WAMB Chapter 1.5

Topkapı Palace, named from the combination of “Top” (meaning cannon) and “Kapı” (meaning gate), was once home to the sultans of the Ottoman Empire.

Today’s first stop, strolling through the palace gardens, wasn’t just Sewon and the man—it was three of them.

“The next place we’ll enter is the sultan’s audience chamber. After this, you’re free to explore on your own,” said the guide, who’d introduced herself as Jasmine, smiling at Sewon and the man.

Accompanying a guide at Topkapı Palace had been the man’s idea, not Sewon’s.

Though not as crowded as Hagia Sophia or the Blue Mosque, a long line stretched before Topkapı Palace too. Entry was expected to take about an hour, but thanks to the man signing up with a hawking guide, they passed through the Second Courtyard in under ten minutes.

Hiring a nationally certified guide allowed them to skip the queue, but since it was a private tour, the cost was steep. Before Sewon could protest, the man had already paid.

“That chair used over a thousand kilograms of gold. The gems embedded in it are all emeralds,” Jasmine explained.

The narrow passage in the audience chamber was packed with tourists. Jasmine leaned in, whispering to Sewon about noteworthy details.

“Did you see the faucet in the sultan’s reception room earlier? The sultan would turn it on during talks to keep secrets from leaking out.”

Having studied in England as a child, Jasmine’s English carried almost no Turkish accent, making it effortless for Sewon to follow.

“Smart idea,” the man said, nodding with interest.

At Topkapı Palace, Sewon learned something new about him: his English was exceptional. It had a natural ease that starkly contrasted with Sewon’s own skills, hastily polished for job prep.

“Have you already visited Dolmabahçe Palace?” Jasmine asked.

“No, not yet,” the man replied, glancing at Sewon to let him answer.

“Planning to go tomorrow,” Sewon said.

With a gentle smile, Jasmine offered tips for the rest of their trip.

“When you visit Dolmabahçe, think of Topkapı while you’re there. Focus on power, decline, and appearances. It’ll make the experience richer, more layered.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” Sewon said.

“The tour was great today. Thanks, guide,” the man added.

After parting with Jasmine, they decided to explore unseen spots like the Baghdad Pavilion. The palace gardens, like any tourist site, teemed with groups. Though far from home, the chatter of Korean tourists felt oddly comforting.

In the jewel gallery, where they’d queued to enter, an 84-carat diamond and a dagger studded with massive emeralds were on display. The diamond’s sheer size left Sewon wide-eyed.

Stepping out to the courtyard, Topkapı Palace’s exterior struck him as far from lavish—just rugged and sturdy. He recalled the inscription on the “Imperial Gate,” a paean to Mehmet II, who built the palace.

“Sultan of two continents, ruler of two seas, shadow of God in this world and the next, hero of land and water…”

Mehmet the Conqueror had taken Constantinople at twenty-one. Around Sewon’s age, he’d already carved his name into history.

What did it mean to live with the grandest titles a human could bear?

No matter how Sewon pondered, it wasn’t something an ordinary person like him could grasp.

Finishing their tour, Sewon and the man exited through a path behind the palace kitchens, looping back to the main gate.

Recalling that, at its peak, over a thousand cooks prepared meals for more than twenty thousand people, Sewon’s inner voice slipped out.

“Man, I’m hungry…”

“Shall we grab lunch?” the man asked, looking at him. Though polite, his tone had a hint of coaxing a child.

“Yes. Anything you’d like to eat?”

“Not picky, really.”

Sewon showed him his phone screen. The map was dotted with red pins marking restaurants he’d researched.

“How about this one? Over four stars, and more than two thousand reviews. It’s on my itinerary too.”

“Let’s go there, then. I’ll treat.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I’m enjoying this trip thanks to you. Let me at least buy lunch, yeah?”

Truthfully, Sewon was the one benefiting more. He tried explaining that, but he couldn’t win the “who pays” debate.

What always surprised Sewon at Istanbul’s restaurants was the staff’s speed. No sooner had they ordered than pre-meal bread and sides were set out.

As they awaited the main course, the man’s phone rang. It stopped after one ring, but despite being ignored, it buzzed again.

“…Ugh, persistent. Sorry,” he said, excusing himself to Sewon before answering.

