The team leader nodded briefly without much reaction. I gradually lowered my gaze, feeling the weight of the silence.
“Right. This year’s plan closely resembles last year’s framework. We aim to focus on specific skills and gather a creative team with abundant related knowledge.”
“…I see.”
“As we emphasize a system of select elites, each member needs to contribute more than an individual’s share. Expect workload to be about one and a half times that of regular tasks.”
“Yes.”
Their indifferent tone made me feel increasingly cold. It sounded as if I was politely being told why I wasn’t suitable. Informing individual rejections was an unexpected kindness. I glanced towards their sharp jawline, wondering if this team leader was not as outspoken as rumored.
Then, as they lazily twirled a pen with their finger, they casually placed it down and spoke in a languid tone.
“So, contemplating between resignation and transferring to Daegu office, aren’t you?”
“Pardon?”
I reflexively met their gaze. They continued nonchalantly with an unchanged expression.
“Sales won’t work, considering your temperament. Even if you want to stay at HQ, I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s obvious you won’t meet the targets.”
“How do you…”
My fingertips, hidden beneath the desk, trembled as if seized by a sudden spasm. The man before me faintly smiled as he observed my expression.
“Isn’t there more that you don’t know? It seems rare these days to find someone at this company who doesn’t know Seodan’s name.”
“I didn’t apply to the project team because of that.”
“Understood.”
He accepted my explanation vaguely.
“But from my position needing to select team members, I have to consider Seodan’s past organizational experience, their role in a team, and the level of their abilities.”
He counted each point with a dry and precise articulation that constricted my breath.
“The current situation speaks volumes, doesn’t it?”
Our eyes met. Before I even realized, I blurted out:
“Are you not considering my perspective?”
Immediately, I regretted it. It was an absurd plea. The steady eyebrows seemed amused, leisurely raising.
“There’s nothing for me to consider. The situation is quite clear even from hearsay.”
“Manager.”
“Why can’t you understand why the company is in turmoil these days because of you, Seodan? Why is there rejection within the team? Is it incomprehensible?”
As I remained silent, he faintly furrowed his brow. His well-shaped lips thinned.
“It seems like an expression of not knowing.”
“…It’s not that I don’t know.”
“In that case, although I’m not Seodan’s direct superior, as an interviewer, let me ask. Have you reflected on your role as a member of the community during times you perceived as unfair?”
“…”
“If you can’t bear injustice, you should have become a human rights lawyer. Why did you join a large corporation? While it might be justice from Seodan’s perspective, for the company, it’s merely one individual’s self-satisfaction. It’s about people like Seodan, who can’t easily understand that difference, not fitting well in social life.”
The sharp, biting language with precise pronunciation. As I started to speak, there was an unprecedented bluntness that made me question if I had been malicious in the past. The moving, composed lips were flawlessly smooth without a crease. Something collapsed in my mind. I closed and opened my dizzy eyes, adjusted my posture, and lifted my head.
“Speaking of personalities, Manager, you’ve only seen me for ten minutes.”
The momentarily speechless man revealed a white-toothed grin.
“It’s been ten minutes since I saw your face.”
He reached for the stack of documents beside him, laid them out, and kindly pushed them towards me.
“There are various ways of knowing people.”
“This is…”
The papers I glanced down at felt familiar. A copy of my photo was attached at the top, followed by a lengthy text below. It was the self-introduction letter I had submitted before joining.
With numb fingertips, I flipped through the pages. My resume, graduation certificate, the initial reports and proposals I submitted, meeting minutes, presentation samples—they were all there. The thick stack of documents was a compilation of words I had uttered.
The team leader, having set down the pen, leaned back in his chair. His tilted gaze lingered on my face.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“According to company policy, project support is only for those with three years of experience. Are you aware of that?”
“…Tfr.”
“Gbfr Vfbvjc olcv qglcmlqifr jwerlcu?”
C rboa nblmf. P ofia ecjyif ab wjlcajlc fsf mbcajma jcv ibkfgfv ws tfjv. Ktlr alwf, tf vlvc’a lcrlra bc wf gjlrlcu ws ojmf. C rwbbat wbalbc jr tf ribkis gbrf mjeuta atf mbgcfg bo ws fsf.
“Ktfgf’r rbwfatlcu P qjgalmeijgis vlrilxf.”
Lf ifjcfv obgkjgv, gfralcu bc atf vfrx jr tf rqbxf. Pa kjr j yieca abcf, vfnblv bo atf fjgilfg ijeutafg.
