HP 2

“What? A janitor?”

Jungo scanned the lineup of hosts with a look that said he had no idea what the man was talking about.

“Is there… some kind of problem?”

His hands were awkwardly clasped, and he forced a smile. The arrogance he’d shown earlier—pointing people out with just a finger—was gone. His faltering tone gave away his confusion and discomfort.

Woosung bit down hard on his lower lip before letting it go. The man was pointing directly at him. And he was the only one who seemed to realize it.

“Some kind of problem?”
The man lounging on the sofa mocked Jungo’s tone.
“A damn janitor’s standing here like he’s part of the choice lineup.”

Jungo’s eyes instinctively flicked toward the man’s hand resting casually on the table. The moment the man picked up the lighter, Jungo licked his lips nervously.

“Janitor. Choice.”

“…”

“Any part of that confusing for you, Jungo?”

Click. Click.
Each spin of the lighter’s wheel let out a metallic scrape. Jungo swallowed hard.

“Sir, if the boys aren’t to your liking, we can—”

Without warning, the man swung his arm as if throwing a baseball. The same hand that had been toying with the lighter.

“Ah!”

Jungo shrieked and hunched over, shielding his head with both arms.

But the scream turned out to be unnecessary. The lighter merely grazed his shoulder and dropped to the floor with a soft thud. The man had pulled his throw at the last second.

A tense silence followed before Jungo slowly straightened up.

“It was just a joke. No need to scream like that.”

“…”

“You’re making this real damn awkward.”

Despite the man calling it a joke, the tension in the room was palpable.

“Everyone except the janitor, get out.”

The other hosts glanced around at each other, clearly confused. Woosung shifted uncomfortably, then reluctantly stepped forward. Dragging things out would only make it worse. It was his first day in the annex—he couldn’t afford to make enemies already.

“Uh, sir… About that…”

He turned to Jungo, speaking carefully.

“Earlier, I picked up some trash. By the parking lot, near the entrance. So…”

“…”

“I think the customer mistook me for a janitor because of that.”

Then Woosung turned quickly toward the man.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not a janitor.”

Sweat seeped between his clasped palms, his hands clammy and damp. He couldn’t even wipe them, just stood there waiting for a response.

“Oh, so you’re not a janitor?”

The man grinned.

“…No. I’m sorry.”

Waving casually over Woosung’s shoulder, the man gestured for the rest to leave.

“Jungo. Tell Hoonyoung to come. Oh, and what’s your name?”

The man paused mid-sentence to look at Woosung.

“…Woosung. Yoon Woosung.”

“Right. Tell him Woosung made the pick.”

“Yes, sir. Got it.”

Jungo gave a deep bow and left the room with the rest of the hosts. About a dozen guys poured out, leaving behind a silence as if the commotion had never happened.

“You just gonna stand there?”

The man gave Woosung a pointed look.

Snapping out of it, Woosung grabbed a bottle of water and a can of barley tea from the end of the table and approached. There were no snacks or alcohol on the table yet—just upside-down glasses. Usually, drinks were brought in before the choice. It was odd. Jungo had clearly said this was a re-choice…

Woosung hesitated. Should I ask if he wants drinks brought in?

But then something familiar caught his eye. Without another thought, he stood up and picked up two cans of cola sitting beside the barley tea. He turned a glass upright and reached to pour, but the man stopped him with a hand over the cup.

“It tastes like crap from a glass.”

“Ah… right.”

Woosung slid the opened can across the table. The man chuckled, amused.

“You’re the one from the main building, right?”

“Yes.”

How does he know that? That was the first question that came to mind. But he didn’t ask. Judging from Jungo’s flustered reaction earlier, it was clear this man wasn’t just a regular customer.

Worried that his answer had been too short, Woosung quickly added,

“I used to work at the main building.”

The man studied him, expression unreadable. Woosung met his gaze steadily. Not in a way that seemed defiant, but not overly timid either. His fingers, tingling with nerves, curled into fists behind his back.

He didn’t look especially young, but he didn’t seem old either. Late twenties, maybe? His face was so sharply defined it almost looked sculpted. Handsome wasn’t even the right word. His features were bold, shadows cast deep—but his eyes and lips had a strange elegance. It was a face that looked like it had been drawn in two completely different art styles.

But still…

“You’re thinking I’m ridiculously good-looking, huh?”

