TCE 10

Chapter 10

It was a bright, sunny day.

The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, and the clouds looked fluffy, as if a child had painted them with watercolors.

Not too hot, not too cold—perfect weather. Wearing jet-black sunglasses that shielded our eyes, we stood alone.

“……”

Arms crossed, she lifted the sunglasses slightly up her nose to block the light more effectively.

Under the radiant sunlight, her pale skin almost glowed. We turned our heads left and right, shrugged once, then let it drop again.

“My eyesight really is awful.”

No matter how much she tried to ignore it, she couldn’t. Finally, she gave up and took off her sunglasses.

Her vision was so poor that facing the blazing sunlight was easier than trying to see through the blur. She slipped the sunglasses away and pulled glasses out of her pocket.

“Phew.”

The pretty eyes that had briefly appeared from behind the shades were now hidden again, behind thick lenses compensating for her bad eyesight.

Her eyes, small as buttonholes through the glass, darted around before she stood proudly once again.

Whether she wore glasses or not, the weather didn’t change.

And of course, neither did the task ahead.

“Please write your name here.”

The moment she put on her glasses, she looked like a harmless lamb. An event staff member held out the guestbook. Truthfully, the only reason she wore glasses at all was to be able to write in it.

<Day of Wishes for Preventing Child Abuse>

Reading the large event title at the top of the page, we scrawled our name carelessly in the blank spot below the neatly written rows of others.

“Where should we go for the food truck duty?”

We asked as we wrote, and the staff member pointed to the right.

“Turn around that corner to where the water supply is. But… are you one of the staff?”

“No. My companion works here.”

“Oh, then your husband must be…”

“My companion will come later.”

“Yes, so your husband—”

“Colleague.”

She corrected the word for the last time, handed the guestbook back to the flustered staff, and walked away.

“Thank you.”

After her quick farewell, we left. As she rounded the corner, the staff, checking the guestbook, suddenly shouted in haste:

“Excuse me! You also need to write down your husband’s name and title!”

The worker nearly bolted from the desk, but another staff member stopped him.

“Forget it. They’re food truck duty.”

“But still, this should be—”

“They can check later. Food truck duty’s for the lifer section chiefs and dead-end managers. Just let it go.”

His tone was indifferent, but not wrong.

Today’s event was a grand charity festival hosted by Yeongdo Group, aimed at preventing child abuse.

Executives and employees from companies affiliated with Yeongdo Group participated freely, running booths and contributing talents.

Among them, the food truck duty was the hardest, most avoided worksite of them all.

The colleague who stopped the staff from chasing after us clicked his tongue at the pettiness of adults, who even divided themselves into ranks at an event for children. He peeked at the guestbook and smirked.

“But wow, what awful handwriting. What does this even say?”

Feeling uneasy, the staff who had pointed the way earlier checked again with him.

Big, sprawling letters filling the blank space, written almost like English.

“…Jo Euri?”

It was atrocious handwriting.

Meanwhile, oblivious to what was being said about us, our shoulders began to sag lower and lower.

Already tired. We hadn’t even started, but just the thought of it exhausted us.

We sighed deeply as we looked around the event hall we’d only ever heard of, never once attended.

‘Why am I here, when Ha Yun-jae isn’t even on time?’

Executives only needed to show up once the event began. Why had Joo Ae-jung chosen this? Did she enjoy volunteering for hard work?

“Haa.”

She sighed again and trudged along.

This “Prevent Child Abuse” event was attended by companies invited by Yeongdo Group. But Haseong Apparel, which had risen suddenly in prominence, hadn’t received an invitation.

“And yet here I am before you, Chairman Go,” she muttered, mocking her father, who longed to be here every year. Soon, she arrived at the booth preparing to run the food truck.

The place was already bustling. A dozen or so young women were tidying, arranging, or hesitantly standing around, sneaking glances here and there.

‘Just around the corner, and it’s like another world.’

Some people would kill for a chance to attend a place like this.

We looked around lightly, then tapped the boxes stacked under the tent.

Thump.

“Ah!”

Just then, someone bumped into us. She toppled over the boxes and turned with eyes blazing.

“Watch where—!”

Before she could spit fire, the young woman who had bumped into her quickly set down what she was carrying.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

The genuine apology cooled her temper almost instantly.

