Ch.530Episode 20 – Who Threatened You with a Knife?

# Job Preferences Vary by Country

Job preferences differ slightly from country to country.

This is especially true for civil service positions.

Why? Because they offer the trifecta of benefits: pension, work-life balance, and leaving work on time—all in a lifetime position. In a world where finding employment is difficult, such positions are particularly attractive.

However, the reality after appointment often falls short of expectations, largely because civil service work is inherently distant from productive labor by nature.

Isn’t the core job just doing this year what you did last year, and repeating it next year? If Charlie Chaplin were alive today, Modern Times would have been set in a city hall rather than a factory.

A daily routine that spins like a hamster wheel, non-existent work-life balance, punctual departures given to the dogs, and a long, arduous wait for that distant pension.

Junior civil servants facing this abyss find themselves at a crossroads with two choices:

Fall into mannerism or resign voluntarily.

And in my case, it was clearly the former.

“Mr. Frederick! Why did you come in at 9 AM today? We’re swamped with work right now.”

“What? Isn’t 9 AM the normal starting time for civil servants?”

“Huh…?”

## Episode 20 – Who Threatened You With a Knife?

It was the 113th day since the revelation that the youngest in our family had actually been employed by an intelligence agency, which had nearly turned our household upside down.

After witnessing Aila’s unbearable incompetence, I was dispatched to the Royal Intelligence Service in her place and had been running operations in eastern Mauritania for nearly three months.

Though I had volunteered for this assignment, overseas life wasn’t easy. The climate was problematic, and nothing—work, food, security, transportation—was simple.

Of course, my experience could help me endure these things, but no matter where you go, there are always problems that even experience can’t overcome.

People problems, especially.

“Whew! It’s so hot, like being in a steamer. Don’t you think?”

“No, it’s quite bearable.”

“My goodness, such a young person working so hard. Everyone, say hello. This is an employee dispatched from the military. These are our staff members.”

When I first arrived at my assignment location, there didn’t seem to be any particular issues.

The portly gentleman who came to meet me at the warp gate wasn’t the sharp, muscular type like Matt or Bill, the Royal Intelligence Service operatives I’d met before.

Rather, his robust build reminded me of a friendly neighborhood uncle who walks his dog every morning. The other office staff also seemed gentle as reeds at first impression.

“From the Defense Ministry, so Military Intelligence?”

“That’s right.”

“You can speak casually with me. We share an office, but we belong to different departments. How old are you, by the way?”

“Wow, you’re much younger than I expected from the news. Are you married? You must have been quite popular at Kelsir Military Academy. Come to think of it, isn’t that whole area a university district? I used to see cadets on weekend leave when I was an undergraduate.”

“Is this your first assignment to our company?”

They were certainly curious people. Friendly, you might say. Perhaps because they were older men, they asked a lot of questions.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I kept answering their questions, something odd began to dawn on me. The typical age range for intelligence officers sent overseas would be mid-20s to early 30s, yet everyone in the office was between their late 30s and mid-40s.

Only two people seemed young: myself and one junior-looking intelligence officer.

I looked around the office wondering if some staff might be out on field work, but there weren’t any empty desks to be seen.

It was quite strange, but at first I didn’t think much of it. I figured this must be an area with personnel shortages, leaving only the veterans behind.

I was wrong.

“Hey! Why do you answer your phone so late? The police station in Kampala was burned down by rebels over four hours ago, and you, the officer in charge, can’t even stay on standby properly? Get your ass to the office now!”

“How many times have I told you not to write reports in this format? What? Regulations? If you’re just going to parrot orders like a damn parrot, why are you even taking a salary?”

“What time is it now? Do you think work just prepares itself while you stroll into the office in broad daylight? You should come in an hour early to organize what needs to be done! And summarize the situation reports too! That’s how you handle morning tasks smoothly. Young people these days have no initiative…”

The friendly uncle was actually… just an insufferable old-school tyrant.

The team leader I met at my first assignment location was an old-fashioned tyrant beyond imagination. Even in the military, such dinosaurs were rare.

If only the boss had been the problem, I could have just gossiped behind his back and moved on. But after working there for a few days, I realized:

This office was nothing but a collection of old-fashioned tyrants.

