ACJY C3

D-2

The office was a furnace. Sweat trickled down even if you just sat still. The temperature, which had suddenly soared past 30 degrees Celsius (86°F), kept the fan whirring non-stop. Even so, it was no match for the heat radiating from the dozens of men, computers, and monitors.

The director’s office was no different. It was even hotter than the main office because the windows couldn’t be opened due to the fishy smell. Air conditioning would have been nice, but there wasn’t any except in the executive suites.

Seonjae sat dazed, the sunlight streaming in because he hadn’t bothered to lower the blinds. He’d chewed on the cigarette in his mouth so much that the filter had ripped, and a bitter taste rose up. 

Tch, he spat it out.

Files awaiting his signature were piled high on his desk. Beside them, yesterday’s evening and today’s morning newspapers screamed to be read. He’d scanned the tips received from stock market sources, but nothing stuck.

Sigh, he exhaled deeply. He pressed his palms against his dry, tired eyes. It was all because of that damn dream.

Seonjae enjoyed looking people in the eye. Most people averted their gaze in less than five seconds, but in that brief moment, he could read their emotions. Hate, disgust, contempt, of course, but also goodwill, affection, and even disturbing lust – he could discern it all.

Occasionally, someone mistook it for a challenge and tried to engage in a staring contest. While scoffing inwardly at their foolishness, Seonjae willingly accepted.

The patriarch of that two-story house had been the same at first. He glared, pouring all his hatred and disgust at Seonjae and his men. If only he had continued to despise and loathe them until the end. But he had gone so far as to blame the suicide victim.

Lately, it wasn’t uncommon for Seonjae to pull all-nighters. He wasn’t someone who was greatly affected by a little lack of sleep. The problem was the lethargy. He managed to get his work done somehow, but there were times, like now, when he couldn’t even lift a finger. No matter how hard he struggled, his body wouldn’t cooperate. In this state, even if someone were to point a knife at him, he’d be stabbed to death without a fight. Maybe that would be a relief.

The lethargy was lasting longer and becoming more frequent. Why did it have to happen at such a crucial time? It was enough to drive him crazy.

The office phone rang. The small LCD screen displayed the number. It was a call Seonjae had to take. But his hand wouldn’t move. He looked down at his right hand resting on the armrest. Anyone would think he was paralyzed. He laughed. Even in this state, he could laugh.

He finally picked up the receiver just before the ringing stopped. The call was brief, but he missed several of the caller’s words.

“This isn’t like you, Director Lee. Are you with a woman?” 

The caller chided him jokingly. The aide to a politician whose influence had recently grown acted as if he were the politician himself.

“It seems I’ve been overindulged in hospitality thanks to you Assemblymen lately, and my energy is a bit low. Please understand, aide-nim.” He smoothly brushed it off with a laugh.

Having barely finished the call, Seonjae forgot what the aide had requested. He’d said it was important, but what was it? He racked his brain for a moment, then suddenly pushed back his chair and stood up. He grabbed the blue sports bag from the corner of the office. He felt like he needed some exercise to clear his head.

As he left his office, the dozens of desks in the 60-pyeong (approx. 2000 sq ft) office came into view. Only the ten desks directly in front of his office belonged to the people he managed; the rest belonged to separate departments with various names.

Since there were no partitions, he could roughly identify each department by the crude signs hanging from the ceiling. At each desk, men in white shirts were constantly typing, looking at monitors and documents, and talking on the phone. Those who seemed a little less busy would call over a female employee in a navy blue uniform to run errands for coffee, cigarettes, or other odd jobs. Even though the millennium had arrived, the office atmosphere hadn’t changed much from 1999.

“Ms. Yoon-hee, if the president looks for me, tell him I’m at the gym.”

“Yes, I understand,” the dedicated accounting clerk for the Strategic Planning Department replied, jumping to her feet.

“Director, there’s something you need to sign this morning. It’s on your desk,” some guy, Park, a deputy manager or section chief, ran over and said.

“I’ll do it after I get back from the gym.”

“It’s urgent, it needs to be done this morning.”

“I said I’ll do it when I get back.” He snapped quietly, and the man quickly retreated to his desk.

As Seonjae walked past, the HR manager rushed over to speak to him. His uncle had finally posted a job opening. Naturally, several requests had come in, and his uncle was using it as an excuse to go out and be wined and dined.

