Yokai Come to the Countryside Café

Chapter 36: Rookie (6)

–Drururung.

I had followed Jinseong into the office, and my first day didn’t feel all that different.

“Mr. Dohyuk.”

“Hmm? Yes?”

“This is our team’s task assignment sheet. And these are the documents related to Samjung Construction’s VR business that just came in. You should start reviewing them from the RFP.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“You need to get familiar with the work before doing it.”

“Huh?”

“If there’s anything you don’t understand, feel free to ask.”

–Thud.

I tossed the stack of documents I’d been handed into a corner and lay back down.

After supplementing my lost sleep at the office due to last night’s drinking session, disappearing at lunchtime when things got busy had so far been all I had to do.

No matter how stiff‐necked my supervisors were, they always bought my excuse that my father had called me urgently.

But here in the Strategic Planning Team, even getting the first button—sleeping—done properly was hard.

“Manager Kim, do you have that file where we researched competitors for the security solution we were about to introduce? How far did you dig?”

“It only goes as far as estimated pricing based on that bid from the similar project two years ago.”

“Oh, perfect! Send it to me later via groupware mail. As expected from Manager Kim.”

“Damn, I just fell asleep moments ago.”

I frowned, irritated at being woken up.

Jinseong was sitting right next to me, so there was no escaping it.

Just as I was about to fall asleep again—

“Manager Kim, by the way, what was that project? That one we got banned from bidding on somehow...”

“The Ministry of Education AI Knowledge Center Construction Project?”

“Yeah! That one! Did they announce the appeal verdict?”

“Yes, the decision overturned the penalty. Now we really have to go all in.”

“Darn it, that’s great. Thanks! People in our department don’t keep up with these things. Do I have to go find out myself at my age? If only I had one employee like Manager Kim, I wouldn’t worry.”

“They’re all busy…”

“Oh, is there anyone at the company who’s not busy?”

“Manager Kim! We… huh? Why is Team Leader Choi here?”

“Then why did the solution team come here? We’re even on different floors.”

‘Is he Acting Supervisor Hong or something?’

Despite the nature of the department, people really came searching from everywhere. And they were department heads who commanded dozens of subordinates.

Their questions varied widely.

And Jinseong answered them without hesitation. He spoke as though he knew everything happening in the company.

‘What kind of work are they doing that they come asking him like that?’

Aside from having my sleep disturbed, curiosity had been piqued.

He was just a Manager, after all.

Subordinate employees or phone calls would’ve been more than enough.

Yet they came in person—it felt more like they just wanted to see his face than to talk business.

‘He doesn’t seem to be doing anything that impressive.’

I quietly stood up and opened one of the handover documents Jinseong had given me in the morning.

–Flap.

Document Number : 140‑20841‑83

Document Title : Strategic Planning Team Work Regulations

General Provisions

1.1 Purpose

The responsibilities of each department of the company…

Task Assignments

2.1 Common

– Preparing and storing internal department documents

– In accordance with internal security rules…

‘It’s nothing special, I thought so.’

It was the kind of show‑piece document format a company of any size naturally has—documents for the sake of documents, you might say.

Something a strict new hire might read once, maybe.

A “well‑that figures” expression flickered across my face.

Allowing someone to bunk in my house and treating them to breakfast was only possible because my father was the chairman—a courtesy purely based on connections.

It was excessive kindness, assuming that just by making a good impression, I'd get some scraps of benefit.

There was no need to actually tell me real work.

If I showed so much dislike for working, if I rubbed them the wrong way, they wouldn’t even brag, “Our household hosted Joo Dohyuk to stay over.”

But after finishing playing Host Hong and seeing off all the uninvited guests, Jinseong said something unexpected.

“If you’ve looked over everything, please mark the tasks you don’t understand or need support with. Normally you’d receive it by mail, but you still don’t have a computer.”

“You really want me to read this?”

“How can you do any work if you don’t know what tasks you’re supposed to do?”

We both looked at each other as if we didn’t get each other’s logic.

“Ha! You gotta be kidding.”

It would look bad if I made him aware of the difference in our statuses.

I understood better than anyone how petty it would sound to say, ‘Do you know who I am?’

I quietly shifted my gaze toward the director.

But even though the conversation came through the partition, Division Head Cha Jaehoon didn’t even twitch. The same went for Manager Lee Seollan across from him.

The atmosphere was similar to last night’s dinner—impossible to refuse.

For someone like me who dislikes awkward and showy requests, it felt like hell.

Then Jinseong nailed down the situation with a final statement for stunned me.

“If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to do it. These were tasks done by one person originally.”

‘This guy again saying something irritating.’

If I got angry, it wouldn’t actually be an impolite remark.

But if I backed down, I’d become garbage who wouldn’t even take on tasks others could—letting someone do them solo.

“Who said I didn’t want to?”

–Slap.

I spun my chair irritably and started reading the documents again.

Two years after joining the company and skipping the junior-orientation on my first day as Assistant Manager Joo Do-hyuk began—my first real task began on this historic day.

【The PC will shut down in 10 minutes. Please finish your work.】

A pop‑up appeared amid my frenzied work.