Even worse…

“Sir. I don’t know how you ended up here, but you should leave as soon as possible…”

“Why would you say that to me all of a sudden?”

“Well… I’m planning to leave this quarter too…”

The intelligence officer who remained as the only junior staff member in the office quietly called me to the smoking area and confided that he “couldn’t take it anymore.”

When I heard the full story, it was appalling.

“Originally, there were several senior staff and quite a few colleagues and juniors in this office. But the new team leader was such a tyrant that everyone transferred out.”

“So there were quite a few staff initially?”

“Of course. We covered many regions… I’ve stayed because I had nowhere else to go, but now even that’s becoming unbearable, so I’m planning to move elsewhere. A senior alumnus pulled some strings and got me a position.”

By the way, the team leader here was apparently a notorious personality disaster with two divorces under his belt, infamous throughout the company for his terrible reputation. The others were just as bad.

No wonder he’d been divorced twice, for fuck’s sake.

“Hmm…”

Who on earth hired such terrible hybrids? Destroying an entire office with tyrannical behavior. I was beginning to suspect they might be sabotage specialists sent by the Guardian Office.

Fortunately, since I was dispatched from outside, even these tyrants couldn’t treat me carelessly.

The junior intelligence officer who was constantly berated soon transferred to another department, and I too was contacted by the Royal Intelligence Service’s personnel officer and moved to a new assignment location.

“Welcome. Is this all your luggage?”

“Yes.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Casey, the operations manager.”

My second assignment was a coastal city on the Eastern Mauritanian continent.

Though called an assignment location, I didn’t have a fixed workplace and moved around to different areas as needed.

In other words, I was running around like crazy.

“Abu Halim. Commander of UNLA (Usha National Liberation Army), leading approximately 5,000 members.”

“He is wanted in 28 countries for trafficking in black magic artifacts classified as Illegal Magical Devices No. 6 by the World Union, the Magic Tower, and the Ivory Tower. He has also been publicly wanted in four countries on the Mauritanian continent since November after being identified as the owner of synthetic drugs and illegal weapons detected during a vessel inspection in the Kuraka Strait.”

“Based on our branch’s interrogation report of the UNLA contact and information provided by Latuan intelligence authorities, we’ve confirmed that the brother of ‘Mohammed bin Abdul Hakan Al-Badin,’ UNLA’s overseas fundraising manager, knows Abu Halim’s whereabouts.”

“However, we have not yet determined Mohammed bin Abdul Hakan Al-Badin’s location.”

“…So you want me to shake down these UNLA or UCLA or whatever people to catch this guy?”

“Specifically, it’s elimination, not abduction. The relationship between the brother and Mohammed is terrible, so even if we kidnap him for deep interrogation, extracting meaningful information would be difficult according to our headquarters analysts. They’re half-estranged.”

“But you want me to kill him?”

“He may have cut ties with his brother, but not with his parents. He’ll have to attend the funeral. His parents will call him.”

The team leader here wasn’t normal either.

Given that she was in charge of paramilitary operations, she must be a paramilitary operative similar to Matt. But the casual way she suggested crossing borders to kill someone just to lure a target was truly artistic.

“Hey Matt? Can we talk?”

-“Yeah, go ahead. What’s up?”

“Um, do you know an employee named Casey at your company? A woman who handles Mauritania.”

-“Casey? Ah, she’s famous. Known for her fiery temper. From what I’ve heard from juniors, she’s already a team leader for an operations unit. Must be quite the tough one.”

“…Damn it.”

I thought I might get a break after escaping the tyrant office, but now I’m dealing with a workaholic? This is insane.

I had a rough idea when I saw someone just a few years older than Aila already serving as a team leader. The team leader at my second assignment location was, as Matt said, a workaholic through and through.

“Team leader. The raccoon has passed checkout counter 3 at the mart.”

“Rest for 2 hours then move to pool table 9 and instruct them.”

“If I may, Team Leader? The guys haven’t slept properly for two days. Isn’t 2 hours pushing it? You know how hard it is to move along the river.”

“Alright. Then 4 hours. They can rest in shifts, but no more than that.”

She wouldn’t let team members who had infiltrated across the river and desert for two days sleep for more than 4 hours, and even then only in shifts.

