Breaking Through 500,000 Concurrent Viewers
I was wearing my convenience store uniform that day, too.
Honestly, just saying that felt a bit off.
The image of people kneeling in the boss room was still fresh in my mind, yet here I was, tearing open a triangle kimbap box.
Instead of the thick stench of blood, the aroma of freshly heated fish cake broth assaulted my nose.
Underfoot weren't wet stones, but slick, polished tiles.
It should have felt far more ordinary.
But somehow, it made me even more anxious.
I ripped off the box tape and glanced toward the counter.
The Store Manager was sorting invoices behind it, his face as impassive as ever.
Yet he had this uncanny way of looking up just when I did.
"It's pretty quiet today."
"Days you're working tend to be."
"Why's that?"
"Troublemakers don't last long after you show up."
I nearly dropped the triangle kimbap in my hand.
"That was just timing..."
"The timing always lines up with you. That's the problem."
The Store Manager shoved the stack of papers aside and looked my way.
"Probably the same today."
His tone was so matter-of-fact, it scared me more.
I didn't respond.
Instead, I straightened the display shelf, pushing the tuna mayo to the front row and aligning the egg soy sauce next to it.
Keeping my hands busy helped me think less.
At least, that's how it worked for me.
The problem was, the harder I tried not to think, the more weird things stood out.
The chat window wasn't being quiet today, either.
BJ Kang Minsu — Viewers: 521,000
I read those comments and swallowed a sigh.
"It's just part-time work."
The chat reacted instantly to my mutter.
"General? What general."
I muttered to myself as the automatic door slid open.
Ding.
The man who entered reeked of booze.
His mask hung under his chin, eyes glassy.
He shoved past a student standing at the fridge after just a few steps.
"Hey, what the—"
The student protested softly.
The man ignored him and strode straight to the counter.
"Hey, get the owner out here."
I responded right away.
"The Store Manager's at the register right now."
"What?"
"And I'm handling customers at the moment."
The man looked me up and down.
His booze-flushed face made his voice loud, but he seemed like the type who wouldn't last.
Normally, guys like him start yelling to seize control.
But today felt different.
The instant he saw my face, he hesitated.
Just for a split second.
Subtle enough that I caught it.
What was that.
Why'd he freeze.
He lifted his chin, trying to hold his ground.
"No, I'm talking to you—why's the part-timer coming out?"
"If it's bothering you, I'll take care of it."
"You?"
"Yes."
I kept my voice as steady as possible.
Inside, my gut was drying up.
My fingertips were already ice-cold, stomach churning oddly.
But I couldn't let it show.
Types like him push harder if they smell fear.
Except this time, it backfired.
The man glanced at the Store Manager beyond the counter, then back at me.
And shut his mouth.
Silence stretched.
Too long, making me uncomfortable.
I asked cautiously.
"If there's something you want, just let me know."
"Nah."
"Pardon?"
"Forget it."
He backed off abruptly.
Seconds ago, he'd been demanding the owner, griping about attitude—like he was gearing up to yell.
Now he just scanned the shelves once, avoiding my eyes like he'd forgotten why he came.
He pursed his lips, then muttered one last thing.
"Just... I'll come back later."
And he actually retreated.
I stood there, stunned.
"Wait, sir?"
He headed for the door without a word.
Right before leaving, he glanced back—his eyes darker, shadier than before.
Like he'd seen something behind me, not me.
Ding.
Once the door shut, the store air loosened up.
The student had watched from afar.
The ajumma picking drinks at the fridge quietly looked away.
I finally let out a long breath.
"He's gone."
The Store Manager said flatly from the counter.
"Yeah."
"Why'd he suddenly..."
"One word from you, and he folded."
"Me?"
"Didn't you hear? No troublemakers since you arrived."
I couldn't believe it, so I stared at the Store Manager.
He wasn't smiling.
Just stating a fact.
"Guys like that usually drag it out. But today, he couldn't even peek inside from the threshold."
"He stopped right in front of you and bailed on his own."
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
"He was just scared, that's all."
"Scared, so he left."
"You saying I'm scary?"
"Probably."
"I'm not scary at all."
"That's what makes you scarier."
The Store Manager left it at that and turned back to his invoices.
I wanted to ask more, but my mouth wouldn't move.
Instead, I fussed with the end of the display.
Pulled the tuna mayo forward, aligned the cup ramen, pressed down the price tags with my fingertips.
Pointless motions, but my hands stayed busy.
Meanwhile, the chat had raced ahead.
"He just backed off a bit..."
The chat exploded at my mutter.
I pressed my lips tight.
He just left, that's all.
I didn't do anything extra—no yelling, no glaring.
Just said what needed saying.
And he walked out.
But why does it feel off.
Even after he left, the air didn't snap back.
The student at the fridge picked up a triangle kimbap, set it down, switched flavors.
The ajumma heading to the counter slowed her steps oddly.
Not avoiding outright, but everyone tidying their movements quietly.
I fiddled with the shelf end again.
Checked if labels stood straight, rotated the cup ramen once more.
Busy hands meant fewer stray thoughts.
At least for me.
Then a girl in a uniform skirt, rain-speckled hem, entered.
She paused at the door, met my eyes, bowed her head quick.
"Um, do you have hot packs?"
"Yes, over there on the shelf."
She went "Ah," hurried off.
Just a customer buying something, but she seemed rushed.
The chat latched on immediately.
After the girl checked out and left, the Store Manager muttered low.
"Customers are moving faster since you got here."
"Is that good?"
"Yeah. Keeps the line short."
I had no reply.
Couldn't tell if it was because they liked it or feared it.
Something's off.
Feels off way too often lately.
Outside the window, the alley was dim.
Cold air slipped in each time the door opened, then vanished.
A normal night.
Should've been.
But that man's eyes kept flashing back.
Like he'd looked past my face, at something behind.
I glanced unthinkingly at my reflection in the store's glass door.
Tired face.
Uniform.
Pen for labels in hand.
Just a part-timer, no matter how I looked.
Yet the chat kept inflating my everyday.
I saw that last line and swallowed hard, barely audible.
For some reason.
The store felt too quiet today.
The quiet made it more unnerving.
The door chime lingered sharper than usual.
Ding—it should end there, but it seemed to waver a beat longer.
I glanced at the door again without thinking.
No one there, but my reflection overlapped in the glass.
For that instant, the store felt stranger than outside.
Something's off.
Really off today.