Paddling

The interior of the antique vintage display cabinet was overflowing.

Our policy was to arrange the contents exactly as they appeared in the photographs we took before removing the items, unless the client specified otherwise — but even being generous about it, the state of the cabinet in those photos could only be described as a mess. Regardless of how high-end the collectibles were, their display condition was extremely poor.

If the client had been present, we would simply ask how they preferred things arranged and follow their instructions — but the client was absent today. We had used the door code to enter the previous house and begin packing, and the same applied when entering the new residence. Even now, with the move nearly finished, the client had not shown their face.

Just handle it as you see fit — that was the extent of the client's request.

Ah, there was one exception.

Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely handle the paintings with care — that was the only requirement the client, who hadn't seemed particularly demanding during the contract signing, had stressed repeatedly.

The client had moved into a magnificent apartment with a superb view directly facing the Yeouido skyline across the Han River, and owned not only expensive decorative items but also a considerable number of collected paintings.

To exaggerate slightly, artwork hung in every corner of the apartment, leaving almost no blank wall space — and in fact, one of the four rooms was used exclusively for storing paintings.

At first I wondered if the client was a painter, but despite the large number of works, I saw no painting tools anywhere. It was far more likely they were an avid collector or worked in a related field.

It had been a long time since I'd faced so many paintings at once. In recent years, the only artwork near me had been the baby shark mural or the angel wings painted along the uphill road to grandfather's house.

"What in the world is happening? Can these things really actually happen?"

Behind me, as I pondered the placement of an intricate porcelain doll in eighteenth-century attire, I heard the foreman's agitated voice. He was probably watching the news on his phone.

The foreman and the other four workers had nearly finished organizing and cleaning their respective areas. They were sitting on the carpet laid out to protect the floor during the move, killing time while waiting for the client to arrive.

Normally the team included an older woman in charge of the kitchen and bathroom, but today the foreman's son and daughter-in-law had an urgent matter to attend to, and his wife needed to look after their grandson, who had just passed his hundredth day, so I filled in for her.

Although my grades in school had been quite high, I hadn't gone to university, and I didn't have the confidence to survive office culture. Given my situation — more or less like being on the run — any position requiring full-time employment was immediately off the table.

That was when I stumbled across part-time work at a moving company.

The foreman grumbled that I looked like I'd never done hard labor and that my height was being wasted, but he wasn't the type to find unfair fault. I'd applied purely for the daily wage paid on the spot — setting everything else aside — but I could also freely choose the days I worked, and the pay was decent.

"What's wrong? Did something else happen?"

In a voice filled with indignation, the foreman began recounting the situation to the other drivers who had gathered out of curiosity.

"Some Alpha got drunk and caused a scene in a taxi. The driver got fed up and dumped him somewhere mid-route. So there he is, completely wasted, no idea where he is, wandering around — and he runs into an Omega. What makes it so awful is that the Omega's cycle had started earlier than expected that day. Their boss, trying to do them a favor, had let them leave early to go home and take their medication."

Even just that much was enough to guess the rest. The others seemed to follow as well, murmuring their sympathy before the foreman had even finished.

"He picked a fight with the driver, kicked the seats, and tried to throw open the door of the moving car… You can't even blame the taxi driver for putting him out halfway. And if the boss hadn't been so soft-hearted and sent them home early — none of it would have happened. That's the thing. If even one piece had fallen differently, none of it would have occurred."

I listened quietly to the foreman's lament about cruel fate while absently fiddling with the hem of the porcelain doll's eighteenth-century dress.

"When you think about it, Alphas are no different from beasts. They might be handsome or smart — but when you hear what they do on the news, it's outrageous. They claim they can't control it with reason. Are they even human? I've never once seen an Alpha's face in my whole life, so the idea of people being swayed by pheromones like that always makes me uneasy."

The assistant foreman, who had worked alongside him for nearly thirty years, raised his voice even higher.

If the foreman leaned toward sympathy, the assistant foreman leaned toward a strong sense of justice — and between the two of them, it sounded like they'd seen just about every kind of situation this job could throw at a person.