“Team Leader Casey?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep? We’ve crossed the border, so you could rest your eyes now.”

“I’m fine. I need to file my report first.”

During operations, she’d crouch in a corner of the vehicle under a tarp, working on reports on her terminal instead of sleeping.

And at the office, she’d stay behind working on something while everyone else went home. Once I had packed up to leave but felt awkward, so I sat back down at my desk and just stared blankly for a while.

Once I asked the staff next to me if the team leader often worked overtime.

“Our team leader? It’s not just often—she’s always like that.”

That was the response I got.

She really was a workaholic.

“How can someone live like that? Seriously…”

“She drinks like fifteen cups of coffee a day. How could she possibly sleep?”

“I heard she’s going to graduate school soon. Not domestically, but overseas, right?”

“Definitely.”

From what I gathered from the office staff, she seemed like a decent person. Except for the extremely tight schedules and pushing her subordinates hard.

I thought so too.

Her clean and efficient handling of matters was several times better than her peers. From her reputation to her abilities and experience, she was flawless—clearly someone who would quickly rise to a high position given time.

The problem was…

“Let’s eat. Today we’ll all eat here in front.”

This team leader considered it very important for the entire office to eat together, whether in the field or in the office.

But the menu selection was up to the team leader, and this person had such devastated taste buds that she would find African mud cookies delicious.

And decisively…

The food this person always bought was “Mauritanian local cuisine” with taste, nutrition, and hygiene all thoroughly destroyed.

*Thump! Thump!*

The office staff were horrified at the sight of “grilled cow intestines” being prepared—a street food the team leader had newly discovered and highly praised.

A grill blackened with oil and rust sticking to it. Intestines sizzling on top, and a wooden cutting board soaked in what might be mold or oil. I’m not exaggerating—this is exactly what was happening. Right now, both the wooden cutting board and the food were on the grill.

“…Oh.”

“…Hmm.”

“…Oh my god.”

The vendor picks up the intestines, roasted to a crisp over hellish coals, with his bare hands. He transfers them to the cutting board and chops them with a kitchen knife (last cleaned who knows when, with a visual that would make a health inspector vomit blood).

Then comes the sauce container with African flair.

Like a pot where a gosiwon villain has thrown in ramen without washing it, he slathers on “kachumbari”—a mix of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers—from a pink plastic container crusted with food residue!

And thus is completed a dish so revolting that even your salivary glands retreat in horror!

“……”

A sudden wave of nausea rose from deep in my stomach. The retching climbed up my esophagus, pounding against my uvula like someone punching an arcade game’s punching ball.

I think I once went to the emergency room after eating something that looked similar to this.

As I was carefully gauging whether I should avoid eating for my health or force myself to eat anyway, the team leader who had dragged everyone into this hellish inferno suddenly started spouting nonsense.

“They also have delicious goat skewers here besides the intestines. You should try them.”

After that day, I never again shared a meal with the team leader or the office staff.

As I sat in a motel filling my stomach with cheap instant ramen, I received a call from my registry mate.

“Why are you calling, you little shit?”

-“Why are you being like that again, oppa?”

“Who’s your oppa? I never had a sister like you. Where are you?”

-“The Lushan Federation.”

After I entered the field as a substitute, Aila had left the Mauritanian continent. She had been at headquarters for a while but recently had to be dispatched to the Lushan Federation.

I wasn’t sure of her exact mission, but judging from her tracking of drug and weapons deals and pursuit of terrorist groups, she seemed to be working in international organized crime or counter-terrorism.

The funny thing was that Aila, who had just joined the intelligence agency, was working in a much better environment than I was.

“Isn’t Lushan a wealthy area? They have oil and magic stones there, right?”

-“Yes. It’s amazing here. The accommodations are comfortable too.”

Aila sent photos of her lodgings and local homes. They were full of palace-like images typical of oil-rich Arab countries. Wow. That place has mansions with leopards and tigers roaming around.

-“I’m having dinner now. I was invited with people from work. What about you? Have you eaten?”

“…I’m eating now. I need to go soon, so I’ll hang up.”

