LnD | Chapter 3

“Ron, did you make the account I mentioned?”

Si-ron turned to the voice calling him. Asimi Soomar, who always stared at his phone whenever the boss was away, was calling Si-ron without even looking up.

“Account? What account?”

“Geez. You never really listen to me, do you? I called you last weekend and told you to create a Fresh Eats delivery driver account right away.”

Last weekend, Si-ron had been binge-watching the second series of the drama “Return to Bunker,” completely engrossed in the life-and-death stories of Plus Company during World War II. He didn’t remember a word of the brief call with Asimi.

“…Oh, right.”

Asimi sighed heavily, finally looking up from his phone, and held out his hand.

“Give me your phone.”

“No way.”

“Quick!”

Reluctantly, Si-ron handed over his phone, not wanting to hear Asimi’s lecture.

“What’s the pattern?”

“Capital Z.”

“Typical you.”

Asimi habitually rubbed his greasy mustache and opened the app store. Watching Asimi’s oily fingerprints coat his phone screen, Si-ron asked,

“What are you doing?”

“Installing the Fresh Eats app. I told you Fresh is starting a food delivery service.”

Si-ron vaguely remembered. On TV, Private Second Class Norman Anderson was recalling happy past moments before his death, while Asimi’s nagging about installing the Fresh Eats app was playing on his phone. But with the iconic scene from “Return to Bunker” in front of him, Asimi’s nagging didn’t register.

“The world’s changing fast. How long are you going to be stuck in this tiny curry shop? I have to stay here another year because of my visa, but you don’t.”

Their workplace, Curry King, was a curry restaurant run by a Pakistani owner, known for its value in Riverland. Si-ron and Asimi mostly handled deliveries, but when customers flooded in, they helped with kitchen and serving duties. In short, they did whatever the boss asked.

“With Fresh Eats, you earn per delivery. Deliver to just twenty places a day, and you’ll make way more than our daily wage.”

Smartphones hadn’t even been around for ten years, yet the world was changing rapidly. Asimi was always in tune with these shifts. A former fund manager in Bangladesh, Asimi had given up his high income to immigrate to the U.S. for his children’s education, ending up working at a Pakistani restaurant due to visa issues. Only five years older than Si-ron, he seemed twenty years ahead in life.

Asimi wasn’t afraid of new challenges; a year ago, he even dabbled in cryptocurrency, specifically Deepcoin. Developed by the mysterious Japanese cryptographer Hirase Ryo, it was an encrypted digital asset, but Si-ron couldn’t understand half of what Asimi said.

After reading some strange articles online, Asimi claimed cryptocurrency would soon revolutionize the world’s wealth standards. He urged Si-ron to buy Deepcoin immediately, but Si-ron had no intention of spending a dime on internet currency worth $14 per coin, less valuable than game money.

“I’ve installed the app. Just create a delivery driver account. Ron, you can take days off whenever you want and work more if you want to earn more. If you’re unsure, try accepting just a couple of deliveries.”

The flexibility to work more or less was certainly appealing, but Si-ron didn’t dislike working at Curry King. If Asimi knew, he’d flip the place upside down, but the boss paid Si-ron, who’d worked there for only two years, the same weekly wage as Asimi, who’d been there for three. The reason was that reviews and ratings had improved since Si-ron started.

The more he thought about it, the less reason he had to leave Curry King. Was Asimi trying to get rid of him?

Unable to ask directly, Si-ron scratched his nose with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, I’ll try it next time.”

“Sure, you won’t. With your laziness, you’ll miss good opportunities and regret it later.”

“You have a knack for making sensible points sound annoying.”

Unfortunately, Si-ron somewhat agreed with Asimi’s harsh assessment. He knew he was wasting time tied to lousy connections.

Once, he’d arrogantly gazed down at the Han River from a fancy penthouse, savoring expensive wine. But after losing all his money to penalties, he was now penniless, scraping by with clinical trial part-time jobs of uncertain side effects.

Reflecting bitterly on his misfortune, Si-ron suddenly remembered the clinical trial and checked the time in a panic. He’d completely forgotten to send the side effect report to Dr. Johnson by noon. It was already 4 PM.

“I’ll be right back, just going to the bathroom!”

Rushing into the bathroom, Si-ron checked the email from Dr. Johnson on his phone.

[Hello, this is Dr. Johnson Lube.]
[I’m contacting you regarding the 4-day response check for the first dose of testosterone, placebo-controlled (injection). Please report and complete the brief survey. Awaiting your response.]

The survey consisted of three questions.

Q1. Have there been any new reactions or side effects since the first dose?
Q2. After the first dose, have you achieved sufficient erection for intercourse when sexually stimulated?
Q3. Have you felt a burning sensation across the scrotum and perineum since the first dose?

Five days had passed since the first trial dose. Fortunately, there were no side effects that warranted urgent contact with the doctor.

“Why ask about a burning sensation across the scrotum and perineum? Is it a side effect?”

Before falling asleep last night, Si-ron had felt a slight itch and a prickling sensation in his lower abdomen and perineum, but the symptoms disappeared by morning. Though uneasy, he trusted the pharmaceutical experts to have made a safe drug and proceeded with the survey.

Si-ron, adhering to his principle of earning his pay, even attempted self-stimulation, but his genitals remained unresponsive. However, his frequent urination noticeably improved, needing the bathroom only every few hours.

Having received only the first of three doses, his malfunctioning prostate was gradually returning to normal. Not only would he receive a thousand dollars after taxes per injection, but his frequent urination was also being treated.

“Two birds with one stone, as they say. Truly a win-win situation.”

Si-ron muttered happily in Korean.

Sometimes, lines he’d struggled to memorize would randomly pop into his head. Smiling at the appropriateness of the line, he quickly stopped when he remembered the man he’d exchanged it with.

“Hey, Ron. Is the toilet clogged?”

The boss’s voice came from outside the bathroom, having returned from an outing.

“What?”

“If you’re not unclogging a backed-up toilet, get out here now!”

Exiting, Si-ron was greeted by Iqbal’s disapproving expression.

“There’s no smell, so what were you doing in there?”

Though he had plenty of embarrassing moments caught by Iqbal, he couldn’t admit he’d been filling out a clinical trial survey for erectile dysfunction treatment.

“I’m constipated.”

“Sure, constipated enough to kill time web surfing on your phone. We’ve got orders. Go help Asimi.”

As Si-ron hurried into the dining area, he encountered an unexpected obstacle. Two young Asian women, struggling with English, were using a translation app to decipher the menu in the middle of the hall.

“Goat bi…riyani? Goat means lamb, right?”

“Probably. Biryani? What’s that?”

Hearing familiar Korean, Si-ron quickly covered half his face with a mask and slipped past them into the kitchen. Asimi, noticing Si-ron’s attempt to stay unnoticed, quietly asked, “Korean tourists?”

“Yeah.”

Asimi clicked his tongue.

“Ron, do all Koreans recognize you so much that you have to hide your face?”

I was quite famous, you know. I made the front page of the newspapers several times and even appeared on the 9 o’clock news.

Si-ron wanted to retort sarcastically but didn’t tell the whole truth. People tend to downplay their past mistakes.

“…Not really. I just had a brief moment online.”