I was a salesman.
The ace of a pretty successful department, no less.
The saying "after-parties are an extension of work" is usually dismissed as self-justification from booze-loving old fogeys, but for me, it was undeniable reality.
I'd constantly played the clown at drinking parties, building up my tolerance along the way, and somehow gained the mystical ability to stay sharp even after downing hard liquor.
So, no matter how weak this tubercular body of mine was to alcohol, there was no way a single beer could knock me out.
"Hey, Lucas!"
I was slumped over the bar table, rubbing my burning face, when a voice suddenly called out from behind.
It was Daniel Hartmann.
Thinking I was dead drunk, he forcibly hauled me up and dragged me out.
Well, from Lucas's memories, it wasn't the first time I'd passed out at the tavern only for Daniel to come fetch me and drag me back to the boarding house.
'He's a kind guy, huh. But why's he looking around so cautiously?'
Pretending to stumble, I eyed Daniel's profile.
He was smiling, but his lips were slightly tense, and his eyes darted quickly.
No matter how you sliced it, that was the behavior of someone furtively scanning the surroundings.
'Something going on? My head's already killing me, and now this guy's acting weird too.'
We arrived at the boarding house without incident, and I flopped onto the bed, feigning drunken stupor.
But Daniel glanced down at me, then instead of leaving, started rummaging around beside me.
'What's his game?'
Listening quietly, it sounded like he was searching through the room.
He was trying not to make noise, but who wouldn't hear the drawers opening and closing?
The search even crept up to the bedside. Irritation boiled over, and I sat up, grabbing his wrist.
"What are you doing?"
Glancing at him sharply, Daniel's face froze for a split second.
Then it relaxed smoothly.
"Looking for hangover relief."
"What?"
"You always take some after drinking, right? So your stomach feels better in the morning."
He said it casually, continuing to rummage through the bedside drawer.
"Here it is."
Daniel grinned and placed a small brown bottle—looking like some kind of medicine—into my hand.
'Refreshed Dawn!!'
A handsome man flashed a toothy smile and thumbs-up on the label.
"Drink it before bed. You said it was pricey."
"Yeah, thanks, buddy!"
After Daniel said goodnight and left, I stared hard at the closed door.
'That guy's no slouch either.'
Thinking I'd have one more thing to watch out for, I downed the hangover cure in one go.
"Urk!"
A hellish bitterness assaulted my mouth.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The usual morning.
Daniel acted like nothing had happened, and no hangover came.
As Mrs. Schmidt set a plate in front of me, she broached the topic cautiously.
"Lucas, Daniel. About this month's rent."
"Oh, already that time?"
I looked up at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall.
A humble oiled-paper calendar, like the ones pasted up before Lunar New Year back home. Days marked with red X's were visible.
Today was August 4th.
Lucas's payday.
Maybe because it was an efficiency-obsessed dictatorship, but in Schupaven, nearly every workplace paid at the start of the month. So Mrs. Schmidt collected rent then too.
"I'll give it to you the moment I get back tonight, Mrs. Schmidt."
But she waved her hands vigorously.
"No, no. Lucas, how much hardship have you been through this month? I was going to say you don't have to pay."
"Mrs. Schmidt, what about me?"
"Daniel, you haven't had it that tough, have you?"
"Discrimination! That's not fair!"
The boisterous scene drew a chuckle from me.
In a way uncharacteristic of me but true to Lucas, I ramped up the energy and shouted.
"Thank you, Mrs. Schmidt! But can a grown man shirk his responsibilities? I'll pay every last peld, don't you worry! Hahaha!"
Mrs. Schmidt flushed with emotion, but Daniel narrowed his eyes slightly.
"What's gotten into you, Lucas? You go nuts for freebies."
I spread my arms wide with a serious expression.
"Oh, Daniel! I've been reborn. Just like the Leader said, after trials and tribulations, my resolve has hardened. I'm going to become a true man now!"
Even I felt goosebumps on my arms saying it.
"Hahaha, good thinking, friend! I always cheer you on."
Daniel slung an arm around my shoulders good-naturedly. But glancing at him while he smiled, the suspicion in his eyes remained.
'Tch, not buying it.'
I'm no actor; no matter how hard I tried to act like Lucas, there were limits.
That must be why Hoffmann and Daniel kept suspecting me.
'Just accept that the torture changed me, and we'd all be happier.'
Hoffmann aside, Daniel seemed awfully suspicious by nature.
'Doesn't seem like his original personality. What are you hiding, anyway?'
Muttering inwardly with a smirk yielded no answers.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Even after being completely alone in the office, I greeted others without reservation.
A smile or slight nod when eyes met, basic courtesy. Though it usually made them awkward.
"Am I some plague carrier or what?"
Grumbling, I retreated to my solitary domain, the file room.
Their looks screamed, "Just quit already."
