"How did Producer Yu end up?"
"Don't tack 'sir' onto a guy like that. You want to honor a human piece of trash?"
Lee Cheonghyeon snapped.
You think I want to? I’m saying it because we don’t know who might be listening.
I was about to fire back, then held it in when I saw his face. We can’t keep Spark’s top visual looking like a deflated pastry forever.
"I heard something about a police station earlier, but nothing since. All I got was that he was uncooperative with the investigation."
Even Jeong Seongbin, of all people, left off any honorific for Yu Hansu.
If even that polite kid talks like that, then Yu Hansu’s never getting into heaven.
"I heard he had a lot of grudges against you..."
"Even so, how does it make sense to hit someone? That’s insane—"
"Tsk."
I barely managed to calm down Choi Jeho before he boiled over again.
"You told that writer about me, didn’t you?"
That’s exactly what Yu Hansu said. He asked if I’d been going around talking behind his back.
For the record, I never told anyone about his power trips besides Team Leader in Planning and Min Ju Kyung.
It was already hard enough starting at UA with a handicap because of me—then an internal whistleblow, filthy rumors, he gets shunted to the boonies while I keep climbing... maybe that’s how he framed it.
But I didn’t expect he’d go this far over something this small when he wasn’t publicly executed or fired. He really is a pathetic creep.
Looks like what actually pulled his trigger was anything that might ruin his “great deeds.” That career built from stealing other people’s results.
▶ I knew that Mr. Yu was going to make a scene. I told you his eyes looked wrong, didn’t I? He had “incoming incident” written all over him. Why do you keep doing what I told you not to do? I definitely warned you, didn’t I?
Why not just hold a death-curse rite for me while you’re at it. From the way you counted down, you seemed thrilled.
I could pulverize it and still not feel better, but it did keep me from a truly serious injury and even gave me incentives, so I’ll let it slide.
Even so, if he went this far, he must have been genuinely terrified of wrecking his precious image.
Does he not think about what he actually did? Even his Job Planet page is enemies on all sides. If it were me, I wouldn’t have dared live like that in a company just out of fear.
More importantly, an investigation.
So it’s finally time for the Yu Hansu quotes I’ve compiled for months to shine?
My chest thrummed. Maybe it’s because this is my first real soda-pop revenge in office life. My heart pounded and I felt a surge of energy.
"In our shared drive, there’s a folder under my name, right? The password is 'zkfxhlrldnjs214dlfck.' Inside, the third or fourth item should be a folder called '[Misc] Targets of Revenge — Yu Hansu.'"
"You put something like that in our shared drive, hyung?"
Lee Cheonghyeon stared, dumbfounded.
"I gathered it because I intended to use it. Move everything onto a USB and hand it to Manager. There are plenty of blank sticks at the office—don’t waste money buying one."
"What’s in that folder?"
"Screenshots of texts Producer sent me, and recorded call audio. A consolidated work schedule. And a journal where I pressed down all the distress he caused me. If they need originals, they can take my phone straight away. I haven’t deleted any texts."
"..."
"They say the more records, the better."
So this is where the “how to collect workplace bullying evidence” I once looked up—planning to report Department Head Nam—finally pays off.
Right when UA’s internal probe must be nearing the end, the police open a criminal investigation.
Perfect, you XXX. I’ll see you blacklisted not only in the company but in society.
While I was savoring the feeling of my chest opening up, my eyes met Kang Giyeon’s. He was looking down at me with a strange expression.
"Are you not even angry, hyung?"
"About what?"
"Other than us being shocked and you reporting Yu Hansu—do you have no other thoughts?"
There was a chill in Kang Giyeon’s face.
"Hyung."
"What."
"I stopped Jeho earlier because he seemed too riled up. But you too..."
Then Kang Giyeon shut his mouth.
When he does that, it’s one of two reasons: either he doesn’t see any need to say it, or he thinks it’ll be too harsh if he does.
They’re kids who usually keep it formal and don’t say cutting things.
Since their pent-up frustration with me is leaking out, it might not be bad to hear the truth while I can.
"If you’ve got something to say, say it. Just leave out the profanity."
"..."
"Come on. If I don’t set the stage, you won’t say it. If it’s awkward to talk in front of everyone, should I send them out?"
"Ha..."
Kang Giyeon sighed.
"I know you’re a consistent person. But sometimes I wish you’d ease up."
"..."
"We were genuinely worried about you. We’re mad at Yu Hansu, too. But when the person involved is completely unfazed and we’re the only ones fretting, it makes us feel {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} like idiots."
Silence fell.
He knit his brows and turned his head.
