The warehouse that Eun-ja led her to was slightly smaller than an elementary school playground. It was packed with a vast, chaotic array of items: tableware passed down from the Joseon Dynasty, rusted brassware, cast-iron bowls neglected for ages, and farm tools that seemed to have no use in the modern world.
Yeonwoo was taken aback by the size of the space; it felt less like a storage room and more like the sprawling aisles of a supermarket.
It would take a fortnight—no, a full month—to organize this mountain of junk on her own. When she asked Eun-ja for the deadline, following the instruction to sort the mess, clean it, and compile a log, Eun-ja’s response was incredulous.
“By when should I have this finished?”
With a tone that suggested the question was preposterous, Eun-ja replied, “The person doing the work should know that, so how would the person giving the orders know? It should be done in three days.”
Three days. Eun-ja vanished after tossing out the unreasonable demand.
Yeonwoo stood there feeling overwhelmed, unsure of where to begin. But then, a sudden resolve took hold. She tied her apron strings tight, pulled her hair into a high, secure bun, and slipped on a pair of loose rubber gloves.
She decided to start with the dust. As soon as she began to brush, a grey cloud swirled in the beams of light piercing through the gaps. Her throat turned raspy and she was hit with a barrage of sneezes, but for an hour, Yeonwoo worked meticulously.
After that, she dragged over a rubber basin—large enough for four or five children to bathe in—and filled it with water. She dropped in the sturdier tableware and began to scrub, the soap working into a thick, white lather.
Yeonwoo sat before the basin, the warehouse door thrown wide open to chase away the staleness of winter. Sunlight cascaded behind her back, and every time she pulled out or set down a dish, the splashing water rang out like a summer vacation by a mountain stream.
The process of washing and drying was repeated dozens of times. Having skipped lunch, Yeonwoo scrubbed until the sun, which had been high in the sky, began to slide toward the horizon.
Eun-ja’s assumption that Yeonwoo would quickly surrender to grueling labor was mistaken. For Yeonwoo, Domyeongjae was the only space left where she had no choice but to endure.
In fact, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known in a long time. The act of maintaining her life, the joy of being able to move around without the shadow of fear, held a profound meaning.
Her eyelids, heavy from standing guard until dawn, felt hot, and her lower back ached from the fixed posture, but she had no reason to complain. She was sweating not from the cold shiver of terror, but from honest, healthy labor. Her body was uncomfortable, but for the first time, she was breathing with ease.
If she could avoid Cha Yoonseok by doing this, what hardship couldn’t she endure? She would hold out at Domyeongjae until she found a safer place.
‘You said you would do anything I asked, so prove it to me yourself.’
She wanted to prove it to Seongheon, too. She didn’t want to be dismissed as a useless addition to the staff.
Even if he probably wasn’t even interested.
*
“I’m telling you, she’s not your average vixen. The ones who look that demure are always the ones most prone to backstabbing,” Eun-ja said to Manager Moon Ok-rye after dumping the workload on Yeonwoo and returning to the main building. Eun-ja, who thrived on gossip, trailed after the manager, pouring out her criticisms.
“She’s even got the face of a vixen; she must have seduced quite a few men. You can fool a ghost, but you can’t fool my eyes. No way. You think men would have left her alone? Even if she just sat still, those men would have been grabbing at her waist to get to her.”
“What kind of language is that for a maiden who hasn’t even been married? It’s vulgar enough to make me faint.”
Unable to listen any longer, Manager Moon stopped and glared at Eun-ja.
Eun-ja stepped closer and lowered her voice.
“Sister, I may be ignorant, but I have a keen eye for people. Those types who keep their mouths shut and pretend to be demure are always the most sinister. You’ve lived this long, but you still don’t know how to read a person.”
“Is that so? Is that how you lived your life, by being so good at reading people?”
Eun-ja had spent her life bickering with a gambler husband before being widowed a few years ago.
“Sister, that’s hurtful. What did I ever do? I’m just seeing the new girl for what’s written all over her face.”
“Just say you’re envious because she’s pretty. You’re jealous because you’ve never lived a life like that.”
“Oh my? Sister, even in my maiden days, men lined up just to catch a glimpse of my skirt. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hmph. I’ve been watching you since then, and your face looks better now than it did back then. You can brush it off by calling yourself ugly because you’re old. Anyway, leave it at that.”
When Manager Moon said this, Eun-ja stopped in her tracks, wearing a look of profound sorrow.