Looking at the photos of the magnificent palace-like mansion and feast, then at my motel room that looked like a bombed refugee camp and my bloated ramen, I sighed.

First assignment: a field of tyrants. Second assignment: an office run by a workaholic with destroyed taste buds. After two consecutive hellish assignments, I was starting to lose hope. I desperately wanted to return.

I prayed and prayed that my next assignment would be somewhere good.

And then…

“Hello?”

-“Is this Frederick?”

“Yes, this is Frederick.”

On the day I received a call saying I’d been assigned to a location that required crossing about three borders…

I finally reached a state of enlightenment.

*

“Dispatch Officer?”

“Yes.”

“Could you help me with something?”

“What is it?”

“It’ll just take a moment. Really just a moment…”

A civil servant peeked over the partition and placed a binder on my desk.

“This is a report from the Petrograd branch about…”

The civil servant who placed the intelligence document on my desk explained each item. To summarize, it was “documents related to the Kien Imperial Army.”

“Since it’s military-related, I think you should handle it, Dispatch Officer.”

As the civil servant who brushed back the hair near his ear began to ask for help rather than offering it…

I blinked blankly and opened my mouth.

“This?”

“Yes.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“I don’t know about this stuff.”

“…Excuse me?”

The civil servant asked what I meant. I blinked my eyes and answered.

“I am from the military, but I have limited field experience. I only served as a platoon leader for a year or two, so I don’t really…”

“Even so, it doesn’t make sense that you, a military person, can’t analyze this.”

The civil servant who brought the binder dismissed it as nonsense, but I protested with an aggrieved voice.

“Look, the materials you’ve brought are about artillery, right? I’m from intelligence and even changed my branch. How am I supposed to analyze foreign artillery?”

This was complete nonsense, of course.

But even nonsense, when well-packaged, can be strangely persuasive, as con artists who make a living with their silver tongues can attest.

“You were originally a diplomat, right?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“When you first started working as a diplomat, did you know exactly how diplomats from other missions or other countries worked?”

“Of course not. It wasn’t my job.”

“Then why do you think I would know?”

“…Oh. Is that so?”

The intelligence officer who could identify whether a photo showed Soviet or Chinese artillery, who could trace ammunition routes, sellers, and buyers from a single shell casing—that person is now gone.

In his place is an office worker who arrives at 9 and leaves at 6.

Someone who doesn’t seek out work and makes excuses when asked, who secretly shops online in the office and just waits for payday.

The epitome of job security with an attitude of “fire me if you dare.”

The ultimate manifestation of mannerism.

“Anyway, that’s not my area, so please inquire elsewhere. The military attaché’s office at the embassy might be able to help.”

Finally, I was reborn as a proper civil servant (not really).

*

When one civil servant reached nirvana and began earnestly stealing his salary, everyone was outraged.

Arriving on time and leaving on the dot was one thing, but…

Isn’t this going too far?

“No issues overnight, everyone?”

“The branches and field teams had no problems. But the dispatch officer…”

“What now?”

“The dispatch officer has been shopping in town after work these days, right?”

“A grown adult can do some shopping. You should go out too. What is there to see here? There’s nothing but this tiny downtown area. What’s the problem?”

“That’s not it, Branch Director. There’s nothing wrong with the dispatch officer shopping, but, well… he’s having items delivered to his hotel!”

“What’s wrong with deliveries? If it’s a security concern, he can change hotels. He knows what he’s doing.”

“He’s been doing this at the same hotel for two weeks.”

“Tell the dispatch officer to come in immediately.”

Having all sorts of items and food delivered indiscriminately to his hotel…

“Dispatch Officer! I need to look something up on the terminal. Could you open it for me?”

“Mine?”

“Yes!”

“Look by the drawer over there, you’ll see the password written down.”

“…What’s written where?”

“Just type 12344321. That’s the password.”

From security awareness comparable to the time-honored passwords of Korean public institutions (1q2w3e4r!@)…

“Dispatch Officer? About the materials I mentioned yesterday.”

“Which materials?”

“The photos to be sent to the analysis team. We’ve been looking for them for days, and I heard the Defense Ministry has them. Have they arrived yet?”

“Oh? I forgot about that.”

“What?”

“Haha, oh my. I’m so sorry. I’ll bring them right away.”