The pop‑up’s background—even as a symbol of our sentiments—depicted a weary office worker stretching.

“Aha, there he is. Why are you finally here? It’s the weekend so everyone left early, right?”

“Yes, Director, do you have plans somewhere?”

“I have the company hiking club meeting.”

“At this hour?”

“No, the club is a hiking group, but they just drink makgeolli in front of the place.”

“Ah!”

“Anyway, you’re something else, really.”

I couldn’t help but marvel at the director’s cleverness—getting permission for a drinking party under the guise of exercise.

It was both a way to preempt Mrs. Director’s nagging about exercising and drinking legally.

When you’re desperate, you find a way.

“Manager Kim, are you going straight home again today?”

“Yes, I need to prepare for business tomorrow.”

“If you’re that busy even without weekends, when do you rest? Aren’t you going to collapse from overwork?”

“That’s why I work from home.”

“Does working from home reduce your workload? It’s still the same amount of work. Anyway, take care of your health. If Manager Kim is absent, this company won’t run.”

“Oh dear, you say that after grabbing someone who’s going home. Let’s go! Time to clock out!”

That’s how the dull wait for the elevator went while we gathered our things.

Today the surroundings were unusually empty.

The impatient director and manager had long ago taken the stairs, and people from other departments avoided this elevator—the one Assistant Manager Joo Do-hyuk was about to take.

I understood—they were uncomfortable sharing the same space regardless of rank—but somehow it felt bitter.

“Thank you for your hard work today.”

“Hmm…….”

Assistant Manager Joo Do-hyuk awkwardly nodded at my greeting.

And then the silence returned.

–K-Talk notification.

At just that moment, a K-Talk message arrived.

「Ria: There’s no tonkatsu in the fridge! (photo)

Me: Do you really need it? lol

Ria: I don’t need it, but it would be really great if it were there. (photo)

Me: Alright. I’ll buy some.

Elder: Then I’ll go too.

Ria: Gumiho doesn’t need to come! (photo)

Elder: What a spiteful spirit.」

Now I didn’t have to worry about dinner. Crispy tonkatsu for everyone to share was decided.

Ginza Yumē.

A traditional Japanese restaurant opened on prime land in Cheongdam-dong, strictly reservation-only.

It had gained fame—and prices matching its pride as Korea’s top Japanese restaurant—so most patrons didn’t hesitate to spend hundreds of thousands of won on a single meal.

Among those customers was Joo Do-hyuk, sitting in the VIP room despite being told same-day reservations were impossible.

“That was him?”

“You tell me. I told him it was impossible, but he ignored everything, slammed this check on the counter, and walked right in.”

“And the director just accepted it?”

“What could he do? The money’s already here.”

“What, three million won?”

“Shh! Shh!”

Hearing the waiting staff gasp, the manager frantically covered their mouth.

Only then did the staff member realize their mistake and whisper softly into the manager’s ear.

(Like, who the hell pays three million won for one tonkatsu?)

(Says he’s the chairman’s son at Daecheon Group.)

(Being rich is nice. Burning a salary on tonkatsu.)

‘Damn, they say this is the most expensive place, but why is it so poorly soundproofed? How embarrassing.’

Joo Do-hyuk in the VIP room kept gulping cold tea to hide his embarrassment.

The interior’s luxury evoked a traditional Japanese house illusion—but the problem was the paper-thin translucent doors.

If I didn’t hear the whisper calling me “crazy,” maybe that’d be fortunate.

–Knock knock.

“Your meal is served. Shall I bring it inside?”

‘Here it comes.’

The trouble began when I happened to glimpse Jinseong’s K-Talk message, thanks to my height in the elevator.

He said we’d be eating tonkatsu together tonight.

Tonkatsu.

A food I hadn’t eaten even once in my nearly thirty years.

Not premium Korean beef, just pork cutlet—on top of that, coated in batter to increase volume.

Supposedly for flavor—but to me, tonkatsu was cheap food.

And speaking of cheap food, the ramen Jinseong served at the café that morning wasn’t all that different.

But that rich taste that clung to my tongue like glue with just one bite was hardly cheap food.

If instant ramen could taste that good, what about meat—fried to make a cutlet?

That thought didn’t leave my mind, so I rushed straight from the office here.

And finally, I faced Korea’s best thickly-fried tonkatsu.

–Crunch.

“Hmm.”

‘It’s tasty, but…….’

Even though I took a bite of that three-million-won tonkatsu, my expression remained nuanced.

It didn’t taste better than the ramen I ate at that run‑down café.

‘At this rate, I should’ve gone back to that café. Things looked tight there, but if I slipped them a wad of cash, they might’ve made it for me. That’s right—they said they had business on the weekend, didn’t they? Maybe I’ll go tomorrow? No. Why would I go again. What do I even like about that arrogant kid?’

What I didn’t know in my dream was that the customer who had resolved to pull out a wad of cash at Jinseong’s café had arrived before me—and even paid two million won more than I had here and was turned down.

It was like bowls of kimchi soup in full anticipation—but the giver never existed and never would.