“It’s packaging a brute-force logic of ‘knocking on the door will make it open’ with words like youth or entrepreneurial spirit.”
“Manager.”
“Did it seem like principles didn’t matter when faced with passion? To put it plainly, that’s not flexibility in thinking; it’s simply not knowing what you’re talking about.”
“…”
My picture lay where my gaze fell. There, from a year ago, was the self-introduction I had written after nights of meticulous crafting. Ideals, best efforts, striving—all written with heart bleeding emotions, yet in the end, they were merely superficial expressions of feelings. Words akin to an empty balloon were stuck to the paper.
“What does Seodan, who has been with us for a year, have to offer? Ambition? Potential?”
“…”
“It seems to me that Seodan’s current attitude isn’t urgency but impatience. It doesn’t sit well with me that my TF team is being used for what seems like self-soothing, trying to reassure oneself by submitting an application, even before wrapping up the company life. It’s not a pleasant feeling.”
Each word fell like a sharp blade, puncturing my chest with blunt edges that ripped through and left only hollow emptiness.
Without a word, he took the folder from in front of me. As if to signal the end of the meeting, he neatly covered it with his hands and placed it in front of himself, then lightly asked:
“So, what’s your plan now? Are you considering resignation?”
“Well, with Han Team Leader-”
My voice got stuck. I forced out the words as if dragging them up from my throat.
“…What does the Han Team Leader have to do with it?”
My head throbbed fiercely. Lack of sleep left patches of white mold-like spots behind my eyelids. “Hmm,” he replied slowly. His sharp gaze lingered on my face.
“It truly has nothing to do with it.”
“Then I’ll take my leave. Thank you for sparing your time amidst your busy schedule.”
By now, the next interviewee might be waiting outside the door. Laughter bubbled up from within. Unsure why I was still seated, I pushed the chair back and stood up swiftly.
“I’ll take your words to heart.”
Thankfully, my voice was steady. Without looking back at him, I turned around. I felt his gaze persistently following me, so for a moment, my steps slowed as I approached the door. I thought he would call me back.
It might have been a misconception. Even as I reached the hallway and closed the door, I heard no sound from behind. Leaning against the closed door in the corridor, I stood still. There was no one in the hallway outside the meeting room.
The day felt long, and it seemed to stretch even further. As soon as I returned to my seat, it felt like my supervisor was waiting, standing up as if signaling for a conversation. I followed sluggishly in response to the gesture, half-asleep.
There was no one in the break room. My supervisor, leaning against the closed door, abruptly asked,
“What about the interview?”
It was an obvious question. I sat down on the couch for the time being. Without waiting for that brief moment, my supervisor, who followed me hastily, sat on the opposite couch and pressed on.
“What did the team leader say?”
“…Said I didn’t even know the subject.”
Now, finally, laughter escaped, erupting out of me as if released from being tightly held within my lungs. My supervisor, who had been staring at my face with a puzzled look, leaned comfortably against the backrest.
“Okay then.”
“…Yes.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Just that I’m not good enough for the role.”
Throughout the day, I had meticulously lined up anticipated questions and answers in my head, but despite being given the chance to speak, there seemed to be nothing I could say. Would any words have made a difference? That was the atmosphere he had set. His dry voice echoed in my ears.
“What does Seodan have to offer? Ambition? Potential?”
“That’s an odd fellow, going as far as scheduling an interview… Anyway, let’s stop this conversation. Seodan probably knows what the issue is by now.”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“So, are you going to meet the Chief this morning? Ah, could you make me a cup of coffee? Why am I so tired today?”
“Yes.”
I stood up and fetched instant coffee from the cabinet in the waiting room. I poured the contents into a paper cup and added hot water. As I stirred, my supervisor, finishing a yawn, asked from behind,
“Where are you going to go?”
Handing over the coffee, I replied after sitting back down.
“I’m still not sure. I’ve decided to pick between the Sales Department or Daegu, and I’ll let them know by tomorrow.”
I could tell even without looking at their expression. After taking a sip of coffee, my subdued supervisor spoke as if snuffing out a flame.
“That’s what I asked you to figure out for yourself.”
“…Yes.”
“You said sales weren’t a fit last time?”
“Yes.”