While the man took the call, Sewon pulled out the twice-folded paper from his bag to check their rough schedule.

“The parasols shipped on time, so what’s the issue? Quite a colorful mess this time… No, I can’t come in now.”

Sewon couldn’t catch the details, but it sounded work-related. The man sighed deeply. Glancing up, Sewon gauged his mood.

“If you want to save time, spend money. Digging themselves another hole.”

His tone dripped with disdain, but his face stayed neutral—as if this was routine, familiar.

“Fine, I’ll reply tonight. Hanging up now.”

“—Hey… don’t… abroad, so rumors…”

The other side raised their voice just as the man said he’d hang up, bits of their words reaching Sewon faintly.

“Done. Bye.”

He ended the call before they finished, and their eyes met straight-on.

“Work?” Sewon asked.

The man nodded.

“Busy even on vacation, huh?”

“A bit. But isn’t that typical for most workers?”

He shrugged with a nonchalant drawl. To Sewon, whose current dream was “office worker,” it just seemed impressive.

“Oh…”

“Though our company might… run people a bit like dogs.”

He added this with a blank face, tearing off a piece of white bread and popping it in his mouth.

Among the people Sewon knew, Han Jaehee had the best physique—and he was strict about carbs. Sewon had assumed most fit people managed their diets like Jaehee, but the man didn’t seem to fuss over flour or sugar. Yet his body—solid, well-muscled, almost artistic—spoke for itself.

Not long after Sewon picked up his bread, their food arrived: tender grilled lamb ribs and kebabs of minced meat with pistachios.

“Enjoy your meal,” Sewon said.

“You too, student,” the man teased back.

“…Thanks, I’ll eat well.”

Sewon cut a small piece of lamb rib and ate it. A distinct spice hit his nose, but it masked any gaminess. He took a big bite of the grilled bell pepper from the sides when the man spoke.

“Travel suits you, doesn’t it?”

“Me? Why…?”

“You just eat everything well. Makes the one treating you feel good.”

Sewon nodded slightly in thanks, the man’s expression oddly proud.

“After lunch, let’s head to the Asian side. See a mosque there, then the toy museum—that’s today’s plan. Anywhere else you want to go?”

“Your plan’s so perfect, I’ll just tag along.”

Sewon had worked hard to prepare within the time he had, but “perfect” felt embarrassing. Then again, the man had said the same when Sewon handed him the copied itinerary that morning.

“I’ve been called a ‘J’ a few times, but it’s not that perfect…”

“…J?”

The man’s voice tilted with curiosity as Sewon downplayed it.

“MBTI.”

“MBTI…?”

“…The sixteen personality types test.”

Just in case, Sewon explained it fully. The man suddenly dropped his head. Startled, Sewon watched as his shoulders shook slowly. Then, hearing his voice, Sewon realized—he was laughing.

Clearing his throat with an ahem, the man looked up, his face still tinged with unhidden amusement.

Sewon had pegged him as mostly expressionless. When he occasionally lifted his cool, downturned gaze, the air seemed to chill. He’d seemed so aloof… yet laughing like this, he was a different person.

“…Why’re you laughing?”

“Just… you’re such a kid?”

“I’m not that young.”

Sewon protested as the man called him “kid” again.

“Got it, got it.”

“I’m graduating college soon. Once I get a job… I won’t be a student, I’ll be a working adult.”

Feeling his insistence on maturity wasn’t taken seriously, Sewon’s tone turned indignant.

“Oh? Graduating soon… My bad, then.”

Now the man answered with exaggerated seriousness. Knowing it was a tease but faced with his grave demeanor, Sewon shut his mouth and silently ate a piece of kebab. The crushed pistachios added a nutty richness—delicious.

Watching Sewon chew with chipmunk-like cheeks, the man narrowed his eyes and asked,

“What’s on your mind?”

“…Huh?”

“You look curious about something.”

“…”

How’d he know…?

Sewon set down his utensils, studying the man’s face. No sign of displeasure—good.

Their companionship had unspoken rules:

Don’t ask each other’s names.

Don’t pry into personal matters unless offered.

These formed a “line” between them, a boundary to keep travel memories confined to the trip.

“How’d I know? It’s written all over your face,” the man said, handing Sewon a napkin.

