Episode 3 — The First Battlefield

Episode 3 — The First Battlefield

1:41 p.m.

Lee Sung got a video-call link. It was Zoom. The client had sent it. They'd said to join in thirty minutes, but the reply actually came back in fifteen, and at the end of the message there was a line: "Could you hop on right now?"

The CEO was the anxious one.

Lee Eon spoke, standing beside the desk.

"The enemy has broken his stance first."

"...What does that mean?"

"It means the one who breaks the agreed-upon time first has already lost his own formation. A man whose heart is in a hurry — cannot keep to time."

As he listened, Lee Sung adjusted the camera a little. Tilted the laptop's angle slightly upward. He changed into a shirt with buttons, at least. While he changed, Lee Eon turned his back. Even a general from a thousand years ago had his manners.

"...General."

"Yes."

"...They can't see you, right? The other side."

"How could they possibly see me?"

"...Right."

"Why do you ask?"

"...No, it's just — it'd be a problem if they could."

Lee Eon chewed on that for a moment.

"...I am visible to you alone."

"Yes."

"Then — that is fortunate."

"...Yes."

Lee Sung put his hand on the mouse. One click and the call would start. Right before the click, his hand almost trembled again. Like yesterday.

Lee Eon saw it.

"...Descendant."

"Yes."

"I will tell you just one thing."

Lee Sung took his hand off the mouse and looked at Lee Eon. Lee Eon stood at attention, unmoving. Armor, cloak, sword. A man who cast no reflection in the bathroom mirror. Standing beside the desk, he took a step closer.

"...The enemy does not look at your code."

"What?"

"The enemy does not look at your code. The enemy — looks first at your fear."

Lee Eon's words were short.

"Show fear, and the enemy closes his own heart. Whatever you stack upon a closed heart collapses. So — erase the fear first. Then speak."

Lee Sung rolled the words around in his head once more.

Erase the fear first.

Lee Sung knew what he was afraid of. The client getting angry. Getting angry and cutting his rate. His rate getting cut and this month's rent getting tight. And so, always groveling. Groveling and ending up accepting every change request. Accepting them until, at 3 a.m., he was one step away from `rm -rf`.

That had been the pattern, up until yesterday.

Lee Sung let out a small breath.

He clicked the mouse.

The screen split into two panes.

In the left pane — the client's team lead. Late thirties or so. Glasses. A slightly tired face. The same face he'd seen yesterday.

In the right pane — a face he was seeing for the first time. Early fifties. A dress shirt. A conference-room sort of background. This was the CEO.

"Mr. Lee, hello. I'm Kim, the CEO."

The CEO's first words were quick and clipped. He didn't even leave room for greetings. He was already set to get down to business.

Normally, Lee Sung would have said it all in one breath: "Oh, yes, hello, thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule."

But this time, he didn't.

Lee Eon's words were in his head.

> Erase the fear first. Then speak.

Lee Sung looked straight into the camera.

"Yes. Hello, Mr. Kim."

That was all.

The CEO faltered for a beat. The hesitation was visible even through the screen. Half a second or so. Since Lee Sung said nothing further, the CEO had no choice but to fill the silence himself.

"...Right. So, the partner-company matter. The reason I keep bringing this up is—"

"One moment, Mr. Kim."

Lee Sung cut him off.

He cut in and startled himself more than anyone. Cutting off a client — in seven years of freelancing — was a first for Lee Sung.

At the edge of his vision, he caught Lee Eon giving a slight nod beside him.

"...Yes, go ahead."

The CEO answered in a slightly flustered tone. Flustered, but — not angry. If anything — a tone with a flicker of interest in it.

Lee Sung spoke slowly. Speaking slowly usually didn't come easy to him, but today it did. Maybe because of the man standing at attention beside him.

"The partner-company matter — I don't think it's a system problem."

The CEO's eyes narrowed a little.

"...What makes you say that?"

"There are the five change requests you've sent me so far. Looking back over them — three of the five were really about the same thing: how to keep the partner company from walking off with your sales data."

Lee Sung turned on screen share. It was the change-request log he'd put together in the small hours yesterday — or more precisely, the one he'd been putting together at dawn when he came one step away from `rm -rf`. Five lines. By date.

"If you look here — number one, permission separation; number three, a separate partner login; number five, partner system integration — these are really all the same thing. You want to give the partner the system, but you don't want them carrying off your sales information. That's it, isn't it?"

The CEO went still for a moment.

In the other pane, the team lead could be seen fiddling with his pen.

"...That's right."

The CEO answered, in the end.