The man leaned his cheek on the back of his hand.

“…Yes. You’re very handsome.”

“So why’d you move to the annex?”

The man changed the subject as easily as if Woosung’s answer never really mattered to begin with.

The hand resting on his knee twitched. He’d expected that kind of question from a manager or a fellow worker—but not from a guest. The surprise froze his thoughts for a moment.

“The reason, huh…”

Woosung carefully opened his mouth.

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

The man laughed.

“Oh? You worried I’ll get bored if you do?”

He quickly added, reading the man’s expression. Thankfully, the man only laughed. He didn’t seem offended.

“Yeah. Sounds boring as hell.”

Before Woosung could figure out how to respond to the teasing remark, the door opened.

The man who’d been in the driver’s seat earlier stepped inside. He’d taken off his jacket and was down to a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoo-covered arms. The ink stretched all the way to his hands. The contrast with his clean, corporate-looking face was so stark that Woosung almost thought he was seeing things.

“Hoonyoung, bring some drinks.”

Hoonyoung stopped mid-motion as he was handing over some documents and gave him a puzzled look.

“Drinks?”

“Yeah. For him.”

“Oh, uh…”

Woosung quickly jumped in.

“I’m fine. I’ll just have some cola.”

Hoonyoung glanced sideways at him.

“That cola’s mine.”

“Oh… Then I’ll have some barley tea.”

The man turned a page back in the document stack and dropped it with a thud on the table.

“You don’t wanna drink?”

“I’ve got esophagitis… so I’m trying to take it easy this week.”

The man chuckled, his eyes crinkling.

“Now I get why you ended up in the annex.”

Woosung didn’t respond with an apology. Instead, he offered something else.

“I can still have fun with barley tea.”

He’d dealt with all kinds of drunk, obnoxious people. Some ridiculous situations too.

Usually, when he said he didn’t drink, customers fell into one of two categories: the ones who didn’t care, and the ones who got offended. In either case, he had to judge the mood and come up with a suitable excuse. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

“Really?”

The man casually reached for a can of barley tea, popped it open, and poured it into a glass. The golden liquid sloshed to the brim, almost overflowing as he slid it across the table to Woosung.

“Drink.”

Woosung squeezed his knee hard under the table before slowly lifting his hand to pick up the glass.

“Shall we toast?”

He figured showing fear or hesitation would only hurt him here. So he ignored the chill running down his neck.

“Sure. Cheers.”

The man picked up his own can and clinked it lightly against Woosung’s glass. Woosung brought the glass to his lips and drank. No sooner had he set it down than the man spoke again.

“You’re supposed to down your first drink.”

Woosung didn’t hesitate. He picked the glass back up and emptied it in one go. After wiping his lips, he turned to the man and said, “I finished it.” He even held up the empty glass, now stained only by the trace of condensation, for good measure.

“…”

The man’s eyes briefly flicked to the glass in Woosung’s hand, then drifted away. No praise, no smirk. Just silence. Chin resting on his hand, he stared openly at Woosung.

Time to change the subject…

But before Woosung could say anything, the man beat him to it.

He reached out and took the now-empty glass from Woosung’s hand, bringing it up to his nose. He sniffed it, cocking his head with a curious look.

“Why do I smell alcohol?”

Woosung swallowed hard.

“You’ve already done a room tonight?”

“No, not exactly. I’ve just been in the waiting room for a while…”

If the manager Kim Jungo was called back in, he could easily confirm that this was Woosung’s first customer tonight. So Woosung scrambled for a new excuse.

“I see. That’s weird.”

I should just blow into my hand and check myself… he thought for a moment. But even if he did, he knew there wouldn’t be a trace of alcohol. He had brushed his teeth and rinsed thoroughly before coming in. Maybe the smell clung to me from the waiting room…

“Keep drinking.”

“…”

“You said you’d be fun.”

The man tapped the barley tea can with a thick-knuckled finger. Instinctively, Woosung picked it up and poured more into his glass.

Meanwhile, the man retrieved the documents he’d set aside and began reading them again. Woosung quietly sipped his tea beside him.

“Hoonyoung.”

“Yes, sir.”

“These are filled out by the guys themselves, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

The guys? Themselves…?

That’s when Woosung finally realized what the man was holding.

It was his résumé.