Who knew fantasy worlds had that passive-aggressive quit culture too? No need to copy Korea there.
Once I had enough money and info, I'd leave no matter what.
With that in mind, I started flipping through the organized files.
Lucas's job knowledge was abysmal; everything was new.
Rail network surveys through the capital, tax systems, population and gender ratios, job distributions, lists of subversives, and more.
This rundown office in a corner of Lüdelheim had limits to its info, but digging through the dusty binders revealed plenty of gems.
'If I'm quitting anyway, might as well suck it dry first.'
I recalled a senior who'd jumped ship after enduring Manager Kim's hysterics.
Lost in analysis, lunchtime arrived.
I set down the thick binder, ate my sandwich, then leaned by the window and lit a cigarette.
Unlike my old body, Lucas's was a wreck, so I tried quitting, but the addiction was too severe.
'Cutting from a pack a day to half is miraculous, right?'
Grumbling, I exhaled smoke through the small window.
Kyah kyah!
Relaxing after lunch, I heard an animal whining from somewhere.
"Wh-what?"
Cranning my neck out the window and looking around, I spotted a tiny black furball hobbling below, small enough to fit in my hand.
"A puppy?"
A local mutt looking like it hadn't been groomed in ten years.
Matted, faded black fur covered its face, but bright eyes peeked out, looking up at me.
"Puppy, you hungry?"
I quickly hid the cigarette and tossed half my remaining sandwich. It scarfed it down and looked up again.
"Sorry, that's all."
The pup whined disappointedly, huddling up.
It tugged at my heartstrings, but the end-of-lunch bell rang. I shut the window and dove back into memorizing files.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Just before clocking out, someone knocked on the file room door. Outside, an envelope lay neatly on the floor.
Pay envelope.
Usually handed out to everyone at once. Leaving it like "take it and scram" was new.
If I were a rookie, I'd have teared up in humiliation, but I'd rolled in the harsh sales trenches for nearly a decade.
Compared to the brutal power plays I'd seen, this was cute.
"Thanks! Good work this month!"
Scoffing, I snatched the envelope and yelled at the retreating back.
"Account balance is 2,530 peld."
National Schupaven Bank, Branch 19.
The gruff teller's words drew a suppressed sigh.
'You wastrel bastard!'
Lucas's debauched life left him clueless about his savings.
Here to check for future plans, and it was just 2,530 peld!
Hard to compare directly, but given Schupaven prices, one peld bill felt like 100 won in Korea.
So, a third-year civil servant with only about 250,000 won saved!
'I saved half my salary! Wasted my diligence. If I'd known I'd end up here, I'd have splurged too.'
Unjust resentment soured my mouth.
Of course, Lucas hadn't just blown it all. He'd dumped his meager savings into theater prep.
'Rotten guy.'
Why suffer like this? I ground my teeth.
"Transfer?"
"No, withdraw it all."
Pocketing the thicker envelope, I glanced back at the bank entrance.
Imposing marble building, gold-lettered sign, stern guards.
But to me, it looked like the gates to a hellbound express.
Couldn't tell if Krüger was truly clean as newspapers praised or corrupt like most dictators. Probably media control either way.
Anyway, suspecting asset misuse, I withdrew every peld.
Not switching to private banks—they could be requisitioned on a whim, and war bankruptcy was instant.
Even best case, war bonds forced on us, worthless maybe.
'Hide it at home for now.'
Ideally gems or foreign currency in war, but couldn't afford that.
Current funds: 15,000 peld salary plus wallet cash, about 20,000 peld total.
Even for low-paid civil servants, failing to save 2 million won in three years was worrying.
Well, the guy dumping personal cash into work—figures.
'Retirement's off the table then.'
Even pinching pennies and saving most salary, it'd take ten years to quit and flee safely.
A wave of pathos hit me.
This country had handsome rich heirs—why possess this loser?
Karma for envying stable civil servant jobs amid my precarious employment?
Pondering ways to grow the money, trudging along, familiar panting and tiny footsteps approached from behind.
"No way."
Stopping, the faded furball caught up and looked up.
"You from lunch?"
The sandwich pup.
I'd glimpsed it huddled in an alley at quitting time—when did it follow here?
"I got nothing left, seriously."
Shrugging awkwardly to hurry off, something caught my eye.
In the bustling downtown after-work crowd, a familiar face popped up across the street.
'Daniel Hartmann?'
The guy usually wearing a friendly smile was expressionless, checking his pocket watch, gazing at distant buildings, pacing.
"No reason for him to be here."
His newspaper office was the opposite direction.
Not banking, so maybe meeting someone? Interview?
"Woof!"
The pup yipped softly, rubbing my leg.
"How'd you track me? Been tailing the whole time? Got skills for a dog."
Petting the panting pup, I chuckled, then muttered.
"Tailing."