It’s not like I’m not angry at all. I almost got a hole punched in my skull.
But office workers have to handle their own business.
You pay bills month to month; if you take time off because you’re sick, it’s unpaid and you don’t earn.
If you show you’re hurting, all you get back is a put-down, so you do anything to avoid giving anyone an opening.
I’ve seen plenty of employees who can’t take long stretches off twisting themselves into knots to schedule a surgery on a weekend or holiday. Live like that long enough, and your own well-being drops to second place.
And how about the feelings. If you blow up because you were humiliated, you’re the weird one. You can’t just express it exactly as you feel.
I’m veering into self-pity again. I should rein it in.
There was a lot I wanted to say to him. That thirty million office workers would understand me; that it’s not like I don’t want to rest, and so on.
But this time I decided to fold. I don’t want a tear-soaked argument.
"Thanks for caring that much. I’ll try not to be that way."
When I looked at him again, his face said, “Yeah, right.”
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. My head was starting to ache.
Part of me wanted to say, “Reset your mindset and go practice.” But if I did, a few of them would glare daggers and start scolding me all over again.
I swallowed a sigh and took a step back.
"Okay. You all worked hard today, so head home and rest. Tomorrow, when you have time, Seongbin, ping me as spokesperson. Let’s discuss how to handle the final performance."
"The final performance?"
Kang Giyeon asked back.
"Don’t tell me you want a meeting tomorrow?"
"Why wouldn’t we? Are we not going to compete?"
"Hyung, you didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?"
"Don’t push him so hard, Giyeon. Hyung, the final show’s been postponed two weeks."
Jeong Seongbin reined in the bristling Kang Giyeon.
I hadn’t expected a final performance to be postponed. On a survival show no less, where the finale is usually live and crucial.
Venue rental, recruiting the audience, scaling up the tallying system—there’d be a mountain of tasks. If they push it two weeks, the production will have to redo almost everything from scratch.
"Why?"
"A contestant caused an incident—how would they just go on? And not just any incident. It blew up while preparing for Royal Secretariat."
Choi Jeho clicked his tongue.
Jeong Seongbin took out a wet wipe and gently rubbed my hair to clean it.
"There were a lot of articles. It’s become an issue... the situation’s gotten a bit bigger."
Thick, sticky black blood stained the end of the wipe.
"So for now, don’t think about anything else and get real rest."
He smiled awkwardly, like he was forcing down his anxiety.
Which makes it feel like...
"I’m just making them worry even more."
But there was no taking the words back.
I said I understood, then told them I wanted to sleep a bit and shooed them out with Manager.
Only after I watched them leave the room with Manager did my tension ease a little.
Isn’t it illegal for five people to gang up on a patient? I felt so wronged I almost cried inside.
But there’s no time to cry. We need a plan for the final performance.
Originally, we had about three weeks left until the finale.
Now it’s been extended by two.
It’s rare for a whole group to drop out of a program just because one member’s injured. Usually they exclude the injured member only.
But this time it’s different. It happened while we were preparing for this very program, tied up with an internal agency problem to boot.
UA could pull all of Spark from the show to protect the artists and get ahead of the fallout.
It’s not an easy call to quit before the finals, but UA might well do it. At minimum, UA’s a company that prioritizes performers’ safety.
Which meant only one conclusion.
I absolutely had to bounce back and, with a perfectly fine face, declare, "I’m totally fine! Let’s sprint toward the last stage of Royal Secretariat!"
From the look on those Spark punks’ faces earlier, unless I’m fully recovered they won’t just keep me off the stage—they’ll block me from joining meetings.
But who am I?
The guy who’s coasted on a healthy body without even getting a common flu.
And I have a solid Work Support Service.
With this, I, too, can make a swift recovery and a healthy return...
.
.
Accumulated fatigue: 65% (Work Support Service active)
Why is it still at 65%?
Without the support service, that’s 85%. So I’m still in the danger zone?
It didn’t feel real. Probably because there was no pain.
Right then someone came into the room. A nurse.
"How’s your pain?"
"I’m okay. Um, is my wound very serious?"
"No, the surgery went great!"
Then why on earth is my fatigue at sixty-five percent?
I’m not even getting nosebleeds now. Is the system bugged?
"Then when could I be discharged? I’m not particularly in pain, so as soon as the wound closes up I’d like to leave."
"Discharged? Oh dear, your guardian hasn’t explained yet. The professor said we should keep you inpatient for about eight weeks to monitor your progress. Do you have something urgent?"
Sorry?
How many weeks of total recovery?
Uh... I have to perform...?
