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We dissolve into a quiet, shared laugh. The game finishes shortly after, with Bong the winner. Only one chair broke during office basketball, and it’s Yoo’s, so no one is really unhappy. We also let him win the house of cards, and everything is back to normal by the time Bujang-nim appears with our coffees.
“Done already?” He’s shocked. It’s been barely an hour.
“It went well,” I chirp.
“Good. Good. Jal haesseo.” He hands out the coffees.
You did good. He’s saying it to everyone, but I wrap that compliment around me like a cashmere blanket, and I stay warm for the rest of the day. Not even Soyou’s sneers or Chaeyoung’s retreat pierces my shield. At six, Bujang-nim has us shut down our computers for the day and go to dinner. As promised, he hands over his company card. We troop off to a hanwoo restaurant on the edge of Mapo-gu. It’s one of those down-the-alley-without-a-lot-of-obvious-signage places that looks tiny from the outside but is massive inside. There are dozens of tables. A server motions to the corner where three tables are unoccupied. We push them together and take a seat on the floor. All the phones are turned off and dumped in the center of the table. No texting, no checking your socials, no searching the web during the hweshik. It’s no surprise that everyone drinks heavily during these events.
The soju hits the table almost before the banchan. Soyou orders three sets, but Yoo always has to have the last say and holds up two fingers and shouts for more. I go around and pour everyone a drink without being asked, and I swear I see a look of approval in Bong’s eyes. Soyou doesn’t even glare at me. I pour her another right away. Yoo demands that I do a poktanju, or soju bomb. Of course I oblige, even though I don’t have much in my system—the tuna gimbap I ate for lunch long forgotten.
The platters of beef arrive and Yoo and Bong place long strips of aged beef onto the cast-iron grill. The smell of the sizzling meat makes me dizzy with hunger. Around me, the buzz of conversation fills the air.
“You are terrible at basketball. Did they only have soccer at your school?”
“Better than you. Those shots you made were all luck, no skill.”
“Did you see Penthouse last night?”
“It’s too over-the-top. I don’t watch that.”
“Don’t look at me. I don’t watch it either.”
“Are you going to say you don’t watch it either, Bong? Because one of you is lying. Half the metro watches it.”
“I never said I didn’t watch it,” Bong replies.
“You didn’t say you did.”
In lower tones, Soyou says to Chaeyoung, “She’s suggested more ideas than she’s done work.”
“At least Bujang-nim was happy,” Chaeyoung replies. She fidgets with her diamond necklace.
“In my next life, I want to be a chaebol. Not related to one. Not married to one, but I want to be . . . Suh Minjung.”
“The Amore Pacific heir? If you’re wishing for better in your next life, why not wish for Jun Jihyun? Beauty and money.”
“Also married to money.”
“Isn’t that always the case? Money marrying money?” I interject and then hiccup.
Two heads turn toward me. I squint and count again. Maybe it’s three heads, or is Soyou swaying? They’re looking at me oddly. Something’s wrong here and it’s not my blurred vision. Something that I can’t quite put my—oh my fucking god. They’re speaking in Korean and I’m understanding them. I jerk upright and knock my glass over onto Bong’s lap. He curses and pushes my hands away as I try to dab his shirt with my napkin.
“She’s hopeless,” Soyou declares.
“I can hear you.” The entire table stops talking, and maybe that should’ve been my cue to shut up, but I’ve had too much booze and too little food to catch the hint. “I can hear you. No. That’s wrong.” I shake my head until the right word falls to my tongue. “I can understand you.” A grin stretches across my face. “I can understand what you’re saying.” I point to Yoo. “You were talking about Bong’s lack of basketball skills.” My finger moves left. “And you, Kim Soomin-nim, you are a fan of the show Penthouse. And you”—my finger stops at Soyou—“say I’m hopeless.”
Soyou knocks my finger away. “It’s rude to point.”
I fold my finger inside my fist. “Sorry.” But I’m too pleased with my language breakthrough to care about Soyou’s scolds. Half the team looks mildly horrified as they try to recall all the snide remarks they must’ve said about me, believing I didn’t understand them. I hadn’t before, but I might now. I gaze with bright, challenging eyes at everyone at the table, and most of them drop their gazes to their laps. Oh, it feels good to be a dragon, clawing my way up the mountain. I pop a piece of hanwoo into my mouth and chew, savoring both the meat and the achievement.