“How can you say something like that, Sister? Ugh, a woman as narrow-minded as you won’t even be able to sleep because your feet will be burning.”
“Then keep your mouth shut and get to work. Your mouth is the problem. It would be nice if you could move your hands as fast as you move your tongue.”
As Manager Moon scolded her, Eun-ja pursed her lips.
“Sister, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’ll only realize how well those types backstab once you’ve been bitten.”
“What is the new girl doing?”
When asked about Yeonwoo’s whereabouts, Eun-ja shrugged. She wiped away her feigned hurt and, with a glint in her eyes, continued in a whisper.
“I told her to do this and that, so don’t look for her. I gave her some warehouse cleaning to do.”
It was a warehouse that no one had touched all winter. Hearing that she had assigned a task that would have no end even if one worked on it all day, Manager Moon narrowed her eyes.
“You really were determined to eat the newcomer alive.”
“Oh, Sister. What else would you use a young, strong girl for? As she does the chores, time will pass—won’t she like that too?”
Eun-ja chuckled, a sinister expression on her face.
“Just wait and see. You don’t like the new girl either, do you? She won’t last three days before she collapses.”
“…….”
“We need to break the newcomer’s spirit properly. She looks like she came here just to play because of her mother. Isn’t that right, Sister?”
Manager Moon’s lips twitched for a moment, but she pressed them shut. After casting a brief look toward the courtyard of the main building, she entered the kitchen without a word.
*
Having returned to the office after touring the site, Seongheon buried himself in his work, trying to juggle his duties for the headquarters.
As he reviewed the request documents piling up at a terrifying rate, Seongheon habitually reached for his pen holder.
His gaze shifted subconsciously. As he picked up a pen, he lowered his hand and retrieved the business card tucked between the holders—a spare meant for visitors.
‘Then I will take back the business card you gave me. I cannot casually possess someone else’s credit card.’
He loosened his posture, abandoning the rigid discipline he had maintained all day. He held the business card between his fingers and quietly stared at his own name: 「Nam Seongheon」.
The act of handing over a business card was a way of cleanly disclosing one’s identity. Name, phone number, workplace, title. Seongheon had assumed that by handing the woman his card, he had finished his part of the introduction. But a sudden, jarring thought occurred to him: he knew nothing about her.
He only knew she was the daughter of an injured employee; he didn’t even know her name.
“Seems like my loss.”
After staring at the card with a vacant look, Seongheon raised his eyes.
What was the reason he needed to know her name?
He closed his eyes and opened them. It was absurd that the thought—*I don’t even know her name*—had become lodged in his mind. He was flustered by a strange sense of loss, feeling that even though he had surrendered all his personal information, he had received nothing in return.
Realizing how ridiculous his position of ‘loss’ was, Seongheon let out a dry laugh and raised an eyebrow.
By nature, a live-in employee was someone whose name and age ceased to matter. Unless it was a staff member like Manager Moon Ok-rye, who had become an icon of Domyeongjae, he wouldn’t remember their names even if they worked there for decades.
Because he had never known them from the start.
‘How long do you intend to work?’
‘I am thinking about three months.’
Thinking back, that too was an absurd question. As if waking up, Seongheon lowered the business card and swiveled his chair.
He had never once turned his gaze toward an employee, even when they shared the same space. He had never been curious, nor had he ever asked unnecessary questions.
……But. Why on earth.
‘I think my mother will have finished her rehabilitation safely by then.’
The woman’s voice echoed as if she were whispering right beside him. Seongheon closed his eyes slowly to retrace the memory. It was a quiet voice, as if she were keeping a secret—a voice that made him focus all his attention because he feared he wouldn’t hear it properly if he didn’t lean in.
He wasn’t even sure if what he wanted to hear was the answer to his question, or just the sound of her voice.
He shook himself out of it and swiveled his chair around again.
Pointless thoughts.
Since he didn’t feel the question required an answer, Seongheon put the business card back into the case. Dismissing his stray thoughts by convincing himself he was just overdue for a break, he gripped the files once more.
He felt a faint heat, as if his cold hadn’t completely vanished, and he loosened his tie, wondering if the weather was already turning.
That was when it happened.
Knock, knock. The door opened with a small, sharp sound.
“Hyung!”
At the familiar voice, Seongheon looked up. It was his cousin, Hyun-wook, who had come to visit.