JD 8

“What’s with that face?”

At Muheon’s question, Hakyung turned even paler and shook his head fiercely. Even while coughing from hurriedly swallowing a mouthful of rice, he kept shaking his head no.

Worried he might choke, Muheon quickly handed him some water. Hakyung’s coughing only subsided after he’d drained the entire glass.

“I—I don’t use social media! I don’t record videos or anything!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, yes! I never do stuff like that.”

Like a thief with a guilty conscience, Hakyung kept repeating his denial. Even a three-year-old would’ve found him suspicious. Muheon tilted his head with a thoughtful hum and stared directly at him.

“……”

“Ahem… this is delicious.”

Sweat rolled down Hakyung’s back under that stare. Maybe it was because the man was a sea creature, but his gaze was definitely unusual.

The depths of Muheon’s pupils seemed endless, and Hakyung couldn’t bear to look into them anymore. He shifted his gaze slightly—to the doenjang stew. This was all the doenjang stew’s fault.

Casting a resentful glare at the innocent earthenware pot, a thought flashed through Hakyung’s mind and he jerked his head up.

“Boss!”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t… happen to record me singing or anything, right?”

“Hmm…?”

The more desperate Hakyung’s expression became, the more relaxed Muheon looked. Leaning his chin on one hand, he smiled lazily like he was waiting to see what Hakyung would say next.

Under the table, Hakyung’s feet tapped nervously as he raised his trembling voice in protest.

“I have copyright, you know! You can’t just film me like that!”

“Don’t you mean portrait rights?”

“Uh—yes, that too! And copyright! That ‘Doenjang Stew Song’ is my original, so it counts!”

So that weird song was actually titled Doenjang Stew Song, huh. Muheon nodded, having retained the most pointless part of the conversation.

It didn’t seem like the kind of song worth arguing over copyrights and portrait rights for… but still, Muheon wasn’t the kind of scumbag who’d do something the kid clearly didn’t want.

“I didn’t record it.”

“And don’t record me next time, either.”

“You planning to sing again?”

“That… I can’t promise. I end up singing when I’m happy, or sad, or tired… or hungry.”

So basically, he sang all the time. Muheon had to fight to keep a laugh from escaping as he nodded again.

“Alright, I won’t film you. Sing all you want.”

“Okaay. Thank you.”

Hakyung gave a polite thank-you. The color of his face, which had bounced from pale to bright red and back, finally returned to its usual soft pink.

What’s so embarrassing about a singing video, especially when you’re not bad at it? Muheon didn’t really understand the freshwater dolphin’s bashfulness, so he let the whole reaction slide without much thought.

After breakfast, there really was nothing to do. Hakyung followed Muheon down to the office, saying he wanted to help with something, but no one gave the young dolphin anything to do.

You’d think someone would at least send him to fetch water or something, but the office workers were all too busy with their own tasks and treated him like a decorative sack of rice.

Brooding over his solitude in the corner of the office, Hakyung quietly slipped away toward the restroom.

As expected, the last stall held all the cleaning supplies—broom, mop, bleach, and so on. Hakyung picked up a hand rag, washed it clean, and gripped it in his hand. If no one’s going to tell me what to do, I’ll find something myself, he thought.

Rag in hand, Hakyung began wiping from the edges of the office—window frames, drawer tops, and potted plants.

They had said they needed a janitor, but the office was surprisingly spotless. The rag didn’t even pick up a speck of dust.

Maybe that’s why the boss said I only needed to clean his room? Tipping his cap low, Hakyung tilted his head in confusion.

Still, since he’d started, he might as well finish! With that resolve, he moved closer to the center of the office.

He was nearing the cluster of desks when he heard it—tap tap, tap tap—the sound of a calculator. It was the kind of nostalgic sound you only heard when a grandma was balancing her budget at home.

People still use calculators these days? Curious, Hakyung followed the sound.

Soon enough, he found the source—it was the big guy who’d shown him to the dorm yesterday.

The man scratched his head, stared at his computer screen, tapped the calculator, then stared again—bouncing between the two like a confused turtle. Actually, that was a perfect description; he was so slow, it felt like watching a turtle that had crawled up onto land.

Sneaking behind him, Hakyung peeked at what he was doing. And then, in silence—he was completely appalled.

“What are you doing right now?”

The screen was filled with rows of numbers, and below them seemed to be a total. The problem was, he was punching each total into a calculator manually to get the result.

Why on earth? He had Excel open right there—so why use the calculator?!

That’s when Hakyung decided he couldn’t just sit by and watch. It made no sense to be using a separate calculator when Excel could do all the math with just a simple formula.

“This? I’m writing up the record of collected stall fees…”

Stall fees? Just as I thought—he was a gangster. The boss said they didn’t do that kind of thing, but come on, what gangster ever admits he’s a gangster…!

Hakyung shivered, recalling the strange glint in the man’s eyes from that morning. Better not get on anyone’s bad side for the next week. But first—he had to deal with this.

“Then… is there a reason you’re using a calculator for this?”

“Eh? Because it’s hard to do in my head? What, you trying to say I’m dumb or something?”

“No, no! Not at all!”

Hakyung frantically waved his hands in denial, then carefully took hold of the mouse and keyboard.

“I actually have a certification for this program. So, um… would it be alright if I entered formulas so the program can do the calculations automatically?”

“Formulas? What’s that? Well… go ahead and try, then.”

With a doubtful look, Geowong passed over the already-filled file. He was worried that Hakyung might mess something up and ruin all the calculations he’d done so far.

Taking the data, Hakyung flexed his fingers in the air like a pianist warming up. His slim, pale fingers fluttered like they were dancing.

“It’s really not that hard. You just assign the cells like this, enter a formula, and then the numbers in those cells are automatically added up to show the final result.”

It was one of the most basic things you learn in Excel, so he felt a little silly explaining it like it was something grand. But despite his sheepish expression, Hakyung cheerfully went on explaining, and his fingers moved across the keyboard like the wind.

He didn’t even look at the number pad—and didn’t make a single typo. It was like watching someone cast a spell, and Geowong’s already large eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“All done—go ahead and check it.”

In under three minutes, Hakyung had entered everything. He looked quite pleased with himself. When compared to the pre-calculated numbers, there wasn’t even a single won of difference.

Unbelievable. It took me three full days just to enter and double-check all of that!

Gripped by a sudden wave of injustice, Geowong grabbed the back of his neck. Hakyung blinked at him, unsure how to interpret the reaction.

“Did I mess something up? Hmm… I don’t think I did…”

“No, it’s perfect. Good job.”

With hands as thick and solid as stone, Geowong patted Hakyung’s small shoulders in praise.

Just like with the boss after hearing his song, Hakyung was deeply touched by the praise. His eyes grew moist.

They say even whales dance when praised—and it was no surprise that this freshwater dolphin began tapping away at the keyboard even more cheerfully.

Soon, the other staff started gathering around him one by one. It was turning into Labor Contract Incident: Part 2.