“Quadruple your salary!”
“No.”
“Quadruple-quadruple! 200 percent guaranteed every three months!”
“No.”
“This is so frustrating! Why exactly not?!”
After I just kept repeating myself like a parrot, the owner grabbed at his own hair and asked. I answered, unbothered.
“Because I need to be working right now.”
“What?”
“I have no intention of waiting around for my body to heal.”
“W-wait, wait, wait a second!”
I nodded and went to leave, but the owner suddenly pressed a hand to his forehead and grabbed onto me.
“So what you’re saying is, you can’t be an escort right now because you need to work as you are, with your body like this?”
“Yes.”
“Are you obsessed with mon—… No, no. That’s not it. Then start today. Be an escort.”
“Are you serious?”
I asked, genuinely doubting his sincerity. As far as I was concerned, it didn’t matter what the work was, as long as he gave me the job and paid me properly. With every single one of my jobs gone now, I wasn’t about to turn down anything.
Being a shitty-looking guy on top of having one useless arm, no client would ever pick me. He wasn’t the type to hire damaged goods at a premium price, which made me even more suspicious.
My instincts weren’t usually all that reliable, but this time was different.
“On one condition — exclusively for the VIP.”
At the word “VIP,” one particular face naturally came to mind. That terrifyingly beautiful man.
My shoulder throbbed.
“I heard there was a bit of trouble up there? The guest let it slide without saying much, but it seems like he’s still a little ticked off. Use this chance to smooth things over.”
“No—”
“Oh, by the way, did you use up all the mammoth shampoo bottle in the bathroom?”
“What?”
“The one in the green bottle.”
I’d been about to say no, but the owner suddenly brought up the shampoo bottle I’d used to wash the mascot head in that bathroom.
“Yes… no?”
Somehow it felt like admitting I knew would be a mistake, so I hastily corrected myself.
“So what, a million-won bottle just evaporated without anyone using it? Are these people siphoning it off or something?”
“…….”
I shifted my body slightly to keep him from seeing the now-fragrant mascot head behind me. The moment I did, the owner asked,
“So, starting today, you’ll do it?”
I couldn’t say no anymore. I’d raised both the white flag and the blue one at the same time.
“I have conditions.”
“Conditions? Let’s hear them.”
“One-year contract. No extension under any circumstances, whatsoever.”
“One year? Just when you’d be settling in, you want out? Why?”
“If it’s not on these terms, I won’t do it.”
“No, I mean, why.”
“…….”
“I do like a man with plenty of secrets, but you’ve got way too many, even for my taste.”
“…….”
When I stayed silent, the owner didn’t press further. Instead, he asked if there were any other conditions.
“Anything besides the contract term?”
“No.”
“You’ve seen our VIP client yourself — really nothing else?”
“Ah, there is one more.”
“Knew it. Go on.”
I’d forgotten the most important one.
“Add hazard pay.”
“Fine.”
The owner agreed readily. The easy agreement made me suspicious, but it wasn’t like I could back out now. Since I’d already committed to the job, I intended to earn my keep properly, so without further thought, I asked.
“Give me the contract.”
“Hm?”
“The employment contract.”
“Oh my, you’re not some dented tin pot, why are you in such a rush all of a sudden?”
The owner grumbled while rummaging through a drawer. He pulled out a sheet of paper and asked.
“You’re really doing this, on these terms?”
As opposed to fake doing it?
Moments ago he’d practically forced the job on me, but now that I was actually asking for a contract, he suddenly seemed lukewarm about the whole thing.
“Yes.”
Hearing my answer, the owner narrowed his eyes, made some handwritten edits to the contract, and held it out to me.
“Check it over.”
I took the contract from the owner and looked it over. I skipped past the technical legal terms I wouldn’t understand anyway and went straight to the parts the owner had just edited.
The promised 200 percent overtime pay and hazard pay had both been added. But the one-year contract clause stated that any extension would be by mutual agreement.
This man… I said no renewal.
I wasn’t budging on this particular point, whatever else might give.
I tapped my finger on the problematic contract-renewal section and said,
“This part — change it to automatic departure right after one year, exactly as we just agreed.”
“Sweetheart, people’s hearts change with the seasons, with their moods — pinning things down that firmly now, you might regret it later. Better to leave some room for—”
“Then forget the whole thing.”
The moment I made a move to stand, the owner snatched the contract right back before I could even hand it over.
“Fine, fine! Have it your way!”
No, I wasn’t asking to “have it my way.”
The owner scribbled across the contract again with his pen, then held it back out to me.
“Cough.“
I covered my mouth against a cough trying to push its way out and took the contract. Looking it over now, properly corrected, I nodded. With nothing else left to check, I signed it on the spot and handed it back.
After taking the contract from me, the owner passed it to a butler standing behind him, then shot me a sidelong glance.
“Where on earth did you get trained, huh?”
“Cough. Just sort of happened.”
“What do you mean, ‘just happened’? Anyone could tell someone drilled this into you so thoroughly you can’t even poke a hole in it.”
“On a deep-sea fishing vessel’s contract, the contract term mattered just as much as the annual salary.”
“…Huh?”
My answer seemed to throw the owner off guard.