"It's true for people like us, but Alphas and Omegas especially need money. Without it, they lose their dignity and turn into beasts in an instant. New medications and all sorts of upkeep cost a fortune. Anyway, it's the victim who's the real tragedy here… what are the odds of so many coincidences stacking up like that? You'd think something like this couldn't happen in the real world."

In reality, such events did exist — things that seemed impossible, requiring layer upon layer of sheer coincidence. Like a massive truck hitting someone crossing the street legally on a green light: so sudden and so lacking in plausibility that they probably wouldn't even be used in a film or a drama.

"Kid, is the kitchen far from done?"

"It's all done."

I answered while tilting the parasol-holding porcelain doll to a slight angle. The work had essentially been finished long ago. I was only fidgeting because I felt out of place among the older workers, all of whom were at least fifteen years my senior.

"The client will arrive in ten minutes, so let's finish tidying up and head straight out."

The foreman's voice, as he dusted himself off to clean up the carpet, was now filled not with sympathy for the Omega mentioned in the news but with anticipation of going home.

Just as we finished packing all the cleaning supplies and sent them down in the service lift, the client arrived. Their expression and movements clearly betrayed a sense of urgency. Apologizing for keeping us waiting, the client handed the foreman an envelope and suggested we all go out for dinner.

The client interaction was the foreman's domain, so I only caught a glimpse — but the client, dressed comfortably yet elegantly, didn't seem nearly as demanding as we'd been told. The inspection was over in a flash. Aside from the room where the paintings were stored, they simply opened each door and peered inside.

While waiting for the elevator, everyone busied themselves praising the client — saying that if all clients were like this, the job wouldn't be so unbearable, and it wasn't just because of the dinner money.

"But it looks like they live alone in a place like this. They must be quite successful."

"Exactly. Even if it's a long-term lease and not owned, an apartment this size in this building would be around 1.5 billion won."

"Is this place really that expensive?"

The other movers widened their eyes in unison, wearing identical expressions, upon hearing the estimate casually dropped by the youngest member besides me, a man in his thirties.

One and a half billion won. To me, it felt no different from ten billion, a hundred billion, or even a trillion. Simply a very large amount of money that carried no sense of reality whatsoever. A truly, truly large sum.

"We got lucky today — a client who even covered dinner money. Maybe we should buy lottery tickets."

"Hyung, how much did they give? I'm sick of samgyeopsal and soju. If it's a decent amount, let's eat something else tonight."

At the assistant foreman's urging, the foreman pulled the envelope from his back pocket and was just about to open it when — ding-dong — the sound of a lock disengaging came from inside the entrance we had just left. The foreman quickly tucked the envelope away again.

"Just a moment!"

It was, of course, today's client calling us back urgently.

"Who cleaned the kitchen?"

We all hesitated, glancing nervously at one another, wondering if something had displeased the client or if a mistake had been made. The others, who had just been excited about celebrating with the unexpected dinner money, now looked utterly deflated.

I calmly tried to retrace my steps, but nothing had been broken or lost. It wouldn't be the worst-case scenario. Reassuring myself, I cautiously stepped forward half a pace.

"Our team's regular helper was absent today, so I took care of it."

I answered while looking down at the client's feet rather than their face. They must have followed us out in a hurry — they were wearing slippers over stockings.

"Well… as you can see, this one is still quite young… If there was something you weren't satisfied with…"

The client smiled broadly and shook her head toward the foreman who had stepped up to defend me, as if to say that wasn't it at all.

"No, it's not that… How about working for me instead? You're completely my type."

"……"

I couldn't grasp what she meant and could only move my lips slightly.

"Ah, that came out wrong, didn't it? I mean your style of working is completely my type. My place hasn't been getting organized lately because I've been so busy… and I'm the type who gets stressed when things aren't tidy… Finding someone I like enough to trust with it isn't easy, so it's been a real bind — but then I opened the kitchen cabinets and…"

The client, who had been rambling along with an explanation mixed with self-pity, suddenly stopped speaking.

"Are you… Yeehyeon? Seo Yeehyeon?"

From beneath the brim of my pulled-down cap, I raised my eyes to confirm the face of the client who had called my name precisely. It was the first time I had properly looked at her that day.

She had been a figure I'd consigned to the far edges of memory, to the backstage of my life. Now, without warning, she had stepped back to center.