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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: No One Held a Knife to Your Throat
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Prologue.
Work-Life Balance. A life philosophy that once trended alongside YOLO.
Unlike YOLO, which was now completely outdated, Work-Life Balance was still tossed around from time to time.
And I had made it my top priority when choosing a career.
I had no dreams of becoming filthy rich. Honestly, no matter if it was a big corporation or wherever, slaving away like a madman didn't seem likely to make anyone filthy rich anyway.
As long as I could earn enough to take care of myself, I wanted to live leisurely afterward, just enjoying hobbies.
If it meant working 80 hours a week for 800,000 won a month, I'd rather make 300,000 won and work just 40 hours.
And in the early to mid-2010s, when I jumped into the job hunt, the symbol of Work-Life Balance was, without a doubt, civil service.
Unlike private companies, there was no worry of getting fired or the company going bankrupt. Unlike regular employees crushed by corporate abuse and overtime, civil servants were thought to clock out sharp at 6 p.m. as a daily routine.
So, in short.
"Who the hell saw this coming? Fuck…."
I had fallen for a pipe dream.
Civil servant clocking out on time? Pure bullshit, not worth a dime. Maybe back in the old days, but not now.
Tired of fretting over not getting fired and watching the boss's mood in private companies?
I didn't know back then. That if I wasn't getting fired, neither was that bastard.
Of course, if you aired this out loud in today's world, the response was predictable.
- So what? No one held a knife to your throat and made you become a civil servant?
Yeah. No one held a knife to my throat.
I walked right into it on my own two feet because I wanted to.
But still.
If I'd known I'd drop dead like this, I never would've become a civil servant.
-No One Held a Knife to Your Throat
Where did it all go wrong?
Getting obsessed with that pipe dream and preparing for civil service?
Since I was preparing anyway, skipping the low-paying 9th grade and investing more time in the 7th grade?
Passing the 7th grade after three years of prep, then sticking it out because I couldn't quit, and suddenly it's been five years?
"When do we get off today…. Ha."
I was muttering a complaint to myself when a familiar noise drilled into my ears.
"H-Hey, you can't come in here!"
"If you keep this up, we'll call the police!"
"If you idiots won't do it, get your superior!! Superior!! Before I kill you all, you fucking bitches!!"
It was obviously a complainer issue.
Without thinking, I turned my head toward the noise and saw an old man trying to barge in, tussling with the staff.
And unluckily, just as I turned, my eyes met those of Lee Ji-yeon, the Officer dealing with him.
"Officer Seo Ji-hoon!"
At her shout, the complainer's gaze naturally shifted to me.
'Ha. Aggro pulled.'
The moment our eyes met, it was obvious things would only get worse.
I turned my head away, clinging to a last shred of hope.
'Wow. Fuck. Is this experience difference?'
My so-called Team Leader had already slipped away, body gone from his seat.
"You the top dog here?"
At the old man's fierce glare and question, I sighed inwardly and approached him.
"Not the top dog. Calm down first and tell me what's going on, sir."
In response to my question, the old man started bellowing.
His ravings were so laced with curses it was hard to make out.
Perhaps considering me, Officer Lee Ji-yeon gave a quick rundown.
"There was an official notice recently changing the basic livelihood recipient restrictions, right? It's about that…."
"Ah…."
He'd come to protest being removed from the basic recipient list.
There was a time when movies, dramas, and novels pushed that trope: the rich are evil, the poor are good.
Reality wasn't like that.
As the saying goes, courtesy comes from a full barn. The anger and antics from those with no slack in life surpassed imagination.
"You retarded fucks! How much have I done for this country, huh? You fucking bitches! Figure it out if you don't wanna die! You're the ones sucking up taxes, aren't you? Where do you think that money comes from!"
"I pay taxes too" rose to the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it.
But maybe my experience was still lacking. In the end, Clerk Lee Ji-yeon couldn't hold back and snapped back.
"Hey, who doesn't pay taxes? And 'fucking bitch'? Watch your mouth."
I could practically feel the sigh escaping me.
'She wasn't like this a year ago.'
A year ago, the fresh-faced girl newly assigned was long gone.
The first month, she spent every night crying over complainers. By the third month, she'd fully blackened.
While the life-worn woman bickered with the complainer.
'Call the cops?'
I signaled Officer Kim Chang-seok nearby with my eyes.
'Called them. They'll be here soon.'
Officer Kim Chang-seok's nod conveyed that.
How do we communicate with just eyes?
This wasn't the first or second time.
'Just stall a bit longer.'
Suppressing a sigh, as I turned back to the complainer.
Squelch.
Some eerie sound pierced my ears.
Then came the sensation. Pain.
"Guh…."
Reflexively bending toward the pain in my gut, I saw a sashimi knife plunged into my belly.
'He… brought a knife?'
How did no one notice?
Such a ridiculous thought hit first.
Who'd expect to get stabbed mid-work?
"Kya啊啊啊!!"
Right after, Officer Lee Ji-yeon's ear-piercing scream rang out.
"Eek."
Even the complainer who'd stabbed me yanked the knife out in equal shock.
"Guh…."
With the knife gone from the hole in my gut, blood gushed out.
I hurriedly clamped it with both hands, but for some reason, strength drained from my body.