“Manager Nam, take care of it. Let me know when the interview date and time are set.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a fly.

He started towards the elevator but changed his mind. Carrying his sports bag, he headed for the emergency stairs. Not down, but up, to the fifth floor where the executive suites, including his uncle’s and Lee Hyeonjun’s offices, were located.

Despite the secretary’s attempts to stop him, Seonjae opened the door to his uncle’s office. His uncle was in the middle of a phone call. Even over the phone, he could tell the other person was quite important, as his uncle held the receiver with both hands and nodded subserviently. He was so engrossed in the conversation that he only noticed Seonjae’s presence later.

The situation didn’t look good.

“What?” his uncle asked.

Seonjae swallowed the words he’d originally intended to say and instead held up his sports bag.

“I’m going to work out. Just letting you know in case you were looking for me.”

His uncle gestured with his chin toward the door, indicating he should leave.

“Oh, and I heard you almost had an accident yesterday?” he asked, stopping Seonjae as he was about to leave.

“It was a minor fender bender.”

“Didn’t you have an accident last week, too?”

“Did I?” he feigned ignorance.

“You’re walking around like you’ve lost your mind. Are you trying to die?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You know better than anyone how important this time is, and you can’t even take care of yourself.”

“That’s why I’m exercising. I’ll be careful.”

Sensing that his uncle was about to launch into a long lecture, Seonjae bowed politely, even as his uncle opened his mouth to speak more, and turned to leave.

“Fucking hell, only he gets to use the air conditioning,” he grumbled.

Seonjae sat dazed on a bench in the gym’s locker room. For two hours. He’d been full of motivation when he arrived. But now, he didn’t even want to unzip his sports bag.

The gym manager and staff brought him coffee and drinks, and noticing something was off, repeatedly asked him if he was okay or feeling unwell. They seemed worried he might keel over and die right there. He continued to sit in the locker room in his suit until his phone vibrated, finally snapping him out of it.

It was the same aide from earlier.

“Director Lee, are you still at it?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, is that painting still available? Our Assemblyman is insistent on buying it. It’s not already sold, is it?”

Ah. The painting. That must have been what the aide had requested. Feigning a check, he asked for the artist’s name. No other clients had expressed interest yet, but he pretended otherwise, boasting that he’d set it aside specifically for the Assemblyman.

“As expected, Director Lee is the best. Let’s have a drink sometime.” For just buying a painting, the aide hinted that he wanted a free drink, too. The richer and more powerful people became, the more they wanted to receive rather than give. They acted as if they were entitled, trying to get everything for free.

Seonjae quickly called the gallery and reserved the painting. He provided the Assemblyman’s address and instructed them to charge 1% more than the usual delivery fee. It was a purchase for tax evasion anyway. If they made a fuss about the extra 1%, he could simply refuse the sale. He had plenty of other clients.

He hung up and immediately left the gym. Holding his sports bag, he stood around for a while, unsure where to go. He suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. His palms, gripping the bag, were damp.

Where was he? He stood frozen in the middle of the street. Passing bicycles and motorcycles swerved to avoid him, their riders cursing. He had to move if he didn’t want to die on the pavement. He knew it in his head, but his body refused to obey. His legs felt like lead. He looked down and saw a familiar face staring back at him. The father from the two-story house. Seonjae’s face contorted.

Shit. He knew it was a hallucination, but he stamped his feet hard to shake it off. Then he started walking, anywhere. With each step, the eyes he had just seen followed him. He saw the man bowing, and then the woman suddenly appeared, crying, holding a flowerpot. The balsam flower stain spread across his palm and then vanished.

He had a tail. He didn’t know since when, but one thing was certain: they must be very confused. From the gym, which was only a hundred meters away, Seonjae walked over ten kilometers to get back to his office.

Soaked in sweat, he showered at a sauna near the office and changed into workout clothes. He stuffed his suit haphazardly into his sports bag and returned to the office at 4:30 PM. He had been walking for over five hours. His feet were on fire, and he was starving. But he didn’t feel like eating, so he sat down at his desk.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of motivation. Seonjae started with the documents piled on his desk. He signed a few and rejected most of them, not forgetting to scribble comments with a red pen. He cleared his head by reading the stock market reports and profit statements sent from the brokerage firm.