The fluorescent lights buzzed over Jin Tae-hoon's head, a relentless drone that haunted every late night in this soul-sucking office. His eyes burned from staring at spreadsheets too long, the cheap instant coffee on his desk had gone cold hours ago, and his tie felt like a noose tightening with each breath. He rubbed his temples, but the tension clung stubbornly, as it always did.
"Jin Tae-hoon! Meeting room 3, now!"
Director Kwon's voice sliced through the office like a whip, turning heads. Coworkers glanced up from their screens, feigning pity but secretly relieved it wasn't them. Jin stood, buttoning his blazer with stiff fingers, and walked past their averted gazes. No one met his eyes. They never did.
The conference room door clicked shut behind him. Kwon sat at the head of the table, a smirk smeared across his pudgy face. Managers beside him shuffled papers, primed for the execution.
"Tae-hoon," Kwon started, his voice dripping with fake sympathy, "do you know why you're here?"
Jin's jaw tightened. "I assume it's about the Hanseong proposal."
Kwon slammed the table. "Exactly. Do you have any idea how much your failure cost us? Millions of won, flushed because of your incompetence."
Jin's nails bit into his palms. The Hanseong proposal wasn't his brainchild. He'd warned them the numbers were off, but they ignored him. They forced it through, and now that it had collapsed, they needed a scapegoat.
"With all due respect," Jin said, his voice taut, "I didn't approve the projections. I submitted my analysis three times, told you the client's expectations were unrealistic, and—"
"Enough!" Kwon's roar cut him off. "Are you accusing me of mismanagement?"
Jin locked eyes with his boss, unflinching for the first time in months. "I'm saying you're pinning your mistakes on me."
The managers squirmed, eyes dropping to the table. No one dared speak. Kwon's face flushed crimson, his fake calm crumbling into rage.
"You little bastard," he hissed. "You dare talk back? In my office?"
"You wanted a scapegoat, fine, here I am." Jin leaned forward, voice low and sharp. "But we both know you pushed Hanseong through. You're the reason it failed. I'm done taking the blame for your bullshit."
Gasps rippled through the room. A manager's pen clattered to the floor.
Kwon's fist hit the table. "That's it. You're done. Effective immediately, you're terminated. HR will process your dismissal. You're blacklisted, you won't work in this industry again, not in Seoul, not anywhere."
The words struck like a hammer, but Jin forced a smirk. "Good. Saves me the trouble of quitting."
He turned and walked out, ignoring the murmurs trailing him. His chest burned, not with regret, but with rage.
At his desk, he shoved his things into a cardboard box: a framed photo of his parents, gone, bankrupt, broken; a chipped mug that said "Hang in there"; a stack of pointless reports. Four years of loyalty, reduced to this.
No one spoke as he passed their desks. No farewells, just the relentless clicking of keyboards as his send-off.
When the elevator doors closed, the silence hit harder than Kwon's words. Jin stared at his reflection in the polished metal: pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, a suit that hung wrong on his frame. He looked like a ghost of someone who'd once believed life could improve.
Outside, Seoul mocked him with its vibrancy. Neon signs blazed over streets alive with laughter and clinking glasses. Drunk friends sang off-key, spilling out of bars. Couples slipped into karaoke booths. Delivery scooters wove through traffic, headlights carving paths through the night.
Jin's phone buzzed. He pulled it out.
[This is your final warning, payment of 3,000,000₩ is due.]
[We'll come to collect tonight.]
His stomach twisted. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, muttering, "I'm not going home."
If he went to his apartment, they'd be waiting, men in cheap suits with baseball bats and fake smiles. They wouldn't break his bones, not yet. They'd just deliver a reminder, one that'd hurt worse than any fracture.
He kept walking, shoes scraping the sidewalk, heading nowhere. All he wanted was to keep moving, to slip through the cracks of the world for one night.
A convenience store's fluorescent glow spilled onto the street. He stepped inside, the cold air biting his skin. Rows of instant noodles and canned coffee stretched before him. He grabbed the cheapest bottle of soju, tossed coins on the counter, and walked out without a word.