“But you might learn if you go. It’s a tough environment to survive in, but you might grow. Daegu… once you go down, it might be hard to come back up. Even if you come back up, there’s a limit with Director Han…”
The sentence trailed off there. I felt no urgency to respond, so I remained silent. My supervisor, with a hardened expression, not his own affair, gulped down the remaining coffee, crushed the paper cup in his hand.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of help.”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“Just in case, if you plan on resigning… in our industry, word spreads fast, and the circle is small. It’s not always the case, but if you plan on starting anew, it’s wise to be prepared…”
It was a reminder that this current event might leave a lifelong mark, that people in every new place would know my name and history.
As I remained silent, my supervisor, fidgeting with the rim of the paper cup with their fingernail, coughed. The room felt damp. The heavy scent of instant coffee hung in the air.
“Also…”
There was a pause. Silence elongated between words.
“I don’t know if you heard, but Supervisor Song is set to return by mid-month.”
I snapped my head up. Our eyes met.
“Where to…”
“I mean, to our department. This time, if Seodan leaves, instead of filling the position, Director Han wants Supervisor Song to come back.”
“…Did anything happen between them after that?”
Seeing me struck speechless, my supervisor clicked their tongue.
“That’s what I said. It wasn’t a big deal. I’ve always said it’s a common occurrence, haven’t I? Seodan is good at his job; it’s a shame it’s not his concern…”
“No, Supervisor Song asked for my help at that time.”
She cried then. She cried so bitterly. She clung onto me, someone she didn’t even know, and except for working side by side in a confined space, there was no real connection between us. Tears streamed down her face, wetting my arm as if she were a child, lost and helpless.
The bar was noisy and crowded. The supervisor at the nearby table pulled her off my shoulder and took her away. He handed her a tissue, patted her gently on the shoulder, then returned to me, whispering in my ear: not to make a big deal out of it.
The supervisor with a furrowed brow forcefully tossed the paper cup into the trash.
“Her asking for help back then wasn’t really asking for help.”
“Where else would the request for help mean something else?”
“It could, obviously. After drinking, people tend to blurt out anything. I was so frustrated… It’s your first time, Seodan, but I’ve heard those words from Supervisor Song before. And even then, in the end…”
The supervisor’s voice grew louder. He became a spokesperson for something, elongating his speech.
“Why do you look at me like that? Do I look weird? So, who was right between the two of us in the end? Seodan looks like he’s been demoted by fussing over nothing, and Supervisor Song, the one involved, is fine and going back!”
He spoke and abruptly got up, his face reddening. In the midst of it, he quickly checked the door, as if expecting someone to enter. He sighed heavily, looked down at me, and in a restrained voice, said:
“Didn’t Seodan know? In a company, these things involving women happen all the time.”
“…”
“They even know it themselves. When entertaining important clients, they wear short skirts, put on eyeliner, knowing all the risks. And frankly, do you think that manager would really make a big fuss? Being a married man? Honestly, Seodan’s reaction is hypersensitive. It’s understandable for someone experiencing it for the first time, but smoothly moving on is also part of corporate life.”
I just listened quietly. The meaning didn’t quite sink in. It just felt like something disconnecting in my head.
“If that’s what the company is like, then I won’t stay in a company like that.”
My supervisor looked at me and then burst out laughing. It was a face devoid of courtesy, openly displaying contempt.
“Then quit.”
“That’s what I intend to do.”
“Go ahead. I wasted a year teaching you, Seodan. Even Supervisor Song keeps going. It would be great if Seodan feels self-righteous and confident all alone. Does your conscience feed you? Do you have some money at home?”
The voice carried a sneering tone. I was utterly depleted and couldn’t say a word. My supervisor sighed deeply, nervously ran a hand through their hair, and briskly walked towards the restroom door.
“I’m not usually this old-fashioned to say this.”
Twisting the doorknob, they spat out a repressed voice behind their back.
“That, Seodan, is naive. It would be wise to change your mindset if you don’t want to be marginalized.”
Their quick footsteps faded away. The faint office noises seeped in through the wide-open door.
There was a visible turning point.
It happened in high school. I was bullied, completely disregarded. After finishing a late-night shift and walking out of the school gate, I was grabbed by a group of seniors whose faces I vaguely recognized. I managed to twist away from the hand trying to slap my cheek, but I was dragged into a narrow alley, assaulted, and after my arm was broken, I was humiliated.