Straightening up, we adjusted our crooked glasses.

“I’m fine. Go on.”

The woman, watching her elegantly brush her hair back into place, asked carefully,

“By the way, who are you…?”

“I’m assigned to the food truck today. First time here.”

“Ah, you’re new. Then come here. Since you’re here, grab that box and bring it over.”

“Huh?”

“Hurry, we’re busy.”

Her cautious gaze quickly shifted to something firmer, a presence that was hard to ignore.

So, holding the box we’d been bumped into, we nearly lost grip—the weight heavier than expected.

“Put it down here. Then help with the rest too.”

With a bright smile, she gave orders naturally and efficiently.

Her frail, delicate body clearly wasn’t used to this—after only a few boxes, her muscles already ached.

‘Barbells I’ve lifted, but never boxes like these.’

Breathless from unfamiliar labor, she realized this was only the beginning.

Clap, clap.

“Alright, no time to waste. Only three hours left till the event starts.”

At someone’s call, people scattered around gathered into small groups. The woman who had ordered us earlier was already seated among them.

As we struggled to catch our breath, small whispers reached our ears.

“Who is she?”

“That’s the Yeongdo Group manager’s wife.”

“Wow, the manager’s wife?”

“She’s run this booth for 17 years.”

“Seventeen years means her husband’s been stuck at that position all along.”

“Forever-a-manager’s wife. The food truck queen.”

Heehee.

The whispers weren’t quiet—they rang clear enough for us to hear too.

Typical, petty faction squabbles. Ae-jung leaned against the stacked boxes and smirked, all too familiar with such scenes.

“They really don’t get it.”

As she murmured to herself, nearby eyes turned toward her.

But meeting their gazes calmly, she rubbed the tips of her reddened fingers from carrying boxes.

“There’s no better person than someone who feeds others.”

Her lazy words silenced the air oddly. She shrugged, as if only just realizing they were staring.

“Who is that?”

“No idea. First time I’ve seen her.”

While they quickly divided sides and excluded her, the manager’s wife raised her voice.

“Let’s begin!”

This is exhausting.

So exhausting I could die. Well, I already did, so maybe that’s the wrong word. Either way.

Though I’d lived with a stepmother’s coldness and a father’s indifference, I had never done labor like this.

“Calling this talent donation?!”

The absurdity of it made my head spin.

During the endless stream of chores, we peeled off the rubber gloves. Even through them, water had seeped in, leaving our hands swollen.

“…Shouldn’t they be preventing adult abuse too?”

Under the fluttering banner that read Prevent Child Abuse Campaign, she scowled.

“Ha Yun-jae, you bastard.”

Resentment flared toward Yun-jae, who’d abandoned us here in this field of labor. But our short break was quickly noticed.

“Keep working. Don’t you see the dishes piling up?”

“……”

“You can’t chop, can’t season, can’t cook. You should’ve just stayed home.”

With no knowledge of cooking, we had been demoted again and again until ending up on dish duty. But rather than dwell on our already blackened reputation, we pitied our hands more.

‘Not that they’re wrong…’

And compared to our stepmother’s nitpicking, these scoldings were almost kind.

“So many calluses.”

Her pale hands, surprisingly rough and knuckled, caught our attention. Different from hands hardened by training, they spoke of a life not easy.

Clicking her tongue at Joo Ae-jung, her same-aged companion, she noticed a stir in the booth.

“You’ve all worked hard. It’s fine.”

“You’re here, madam.”

“Just relax.”

Suddenly, a group of “madams” appeared, gliding into the food truck booth that was still wet and steamy with dishwater.

They wore expensive clothes that looked far from charitable, yet settled into the busy scene as if it were theirs, even pulling out chairs.

“We just came for a cup of tea.”

Their ridiculously kind interruption left everyone speechless, until the woman seated at the highest place among them snapped her fingers.

Snap.

“You there, dishwashing.”

Hearing the clear sound, we lifted our head, still wearing rubber gloves.

Our eyes met. With the same hand that snapped, she curled her index finger.

“Bring us some coffee.”

At first, Ae-jung didn’t think the words were directed at her. She glanced around, but everyone else had already turned away, pretending not to see.

Blinking, she pointed to herself with her gloved hand.

“Me?”

The woman snickered and crossed her legs.

“Who else? I’ll take a café latte.”