Sewon stared at the hand that drew near. The man tapped his own mouth with his returned hand. Wiping his lips with the napkin, Sewon saw a smear of white sauce.

“Oh… This just got on me while eating. Not because I’m a kid who can’t eat clean,” he added quickly.

The man let out a low chuckle. Propping his chin on one hand, he gazed at Sewon, looking more relaxed and languid than before.

“Um… about your company,” Sewon began, taking a breath and meeting his eyes.

The man looked back with quiet interest as if wondering what was coming.

“…”

“Did you get in through open recruitment?”

The man’s head dropped sharply, his hand covering his face. His shoulders trembled again. Sewon, feeling wronged, asked,

“Why…!”

“No, no. Just never got that question before.”

Lifting his head, he tried to stifle his laughter at first, then gave up, grinning broadly.

“…I was just curious.”

MBTI and open recruitment—both mundane questions with no apparent humor. Sewon couldn’t fathom why they were funny.

“Not through open hiring. Went in after grad school… That was already…”

How many years ago? He trailed off, mulling his graduation year, then stopped. As his face grew serious, Sewon tensed, wondering if he’d asked something dumb.

“But I’ve done a few interviews—would that help?”

“As an interviewer…?”

“Yeah. Sat in on some practical interviews for our division’s new hires.”

Sewon had figured there’d be an age gap, but the interviewer? The sudden distance made him sit up straighter.

A waiter approached, asking, “Çay¹?”—offering post-meal tea. Both nodded, and the table was cleared in a flash.

“Um… When you interview, you do self-intros, right? Does the first line need a big impact?”

“Impact?”

The man tilted his head, not quite following. Sewon hesitated, then decided, “I’ll just try it.”

“Hello. I’m Gong… a responsible applicant. I’ve honed my ability to draw rational conclusions through thorough preparation and persistent analysis.”

The one-minute self-intro was a must, regardless of company or role—so ingrained he could recite it if poked. His voice wobbled as he nearly said his full name.

“Keep going,” the man said, his face now devoid of laughter, fully serious.

“…During school, I joined contests and projects, working with people from diverse fields. That built my teamwork skills.”

“…”

Their eyes met as Sewon finished the next part. The man nodded slightly, urging him on.

“With these strengths, I aim to become an engineer who analyzes issues and offers solutions.”

“…”

“…How was it?”

Sewon swallowed hard, seeking his opinion. If this were a real interview, could he read pass or fail from that blank face? No chance.

“Is the job you’re aiming for in design or research?”

“Yeah. Related to my major.”

“No need to force impact in the first line.”

“Oh…”

Focus on what you want to emphasize—teamwork or analysis—and keep the intro cohesive. First impressions matter, so work on delivery and eye contact. The man gave detailed, practical advice.

“Then I’ll cut the solutions part… Thanks.”

“Seems like you’ve prepped hard.”

His expression softened again. Relieved, Sewon let out a small groan.

“My specs aren’t great. Not sure if it’ll work out.”

Job prep felt like endless comparison—always lacking, always wanting.

“Almost didn’t say this—didn’t want to sound like a boomer.”

“…?”

“When I picked people, I cared more about if they’d fit my team and wanted the job. Sincerity, getting along with the crew—that stuff.”

Sewon nodded. He’d heard it at job fairs and talks, but as a job-seeker, it never clicked.

Now, though, it vaguely made sense. The man’s earnestness carried weight. Feeling candid, Sewon shared his worries.

“Honestly, I don’t even know if I’ll get hired… The more I look, the harder it seems. Not sure I can handle a company job.”

He rubbed his neck, voicing a fear he’d never told anyone—afraid they’d say he was worrying over nothing.

“Everyone learns the job somehow. Doing great is nice, but the average is fine too.”

“…What if I mess up?”

The man’s lips quirked up.

“Even if work’s tough and office life’s hard?”

“Yeees…”

“Say it with that face: ‘Seonsaengnim, help me.’”

Downing his red tea in one gulp, the man spoke. Sewon lost in thought for a moment, looked up and slowly repeated it.

“Seonsaengnim, help me.”

For a second, the man seemed at a loss for words.

“…Yeah. Who could get mad at that face?”

He muttered under his breath, eyes downcast.

Did I look that pitiful…?

He’d never call a boss seonsaengnim, but at least he knew what face to make when begging for help.