. The floor where Hana lived was like a forward unit in the army. The newest equipment, and anything required for a proper rest, was issued there first. Hana seemed to like it. Now and then she wandered over to gossip with the staff and take a massage of her own. She was small enough that a chair had been made just for her, which meant she could show up whenever she pleased and go straight to the front of the line.

Both of them were thoroughly satisfied with work that had improved so far beyond what it used to be. Hana was a walking bundle of accidents, true, but she was a child, and there was nothing to be done about that. Hadn't everyone gotten into trouble when they were little? Adults insisted that Bora and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Haru had caused their share of disasters back then, too. It had all been so long ago that neither of them could remember a thing.

"Hana's just too cute, isn't she?"

"I know. I even made her my phone wallpaper."

Look at the phones of anyone who saw Hana often, and odds were her face was already the background. There was a strange scent about her—a subtle pheromone, you might call it, the kind that stirred a person's maternal instincts.

They had been resting a little before lunch and were just about to get up and go find her when Hana came running from far down the hall, some kind of flyer clutched in one hand.

"Bora! Haru!"

Whatever had her so excited, she was beaming as she ran, grinning from ear to ear. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠She tore along so recklessly that it was hard not to worry she might trip. Fortunately the floor was thick carpet, so even a fall wouldn't hurt her much.

Bora scrambled out of the massage chair and caught Hana as she came pounding over. Tucked neatly into Bora's arms, Hana held the flyer up for her to see.

"I want to eat this!"

Bora looked at the flyer in her hand. Chinese-restaurant food, mouthwatering at a glance. Lately Hana's hobby seemed to be studying restaurant flyers gathered from who knew where. As it happened, Bora was craving jajangmyeon today herself, so she nodded.

"All right. Today we eat whatever you want!"

She stole a glance at Haru, who nodded back—she was in.

The order would be three bowls of jajangmyeon, black-bean noodles, and one tangsuyuk, sweet-and-sour fried pork: a delivery combination you could find anywhere. There was, of course, a cafeteria in the building, and it turned out food so good it was hard to come by anywhere in the country. Ordering Chinese takeout at the office could easily make them look like eccentrics, so they did not forget to call ahead. The message was simple enough. Hana had said she wanted jajangmyeon for lunch. Anything short of a real incident was handled first and written up afterward; trifles like this went on the daily report. If Hana was hurt, though—or if something went wrong with her hair, the sort of disaster that actually mattered—they were to contact the higher-ups at once.

Bora pulled out her phone to find a good Chinese place nearby, and Haru gathered Hana up and carried her into the room. There Haru set out a folding table so they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would have somewhere to eat. Bora came in once the order was placed. They were still chatting when the delivery arrived: three bowls of jajangmyeon, one order of tangsuyuk, and, as a freebie, a plate of fried dumplings. Bora decided, privately, that this was a good restaurant. People had grown stingy lately. Order a mountain of food and you still often walked away without a single dumpling.

Everything was set. They were ready to eat with gusto. Then Hana did something that left both of them no choice but to be horrified.

With the ease of long practice, she peeled the wrapper off the little bowl of tangsuyuk sauce and poured it, without mercy, over the entire dish. The motion of her hands was refined enough that you would have needed at least twenty years of Chinese takeout behind you to manage it.

"H-Hana!"

Haru yelped and lunged to stop her, but it was already too late. Bora and Haru belonged firmly to the dip-as-you-go camp, and from where they stood, this was an act of cruelty.

Hana looked from Haru to Bora with a face that understood nothing at all. This isn't how you eat it?

"Hana liked pouring the sauce on..."

"We have to catch whoever taught her this awful way of eating."

Hana, of course, had been eating her tangsuyuk exactly like this for a very long time.