"Exactly. That was honestly my biggest worry."

"Right."

"...How did you know that?"

Lee Sung glanced to the side for a moment. Lee Eon stood there at attention. Pretending not to watch, while in fact looking straight at the screen. The shoulders of his armor seemed — to have squared up a little.

Lee Sung looked back at the camera.

"...When you get five change requests, sometimes all five are pointing at the same spot."

"...Ah."

"Pinning down what you actually want behind those five — I figured it'd be faster for both of us, for you and for me."

The CEO nodded once. Slowly. Not the nod of a man from a thousand years ago, but a nod all the same.

"...All right."

"Yes."

"So — how are you proposing we solve it?"

Lee Sung drew in a breath.

This was it. He had to push once more, right here.

"I'd like to split it in two."

"In two?"

"One — the existing CRM. I'll finish that off exactly as we've been doing. Within the schedule I promised. At no extra cost."

"Okay."

"The second — the partner permission-management system. I'm treating that as a separate project. It's outside the scope of the original contract. I'll give you a separate quote for it."

The CEO touched his glasses.

"...A separate quote."

"Yes."

"How much are you thinking?"

Lee Sung looked straight into the camera.

"...Seven million won."

Beside him, Lee Eon's brow shifted — slightly, very slightly. Lee Eon would have no idea what seven million won was worth a thousand years ago. Still, the fact that his brow moved at all — must have been because the tone in which Lee Sung named a price, for the first time — was a little different from his tone up until yesterday.

The CEO went still for a moment. Across the screen, he glanced at another window. Probably opened a calculator or something.

"...Team lead, that's doable, right?"

"...Yes. We'd set aside a separate budget for the partner thing anyway."

"We did, didn't we."

The CEO looked back at the camera.

"Mr. Lee."

"Yes."

"All right. Let's go with that. Finish the existing work as promised, and for the partner project, let's set up a separate meeting next week and start it in earnest. Send me the quote by tomorrow, if you would."

"Yes. Understood."

"This call — it was good. We should have sorted things out like this a long time ago."

The CEO said that and was about to end the call, then stopped once more.

"One thing, though."

"Yes."

"...You're a bit different today. From up until yesterday."

Lee Sung paused for a moment.

"...How so?"

"Hmm... how do I put it. A bit more — yeah. A bit more like someone in charge."

Lee Sung didn't answer.

Beside him, Lee Eon — for the first time — let out a small laugh. A very small one, at that.

"...Not at all. It was a good call, Mr. Kim."

"Yes. I'll be waiting for the quote tomorrow, then."

The screen went dark.

2:03 p.m.

Lee Sung leaned back in his chair. Still in the posture he'd held for the camera, he looked up at the ceiling once more.

"...That was insane."

"What was that?"

"...No, it's just. In seven years of freelancing, not once — not once — have I named a price like that, first."

"Why is that?"

"Because I was scared."

"What were you afraid of?"

"...Of being turned down. Of being haggled down. Of the work drying up."

Lee Eon went still for a moment.

"...Yes. I know that feeling."

"...What?"

"In my own time, too, the man who first took up a sword — the tip of his blade trembled. Not because he feared the enemy — but because he feared the enemy would not fear him."

Lee Sung slowly raised his head.

"...Is that something different?"

"It is different."

"...How is it different?"

"The man who fears the enemy — looks to himself. The man who fears that the enemy will not fear him — watches the enemy's face for cues. And the man who reads the enemy's face becomes whatever the enemy wants him to be."

Lee Sung chewed on the words for a long while.

A general from a thousand years ago was — in a single line — explaining something Lee Sung hadn't grasped in seven years of freelancing.

"...General."

"Yes."

"...I'll brew another cup of coffee."

"It is not something I can drink."

"...I know. I'll brew one anyway."

Lee Eon went still for a moment. Then he eased out of his rigid stance, just slightly. The armor looked, faintly — for the first time in a thousand years — a little lighter.

"...Do that, then."

Lee Sung took hold of the hand grinder again.

Grrrk, grrrk, grrrk.

While the beans ground down, Lee Sung looked at the laptop screen once more. A mail notification had popped up. It was from the client.

> Please send the quote.

> And — thank you for taking the call today.

> The CEO was pleased for a good while after it ended.

Lee Sung sent a short reply.

> Yes. I'll have it to you by tomorrow.

Sent.

The handle of the hand grinder grew light again.

It was 2:09 p.m., the fluorescent light was still on, and beside him — a general from a thousand years ago, clad in armor, stood at attention, listening to the sound of beans being ground.