It was the rainy season. That alley was a low-lying area where water pooled. Throughout the assault, my back was stuck in the filthy, murky puddle. There was a splashing sound, almost like kids playing by a stream. There were probably around three of them who did it. Since I had my eyes closed the whole time, I couldn’t recall the details when I made my statement.
I opened a document file and pasted the resignation letter template. My mind was boiling, so hot that it paradoxically calmed me down. I didn’t want to give myself time to contemplate. So, I added a few formalities to the resignation letter and printed it out. It was just a thin sheet of paper. Folding it twice, I placed it in an envelope and placed it on the desk, ready to hand it over as soon as the manager returned.
Both neighboring seats were empty. On the right was the messy desk of the supervisor cluttered with items. On the left was the seat of Supervisor Song, which had been empty all of last week. Except for Manager Kang on the other side of the partition, there was no one in the department. It was so quiet that even conversations from the adjacent department were audible. They said the competition for TF was quite high. There was still some time left, so I thought I’d consider it… I had been so eager before, but now even overhearing it didn’t evoke any thoughts.
“Excuse me, Seodan.”
Manager Kang peered over the partition with a regretful expression.
“Could you make some copies for me?”
“Yes, sure.”
As soon as I responded, their expression relaxed. They seemed like they’d been wanting to ask for a while but hesitated. I took the papers and walked to the copying room. Mechanically, I loaded the paper into the copier.
Returning to my seat, I handed over the copied documents. Manager Kang briefly glanced at me before looking back down. I leaned on the desk and asked.
“Do you know when the manager is coming back?”
“Well, he has an external meeting in the morning… Probably won’t be back before closing time.”
“Thank you.”
Today I needed resolution. Before weighing, before regretting.
The words of a certain team leader were right. Impatience gripped me like a thin claw around my neck. What had I considered so urgent? I had simply stood in front of things I didn’t want to accept, throwing a tantrum like a child. Refusing to acknowledge, I struggled, demanding something else to be presented.
“I took the wrong path. Maybe this isn’t the place.”
I collapsed onto the desk. Leaning my cheek against the smooth paper of the resignation letter, I closed my eyes. Sleep poured over me as if I were fainting without sleeping pills. It swept me away like a giant wave.
I dreamt. Murky, dark-red things trickled beneath my eyelids. Things I thought I’d long forgotten, things I wished I had forgotten. The office, though heated was unusually cold today. The chill seeped through my exposed neck down to the shoulders. Even when I curled up, warmth escaped my body. As if my body would freeze cold like this.
When I opened my eyes, it was dark. Even the lights in the adjacent department were off. Half-asleep, my hand that I’d used as a pillow instinctively touched the mouse. The screen lit up abruptly. Nine-thirty. The supervisor’s desk was tidied up. The manager’s seat was empty too.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I sat up. The cloudy sediment from before sleep had sunk deeper into the floor.
I pulled up my knees and rested my chin. The sentences floating on the white screen seemed strangely cold, as if they weren’t mine. The anger glaring out from the spaces felt unfamiliar and sharp. I crumpled the stiff envelope in my hand. Leaning on my chin, I tapped the backspace key, erasing the words one by one.
The office phone on the desk rang. I answered without diverting my gaze from the screen.
“Yes.”
Silence lingered for a while.
– Is this how you were taught to answer calls in your team, Lee Seodan?
There was a faint hint of amusement in the voice. I lifted my hand off the keyboard.
“Who am I speaking to?”
– It’s Han Juwon from the Consulting Team 2.
It was a vibration lower than memory. Glancing briefly up at the 4th floor where he might be, I closed and opened my eyes. I leaned back deeply into the chair.
“The manager is not currently in his seat.”
– I see.
He replied nonchalantly.
Thank you for starting to translate this! I’ve been enjoying the manhwa and it’s so nice to get seodans full monologues
I really want to know what exactly did the MC do for everyone in this company to hate him, they’re all acting like he made the company go bankrupt.
Thank you for the chapter!
So I think MC help a fellow colleagues from sxual harassment maybe by reporting it to the management, and then the whole company knows about it and treat him like a cancer because they think he was over acting and create more problems, and that shtty supervisor..goshh I might strangle that piece of sh*t if I’m the mc, I’m so mad just thinking about that, I’m currently working too in a corporate and we don’t tolerate any issues like harassment.
I’m so glad for your translation, i really like the feeling and vibes that the manhwa gave and my likeness for this story grow even more because now I feel like I’m inside Seodan’s head. Thank you