The three thugs scrambled out of the laundromat, leaving their leader clutching a limp wrist and sobbing about "the demon washerwoman." Min-jun stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving. For the first time in twenty-four years, he hadn't flinched.
"Not bad," Kang said, finally folding his newspaper. "But your grip was too tight. You're wasting energy. You want to break a man like a dry twig, not a wet noodle."
"I... I actually fought back," Min-jun whispered, staring at his hands. They were calloused and red, but they felt powerful.
"Don't get cocky, Errand Boy. You've just graduated from 'Sewer Rat' to 'Stray Cat.' Now, quit admiring yourself. We have a VIP delivery." Kang tossed a garment bag at him. It was a high-end, midnight-blue evening gown. "Drop this off at the Grand Emerald Hotel. Suite 901. And Min-jun?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let them see you sweat. You're a Sparkle & Spin employee now. Act like you own the building."
Min-jun took the subway to the business district. Stepping out, the towering glass monolith of Aegis Corp loomed in the distance. His heart tightened, but he pushed the feeling down. He arrived at the Grand Emerald, a place where the air smelled like expensive perfume and old money.
He reached Suite 901 and knocked. The door opened, and Min-jun's world stopped.
It was Elena.
She was wrapped in a silk robe, her hair damp. She looked at him—or rather, she looked through him. To her, he was just a delivery person in a cheap uniform and a cap pulled low over his eyes.
"You're late," she said, her voice like shards of ice. "Hang it in the closet. The tip is on the counter."
Min-jun walked past her, his pulse drumming in his ears. The room was filled with flowers—roses from the CEO, according to the card. As he hung the dress, he saw a familiar face reflected in the vanity mirror. Choi, his former manager, was sitting on the sofa, nursing a glass of scotch.
"Who's the kid, Elena?" Choi asked, squinting. "He looks familiar. Is that the brat we threw in the—"
"He's just the laundry boy, Choi. Focus," Elena snapped.
Min-jun turned around. He didn't lower his head. He didn't stammer. He looked Choi directly in the eye.
"The bill for the specialized silk treatment is five hundred dollars," Min-jun said, his voice steady and resonant.
Choi barked a laugh. "Five hundred? For a wash? Get lost, kid. Here's twenty. Go buy yourself some dignity." Choi flicked a twenty-dollar bill at Min-jun's feet.
In the old days, Min-jun would have picked it up. Instead, he stepped on the bill, grinding it into the plush carpet.
"I said five hundred," Min-jun repeated. "And since you're so worried about dignity, Choi, you might want to check your offshore account. I hear the 'Aegis Audit' is starting early this year."
The color drained from Choi's face. Elena froze, her eyes narrowing as she finally looked—really looked—at the delivery boy.
"What did you just say?" she hissed.
Min-jun smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile; it was the smile of a predator who had just found a weakness. "I'll be back for the check tomorrow. Don't be late. I hate waiting."
He walked out, leaving the room in a stunned, suffocating silence.