The situation caught Haejeong off guard and he froze — and in that instant, Munyeong snatched his own hat back from Haejeong’s hand and pulled it low over his face again. Then he rushed to explain himself.
“…You said if it was returned, you’d bury it.”
By then, Haejeong had pieced it together. It suddenly clicked — the student who had stolen the phone from another class the day before was from the same orphanage. The way he was trying to hide who it was. The state he’d shown up in, like he’d been on the receiving end of something. Reading the general shape of things, Haejeong’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“The ones who stole from me did that to you?”
“……”
“And you’re here covering for them?”
Just because they were from the same orphanage? Or was there something more to it? Whatever the reason, it was beyond Haejeong’s understanding.
“Going this far to cover for them—”
“…Th-they’re kids who have it hard.”
“……”
“I know it’s wrong. I’m really sorry. But…”
“……”
“Please, just let it go this once…”
“……”
“If it happens again… after that, do whatever you want…”
Pathetic. Disgusting. Whatever the circumstances, you can’t justify what was done.
“They’re about to age out any day now… they’re scared… I think that’s why they panicked and grabbed something without thinking…”
“…You knew about this from before?”
“No. No. I found out… I found out this time.”
“…Ha.”
“Kids my age… they have to leave the facility soon. They need money… they’re desperate, they couldn’t control the impulse… that’s why…”
The fact that he was covering for those kids was one thing — but showing up looking like this to return it was another. The truth was, Munyeong could have simply looked the other way and that would have been the end of it. And yet here he was, limping, beaten beyond recognition, and he still came. Haejeong clenched his back teeth hard.
He manages to get under my skin over the strangest things. Seriously…
“I’m sorry… Can’t you just… let it go this once.”
He bowed his head and pleaded with a desperation that was hard to look at, and from somewhere deep in his gut Haejeong exhaled a long, heavy sigh. This was a first. That he was even hesitating over something like this — that was a first. It didn’t matter to him whether someone begged or pleaded. If he’d acted on instinct, he’d have gone straight to them and handled it himself. Physically, financially, legally — he had the means to do all of it. But the person in front of him was, severely, an exception. No — he just kept doing things no one would expect.
Having reined in his temper, Haejeong stared at Munyeong, who kept apologizing for something that wasn’t even his fault, and snapped at him with irritation laced through his voice.
“Are you stupid?”
It wasn’t because someone had stolen from him. It was Munyeong’s own actions that annoyed him — showing up in that state to return someone else’s property. Apologizing for someone else’s wrongdoing as though it were his own. Taking on someone else’s fault as his burden to carry. The sheer baffling quality of it.
“Why are you the one apologizing.”
“……”
“When you’re the one who got beaten.”
He let out a short breath and lightly flicked the brim of Munyeong’s cap with one finger.
“…Go tell them.”
“……”
“That I let it go because of you.”
It was the first time Haejeong had ever discovered he was capable of being this generous. If he’d gone with his gut he would have blown the whole thing up — but the sight of Munyeong’s lip, split and pooling with blood, had lodged itself in his vision and he’d acted before he even knew he was doing it. Besides, the item had quietly made its way back into his hands regardless of how — so there was nothing to make a problem of. But if something like this happened again, there would be no such mercy next time — Haejeong issued that warning to himself alone. Without knowing that was where it all began.
The pen he had been spinning absently slipped from his fingers as the unbidden memory surfaced. How did I end up thinking about all that. Right — it was the sight of Munyeong absorbing Director Hwang’s provocations with that same composure that had pulled up the old memory. It had been the same in high school. Interrogated without evidence, blamed for things he didn’t do, picked on for no reason — and always, always receiving it with that face, as if it were his to carry. That face had always gotten under his skin. It had gotten under his skin back then, and even now it still—
“Damn.”
What is there to be bothered about.
Haejeong muttered the curse with irritation and kicked the desk. But he must have caught the corner wrong — his foot came down hard on the edge instead, and he grabbed his foot.
“Ow! That really hurts.”
The impact knocked the desk and everything on top of it came sliding off — documents, miscellaneous items, and a heap of crumpled papers he’d covered in pointless scribbles. It looked an absolute mess.
What a disaster.
The thought crossed his mind without effort, and after deliberating for a moment and tapping the desk a few times, he picked up the internal phone.
Jo Dongjin — that is, Section Chief Jo — came from a family that had been serving Baekil Group since his grandfather’s generation. The relationship had been maintained closely over all that time precisely because of those deep roots. The Jo family had served as drivers for the Chairman since Dongjin’s great-grandfather, and his own father had followed in that tradition, now going over twenty years without a single accident behind the wheel. But Dongjin himself, unlike them, had been given a different kind of support role. Calling it a support role was generous — the truth was that Chairman Yeon, recognizing the family’s generations of devoted service, had simply handed Dongjin a suitable position, even though Dongjin had no particular ability to speak of.
His grandfather and father had been highly regarded by the heads of Baekil Group for their capabilities — but Dongjin was different. He made frequent mistakes, lacked sharpness, and had a reputation for being more of a nuisance than anything. He had first been given a job as a gardener, which he failed at, then he was put in the kitchen to help, which he also failed at, and so he had ended up here. The minimum they could do for him. And Dongjin was perfectly content with this job.
His role was managing the non-regular staff — cleaning crews, parking attendants, and the like. The head office was large enough that non-regular and part-time employees were plentiful, so there were others helping Dongjin and he didn’t have to handle everything alone. Because of this, Dongjin’s loyalty to Baekil Group was strong, and he had long since grown accustomed to being spoken down to — he didn’t resent it. What came back to him in return was more than enough.
It was the middle of the workday. Dongjin had his feet up on the office table, scrolling on his phone. He was killing time chuckling at his daily webcomic installments, and once he oversaw the shift change between the morning and evening crews, the rest of his work was done.
It had just gone past noon. Dongjin was starting to feel peckish again despite having had lunch and was considering hunting down a snack, when the internal phone rang. There was usually only one reason the internal line rang — complaints about staff, grievances. Inside the company it was called the Employee Voice system. It was a channel for employees to raise concerns when they were dissatisfied with the work of non-regular staff. It was the one and only part of this job that Dongjin considered a downside.
“God, what now.”
Dongjin cleared his throat and picked up.
“Yes. This is Jo Dongjin from the management team.”
— Oh, hey.
Dongjin paused slightly at being addressed so informally. There weren’t many people who would speak to him with that kind of familiarity. And calling him that, on top of it.
“Ah… is this, by any chance, the Senior Managing Director?”
The only person young enough to address him that casually would be Baekil Group’s youngest son.
— Yeah. That’s right.
“Senior Managing Director, what brings you to call…”
— What do you mean what brings me. I’m calling about work.
“No, I mean, directly like this…? Is something the matter?”
Executive-level complaints were passed through secretaries — there was no one at that level who ever called the internal line directly like this.
— How exactly are you managing the staff?
“Pardon…?”
— It’s a mess. It’s dirty. Do it again.
“Pardon…? One moment, that floor is our…”
