His screen opened to an email from the leader of the project he had lost that morning, Kang Yoo. The haze instantly rose up like an iron curtain.
It read "Key Item 'The Harmony Gyeran' (egg) Lunchbox. Plan."
So, they have already settled the theme of the lunchbox. That fast!?
His heart sank.
Seungho held his lips pursed for a couple of minutes before letting go. He inhaled and almost chocked on the ball he felt obstructing his throat. Placing himself closer to the screen, his hands holding his desk tightly, He was finally able to read the details of the email. Had had to.
He was assigned to care for Sukju Namul (Seasoned Bean Sprouts, a side dish), the only side dish the company had been selling from the same vendor since its funding. Same recipe.
It was official: Seungho sat at the bottom of the Banchan (side dishes) ladder. For a flavor designer it meant humiliation.
He scooped down his chair, laid his head on the back looking up at a flickering light on the ceiling.
And he knew exactly why--he only had to fill a form. The recipe was set, quantity was set, raw ingredients were also sorted and taken care of by the vendor.
Delivery? That too was already integrated into the system. There was nothing for him to fail.
It was Friday, the form needed to be filled and stamped for approval by Monday morning.
It didn't feel good. He exhaled resigned.
Right then, a chocolate chip cookie landed onto his keyboard. It felt like it had fallen from the sky. Seungho looked up, it was Jiyoon over the partition with an apologetic look. She mouthed "next time", her eyes squeezed in sympathetic pain. She rushed to her desk. Unlike Seungho, she had been already promoted twice.
Maybe, next time I would get the job, but most likely not.
He squeezed the cookie tight without breaking it. Then he noticed the note. "Tonight, drinks? ♡" How daring. Seungho smiled, it was a nice feeling.
He looked up, she was already gone. Seungho eased, feeling the tension loosen its grip.
He'd almost forgotten. Last month, drunk on Soju (Korean alcohol), she'd told him she understood why he pulled away. "I'd hide too, if I thought everyone was watching me fail." She'd laughed, but her eyes hadn't.
Without realizing, he had started punching the words "hyperfocus control of the mind hunters" in his computer.
Ding.
Another email. This time direct at him. "Yang Seungho-ssi, did you read the other email I sent? Please, please, please don't forget to organize the delivery by Monday morning. Kang Yoo."
At least the tone wasn't accusatory. Ironically others had given up trying to whip him into completing tasks on time with ultimatums. They didn't work.
But Seungho felt annoyed for another reason. He looked at the list of ingredients for the lunchbox again. It looked familiar. Last year they had come up with a new lunchbox recipe.
Seungho bit the inside of his cheek. It sting, but then immediately released.
What was going to do about it?
We planned it together, but I didn't do anything about it. Kang Yoo-ssi turned it into a viable project. What did I do? Lolled and forgot.
Seungho slapped his hand as a reminder, another opportunity missed. Then massaged his hand, it hurt.
He got up, put his phone into his pocket. A few floors down, the archive room stored, already printed, the form he needed to fill to formalize the order for the Banchan.
He turned the corner, people waiting by the elevator. Seungho stopped and quickly flipped on his heels heading for the stairs, less traffic.
Stepping down he heard some faint voices from up above the chute of the stairs... people talking, probably about their private business. He hurried to reach the basement floor.
How old-fashioned to use printed forms, but that had been the appeal for Seungho to join this specific company. Traditions, small, yet unparalleled prestige in the traditional foods business.
There he could focus on flavors...with Jiyoon they had made a great team. He thought of her smile, the perfume of her shampoo while bent over the counter while matching colors to the design of a lunchbox. Purple and deep blue, that too was for a summer festival. Fireworks against a dark sky. The smooth smell of Tteokbokki (Spicy Rice Cakes) in his memory tickled his nose. She had a great eye for harmonizing colors and aware of what people actually liked.
Seungho put his hand onto the doorknob of the archive room. His phone buzzed. He quickly pulled it out, and wished he hadn't.
It was his mother begging him to come home for the holidays. He didn't reply, and soon the one message turned into a torrent. It shuttered any possibility to feel good.
He let the doorknob go, and went by the vending machine accommodated into a depression at the end of the corridor. No one ever went there. He tucked himself in between the vending machine and the decorative plant thriving next to it, hiding his phone screen from a crowd that wasn't there.
He grunted holding the screen with both hands. He didn't want to go, for two valid reasons. With his salary, he just couldn't afford it.
And his siblings would spend the entire time reminding him what a failure he was. It was fun for them. He hated it. He hated them.
And then it came. "Your sister got promoted. Are you even trying?" His mother's words hit a sore.
Never a word of support...
What was the point of rebelling?
He pulled himself up quickly, stuffing his cellphone in his pocket decidedly,
No way I am going!
His mother then called. He turned his phone off without answering.
His jaw tightened. His mother never stopped.
Alone, next to the vending machine, the silence suffocated him.
I need to make a change as soon as possible. I need to do things differently. At least I need to try. I.need.to.try. I have to be more like the others.
From around the corner, a sound, a word caught Seungho. He peaked. No, it wasn't even what he heard, it was a mood. He saw a group of three move swiftly towards the restrooms in the opposite direction.
That was odd.
After they entered the restroom, Seungho quickly moved to arrive in time to hold the closing door ajar, just enough to be able to hear. His ear glued to the opening.
There were noises of knocking and opening stall doors on the dead floor, some whispers, cellphone's rings indicating being turned off. They finally began talking loud enough for Seungho to hear.
"...infected blood from the last Castle raid. You know what it does, don't you?!"
Seungho filled the gap.
Hyperfocus!
"oh who cares about that!"
"don't mess with me! Hallucinating for hours! Worth the risk."
"hehe I am in!"
Seungho busted into the room slamming the door open.
"I want in!"
They stared at him with panic. Attending ex-hunter fights was a big no-no. They were illegal.
"I think you got it wrong" blabbered Lee DongChul visibly nervous.
Minjae shot his arm out to the side to shut him. "What do you think we were talking about, exactly?" Punching the last word as a warning. Minjae didn't take his piercing eyes off Seungho.
Seungho swallowed. He was suddenly nervous. "I want to go see the ex-hunter fight!"
Minjae looked at his coworkers, they glanced back almost begging him not to make it happen.
The stares felt like stabs. He looked at the floor and clenched his fists tight. He felt the skin stretch over his knuckles, the tendons of his hands hurt.
Why is it so hard for them to just let me join?!
He glanced up without lifting his head. Minjae was staring at him. Seungho startled.
"You see?! He won't be able to hold it together." Yoon Taeil spit out and passed his hands through the fluff of his thick hair.
Minjae said, "don't worry, he is safe." And nodded with dominating evaluation.
"I have been waiting for you to say that."
So Minjae had heard him in the lounge after all. And he was right, if Seungho wanted his life to change he needed to start taking chances, breaking the pattern of his misery.
"Ok!" said Seungho with a grin of complicity.
"Cool!"