Right after I’d left the facility, I’d once gone out on a deep-sea fishing boat. Back when I had no idea how to make money, it was a job I’d been introduced to. At the time, with so little schooling, a minor with no guardian, finding any work at all was difficult. There was no way someone like that could turn down a job offering a high annual salary.
I hadn’t known how to read a contract properly, so I signed my name wherever I was told to without a second thought. As a result, I hadn’t realized there was a clause stating that if the worker didn’t formally announce their intent to leave a full week before the one-year contract expired, it would automatically renew for another two years.
I’d nearly lost an arm or a leg, and survived close calls with drowning more times than I could count. Some people actually did die. I once watched a man get cut clean in half by a conveyor and dumped straight into the sea afterward, and swore I’d never set foot on a deep-sea vessel again. Even if someone died, throwing the body into the ocean settled the matter. Since the ship had no departure records to begin with, the crew were practically ghost employees anyway. On an illegal fishing vessel, the laws of land simply didn’t apply.
I gritted my teeth and lasted three years, and I’d saved up a lot of money from it. Even after my body broke down and ate through a good chunk of it, half of what I had saved now still came from that time.
After surviving several near-death close calls from accidents large and small, I finally got off that ship.
Though it was all a long time ago now.
“Should I head up now?”
“Hm?”
“To the VIP room.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah… Right. Up you go.”
His answer sounded oddly reluctant. Strange, considering how hard he’d pushed me into this job just minutes ago.
I stood before he could change the subject.
“Wait a second.”
Damn it.
The owner called out and stopped me.
He seemed to have only just realized the math on this didn’t add up in his favor.
The owner’s expression turned complicated, then he said,
“I’ll give you paid leave. Take today off.”
“…….”
I eyed the owner suspiciously. From someone who wrung every cent of value out of his workers, I couldn’t believe he’d offer not just a day off, but paid leave at that.
“Cough… I’m fine.”
“Don’t give me that, take the day off when I tell you to. Don’t go spitting blood all over the guest’s face.”
This time he said it firmly enough that there was no room to argue.
While saying that, he rummaged through his wallet and pulled out a thick stack of bills, holding them out to me.
“Take it.”
My brow furrowed on its own as I spoke.
“I don’t take advances.”
“What kind of crazy talk is that?”
“…….”
“Don’t you know about workers’ comp? Use it toward your medical bills, and put some food in your stomach.”
The owner tossed the money at me like that and put a cigarette in his mouth. Smoke curled out from between his lips. I just stared at the bills lying in front of me.
“What are you doing, not taking it?”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to play tough with your pride, right in front of me?”
The owner said, looking thoroughly exasperated, with a faint mocking edge.
“It’s because I’m unlucky.”
“What?”
“I have no luck. Whatever I flip over, it’s always the worst outcome.”
“And this money’s one of those worst outcomes?”
“Yes.”
The owner crossed his arms, leaned back into the sofa, and studied me. He stared at me intently, then stubbed out the cigarette in his mouth in the ashtray, and said, as if chewing the words out.
“Then take it in kind.”
“…?”
The owner gestured someone over with a hand, looked me up and down, and said,
“Strip him.”
The moment those words left his mouth, two staff members who’d been waiting by the door approached me. They tore my shirt off me. I didn’t resist, but when their rough, blunt hands gripped and pulled at my body with force, I swayed, unable to hold my footing.
“Ugh.”
When they touched my shoulder, a sharp wave of pain surged through me.
Hearing my faint groan, the owner hummed a little tune and said,
“You two leave one more mark on him and you’re both dead, got it?”
At that, their rough handling turned suddenly careful.
Left standing there in nothing but my underwear, stripped bare, the owner — who’d been carefully picking out clothes this whole time — brought them over and froze in shock when he saw me.
“Oh my, who drew such a pretty picture on you?”
He said it, looking at the mottled bruises covering my body. He seemed to have a good idea who’d done this, but he didn’t press the point. As far as I was concerned, yesterday needed to stay something that never happened to me, for my own peace of mind.
The owner set the clothes down and reached out a hand. His fingers touched my skin, tracing along the worst of the bruising at my solar plexus, and he started running his mouth.
“Tired of looking at worn-out, jaded ones, so a little battered but fresh meat does it for him?”
He slowly examined my body, then murmured, half to himself.
“You should be careful. How do I put it… I feel like you’ll turn someone vulgar.”
“You mean a difficult customer?”
“Difficult customers are cute — coax them a little and there’s no easier mark. What I mean is, watch out for the crazy ones who react to every little wound like this.”
“Is he the type to file harsh complaints?”
Like smashing an escort’s skull in with a bottle.
If so, I’d need to prepare myself accordingly. The owner heard that and gave a short laugh.
“No, the opposite — he’ll go out of his mind.”
“…….”
“Eyes rolling back, latching onto you like a pack of dogs in heat.”
The owner dressed me piece by piece, buttoning the shirt all the way up to my collar. After draping the jacket over my shoulders, he even fixed my hair. Finally, placing something over my face, he continued,
“So if you don’t want to get wrecked too soon, keep yourself well covered. Right now, you’re exactly the kind of toy that’s fun to play with dangerously.”