The bottle weighed heavy in his hand as he slipped into an alley behind the store. Trash bags slumped against the wall, their faint rot mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol. The city's noise dulled here, leaving only the hum of neon and distant bass from a bar.
He sat on a crate, twisted off the soju's cap, and took a swig. The liquid burned down his throat, bitter and raw.
"Cheers," he muttered to the empty alley. "Here's to being a worthless sack of shit."
The alcohol hit fast, warming his empty stomach, softening the edges of his thoughts. He leaned against the wall, staring at the sliver of night sky between the buildings.
How did it come to this?
Four years of grinding, sacrificing weekends, swallowing insults, bowing to every order. And for what? Fired. Blacklisted. Hunted by debt collectors.
He took another gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it. Another threat, another warning, he didn't need to read it.
A bitter, hollow laugh escaped him. "Maybe it's better if they just kill me."
The bottle slipped in his grip, glass clinking against concrete. He stared at the clear liquid inside, wondering if it could drown him.
But he drank anyway.
Because what else was there?
The warmth in his chest spread into a numbness that felt almost comforting. He tipped the bottle again, the liquid spilling against his lips, when something flickered in the corner of his vision.
Jin froze.
It wasn't the neon signs above the alley. This was closer, sharper, like a projection in the air right in front of him.
A line of text burned into existence.
[Corporate Overlord System initialized.]
He stared, bottle paused halfway to his mouth.
"What the hell…" His voice rasped, dry and cracked. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, but the words didn't vanish. They hung there, glowing in cold white light.
Jin laughed, a low, bitter sound. "I'm losing it. Finally snapped, huh?"
He shook his head and took another swig. The alcohol seared his throat, but the screen stayed, its glow painting the cracked alley wall.
Another line appeared, crisp and formal, like a line from a performance review.
[Objective: Establish Branch Office.]
[Deadline: 72 Hours.]
[Reward: A-Rank Card.]
[Penalty: Termination of Employee.]
His heart gave a single, uneasy thud.
"What the fuck does that mean?" He squinted at the floating text. "A branch office? I don't even have a job anymore."
He swiped his hand through the air, but it passed right through. The words remained, sharp and unyielding.
A bitter chuckle scraped his throat. "Even my hallucinations sound like HR bullshit. Beautiful, just beautiful."
He muttered under his breath, "Termination of Employee. What, fire me from my own life?"
The laugh died. He downed the last of the soju, slammed the bottle onto the pavement, and pushed himself to his feet.
He staggered toward the alley's mouth, vision blurry from alcohol, exhaustion, or whatever this was. He told himself to forget it, to sleep it off somewhere.
The moment he stepped into the street, pain erupted in his chest.
"Gah!" The empty bottle slipped from his hand, shattering across the concrete. His knees buckled, hands clutching his ribs as his lungs seized. It felt like invisible hands were crushing the life out of him.
A new line of text flared in the air.
[Non-compliance detected. Penalty enforced.]
Jin's eyes widened in terror. His chest caved inward, his throat squeezed shut. His vision darkened, every breath scraping like broken glass. He clawed at his shirt, gasping, choking, collapsing onto the ground.
"No, no, no…" His fingers scraped the concrete, desperate for something to grip.
The pressure surged, his heart pounding like it might burst—
Then it stopped.
The weight lifted, the pain vanished, leaving him trembling. He slumped against the wall, dragging in ragged, greedy breaths. Sweat soaked his shirt, his body shaking, stomach churning like he might vomit.
The screen lingered.
[Reminder: Every successful corporation requires a headquarters.]
[Deadline remains: 72 Hours.]
Jin's breath hitched. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, staring at the stubborn text.
This wasn't exhaustion, or alcohol, or a dream. Not stress, not a hallucination.
It was real.
The ghost of the pain lingered in his chest, a warning of what would happen if he ignored it again.
He swallowed, throat dry, voice cracking as he whispered, "If I don't do this, it'll kill me."
The neon lights outside the alley flickered on, indifferent, while Jin huddled in the shadows, terror glinting in his eyes.