Legs gave out, I collapsed, and consciousness faded.
* * *
Early dawn.
A young man groaning in sleep kicked off the blanket and sat up.
Awakening, he muttered in a tone mismatched to his looks.
"Ha. Long time since I had that dream, and damn, it felt way too real."
Seo Ji-hoon. No, the young man going by Il-mok here had a bizarre experience a year ago.
Upon waking, he'd swapped into the persona of a modern South Korean man named Seo Ji-hoon.
At first, he thought it a dream, but after days, weeks, a month, that faded.
'Reincarnation? No, possession?'
Not from birth. He'd opened his eyes at fourteen, so more like possession.
The memory of dying as Seo Ji-hoon was so vivid that even after, he often relived it as nightmares.
But after adapting to life here, the frequency dropped.
Yet today, for some reason, half a year later, he dreamed it again.
*
"Tch. Time to get to work."
Up early dawn, but the nightmare had his brain too rattled for more sleep.
A year awake here. A fifteen-year-old boy working might seem odd, but in 'this world,' it was nothing special.
The world Il-mok had possessed into wasn't modern.
'Out of all places, I wake up in a murim world.'
Work-Life Balance obsessed, I'd enjoyed web novels and webtoons. Well, closer to stress relief since balance wasn't kept.
For a busy modernite, webtoons and novels on public transport during commutes were great relief.
Anyway, thanks to that, I adapted easily to the murim world.
Honestly, I even thought.
'Did I unknowingly leave hate comments on some murim novel?'
Dragged into a novel I'd dissed.
But after checking around, aside from it being murim, no ties to novels I'd read. No protagonists or villains I remembered.
Giving up, I adapted, living as a waiter.
Damn it, the Il-mok I possessed was an orphan.
From Il-mok's memories: not born one, orphaned months before possession.
A fourteen-year-old orphan's options were slim, so I took waiter to survive.
And once started, it wasn't hard.
The two key traits for a waiter here: perceptiveness and endurance.
First, judge guests' wealth and skill from looks, clothes, movements.
Misjudge, let in a dine-and-dash, and the waiter eats the loss.
But don't chase off or ignore based on rags alone. Could be a master whose clothes wore out on long travel, or from a powerful family.
Endurance was needed for guests' abuse. And in this murim world, half lawless zone.
Snap at abuse, get a knife in the gut—no big deal here.
'Can't let the same thing from my past life happen again.'
In that sense, my five years as a civil servant made me overqualified.
Endurance honed by complainers, perceptiveness from rigid bureaucracy.
I put those skills to full use, starting work early dawn.
First, out to the yard at wake-up, sweeping the inn entrance with a broom to start the day.
Then back inside, wiping tables, mopping floors, when Uncle Tae-hyeon, the innkeeper, came down.
"Hm? Il-mok, you're up earlier than usual."
"Eyes popped open on their own, so I figured I'd clean while at it."
"Hahaha. If I could find one more waiter like you, Il-mok, our Clear Wind Inn could be the best in Cheonyang County."
I smiled faintly at Uncle Tae-hyeon's words.
Waking in a fourteen-year-old orphan's body, his help kept me alive.
Beyond hiring as waiter, he provided bed and board.
Even teaching letters, saying aim for a proper job later. Where else such a benefactor?
After greetings, back to cleaning till morning rush.
Take orders from arriving guests, relay to Uncle Tae-hyeon (innkeeper and chef), serve the food he plates.
Clear tables after they leave, greet new ones.
Repeat the hamster wheel dozens of times.
"Phew. Morning rush over."
As guests thinned, I wiped my brow and sighed.
Clear last plates, morning done. Break till evening.
Nap? Didn't feel the need.
Waitering's physical, yet never tiring.
Used to it? No, same from day one.
'Youth? Not getting tired.'
Slept poorly, worked early, still full of energy.
Clearing last table.
"Fastest noodles, one bowl."
Sudden order.
No footstep heard entering, but looking, an old man sat at a table.
'Martial artist.'
Instinct told me. But that made it weirder.
Seen many martial artists as waiter, all exuding untouchable auras.
This old man? None.
"Got it, sir."
Still, I replied courteously.
Ignore instinct's warning, knife anytime in this world.
"Uncle! One small noodles!"
Relayed to kitchen. After a bit, small noodles, teapot, cup came out.
Carefully placed before old man, stepped back. He sipped tea calmly, ate noodles with chopsticks.
After tasting both, he spoke evenly.
"Poison. Looks like the Alliance caught my tail."
"!?"
Before I could say 'What?'
Slish!
Eerie flesh-cutting from kitchen.
No time to look.
From the aura-less old man, a mountain-like energy surged.
As the terrifying old man glared at me, a new voice from kitchen.
"Tail handled."
'Tail? Not Uncle, right?'
Such ominous thought as he appraised me like merchandise.
"Hoh. Quite the usable body for a waiter in a place like this."
"??"
Before I could respond to the ambiguous words.
Flash.
Old man vanished from table, appeared before me.
Sword drawn to my throat.
"Choose. Die here, or become this seat's disciple."
Sword at throat from martial artist. Somehow, silly thought.
'That dawn dream… prophetic?'
Seemed fucked.