To making excuses about forgetting whenever asked to do something…

He even stubbornly went to the Abas residential area (equivalent to Koreatown in Korea) despite the Royal Intelligence Service branch director and the Defense Attaché’s Office (Military Intelligence overseas branch) repeatedly warning him not to go there, and came back after having a full meal.

“Ah, I’m so full.”

“……”

“The food there is delicious. The pie was just exquisite.”

After all the rave reviews, I had high expectations. But what a disaster it turned out to be.

The Royal Intelligence Service staff seriously wondered if the Defense Ministry had sent the wrong person due to a computer error, but from the Military Intelligence perspective, this was completely unfair.

Come on. We sent them a valuable field-grade officer, and now they’re complaining?

The aggrieved Military Intelligence staff clicked their tongues, saying those people were just being too picky. Of course, the Royal Intelligence Service staff were equally aggrieved.

Come see for yourselves. Is this an intelligence officer or a tax thief…?

Of course, the most aggrieved person now was neither Military Intelligence nor the Royal Intelligence Service, but Frederick himself.

“…Why haven’t I been fired yet?”

The spy gentleman, tasting the sweetness of 9-to-6 for the first time in his civil service career, suddenly muttered to himself.

“I should have been sent back to my unit by now.”

When first assigned to Eastern Mauritania, Frederick chose to adapt. He thought that if he just kept working diligently, he would eventually return—surely he wouldn’t stay here for months.

It didn’t take long to realize what a grave misconception that was.

He discovered the truth: the harder he worked, the longer his escape would be delayed. So Frederick resolved to become utterly incompetent with all his heart and soul.

Yet for some strange reason, not only was he not returned to his unit, he wasn’t even disciplined!

“This is strange… I’ve been lying around with a ‘fire me if you dare’ attitude.”

Frederick seriously scratched his chin. He hadn’t anticipated this situation—what was going on?

While Frederick might want to get fired for his own reasons, from the local office’s perspective, this dispatched gentleman wasn’t just ‘external employee A.’

How could they casually remove a parachute appointment personally selected by Leoni, who had served as a director at the Royal Intelligence Service? Especially since Leoni wasn’t even retired but was an active general in the military.

In other words,

From the local staff’s perspective, Frederick’s behavior wasn’t “please discipline me…” but rather “You still won’t discipline me even for this? Wow, you’re tough lol”

Besides, had he caused a major incident like Aila? Not at all. His experience-honed skills meant he knew exactly how to irritate the staff without crossing the line into serious disciplinary territory.

We really want to smack him one, but we can’t just kill him.

I wish someone would take him away—that would be my greatest wish.

“Maybe I should put a USB drive in my drawer tomorrow?”

The civil servants of the Eastern Mauritania branch continued to pray fervently to the heavens today.

And then…

Whether the civil servants’ prayers reached heaven or not, I’m not sure.

But finally, a ray of light arrived to save these suffering souls.

*

Another day of the same routine: arriving on time and leaving on the dot.

First, I go to my regular store to get takeout, then head to the park to wander around. As the sun begins to set, I barge into a bar, drink a bit, then browse clothes and accessories at the department store, sending anything I like to the hotel.

After carefully considering dinner options, I settled on a promising restaurant.

The owner said they could do takeout but not delivery, so I slipped him some extra money and instantly turned him into a delivery entrepreneur (his son at the cash register was immediately hired), having the food delivered to my hotel room in advance.

Then I leisurely walked back as usual, but…

What’s this now?

“……”

“…Ahem. Have you been well?”

The lit room already had a visitor inside.

Fortunately, it was someone I knew.

“…Camilla.”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you, but…”

I scratched my forehead and looked at Camilla with an incredulous gaze.

“Why on earth are you eating the food I ordered?”

Camilla, who had broken into my hotel room and was munching on cheese while hugging my pizza box, tilted her head quizzically.

“I paid for it though?”

“What are you talking about? That’s food I pre-paid for. Do you think this is New York or something? Where college students in tights deliver pizza and collect payment?”

“…Oh? Then what was the money I gave earlier…?”

“What do you think?”

You got scammed.

“Come out quickly. We need to catch the scammer.”