He bought a used Porter truck. 2.3 million won. He had barely managed to scrape together the money from his military savings and the wages he'd earned working for Uncle. He loaded the truck bed with a tool bag, rolls of film, a set of utility knives, a squeegee, and a heat gun. Arranged exactly the way Uncle's had been.
His business registration came through. “Seokjun Moon Interior.” Seokjun stared at the paper for a long time. It was only one sheet of paper, but it felt heavy.
His first week. He went to introduce himself to three interior contractors Uncle had referred him to. He had business cards made. Doeun designed them. Simple. His name, phone number, and “Specializing in Interior Film Installation.”
The first company. Its office was in a basement half a floor below ground. The owner took Seokjun's card and said,
“You learn under Dongwoo Yoo? I know Mr. Yoo's skills. But I don't know you. I'll give you something small to start. Give it a shot.”
Four studio apartment doors. The unit rate was low. Seokjun said, “I'll do it.”
The second company. The owner looked Seokjun up and down.
“You're young. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“How much experience?”
“Two years.”
“Two years? You went independent with only two years?”
Seokjun didn't answer. The owner laughed.
“You've got guts. But I don't have any work to give you right now. I'll call you later.”
Later. Seokjun knew that “later” would never come.
The third company. The owner looked at photos of Seokjun's work. They were photos Seokjun had taken at Uncle's job sites.
“Clean work. I've got an officetel job next week. Put together an estimate.”
That night, Seokjun wrote the estimate. It was the first one he'd ever prepared. He measured the area, calculated the amount of film needed, added labor costs, and added material costs. He checked the numbers three times to make sure they were right.
He submitted the estimate. Two days later, he got a call.
“Mr. Moon, your estimate's a little high. Can you come down?”
Seokjun did the math. If he lowered it any further, he wouldn't even cover labor. But it was his first job.
“I'll lower it.”
His first job site. He was alone.
Six studio apartments in an officetel. Doors, moldings, and shoe cabinets. A two-day completion schedule. Seokjun arrived at the job site at five in the morning. He unloaded the truck, carried everything up in the elevator, laid down plastic, removed the doors, cleaned them, applied primer, cut the film, and installed it.
When he worked under Uncle, someone had always been beside him. Hyungsik carried the woven sacks, and Uncle checked his cuts. Working alone made everything take twice as long. He had no time for lunch. He stood at the job site and ate a convenience-store triangle kimbap.
Nine p.m. on the first day. He'd finished three units. Three units remained. He had to finish them by tomorrow.
Seokjun sat in the driver's seat of the truck and looked at his hands. They were trembling. Not from exhaustion, but tension. What if he couldn't finish tomorrow? What if there was a defect? What if he lost his professional reputation on his first job?
His phone rang. It was Doeun.
“Seokjun, did you eat?”
“Yeah. I did.”
It was a lie. One triangle kimbap was all he'd had.
“Liar. I can hear it in your voice.”
Seokjun laughed. She'd caught him.
“I'll eat a real meal when I'm done tomorrow.”
“Can't you come home tonight?”
“I'm at the job site. It's due tomorrow.”
Doeun was quiet for a moment.
“Seokjun, you're doing a good job. You know that, right?”
Seokjun gripped the phone tightly. No answer came. His throat tightened.
“Yeah.”
After hanging up, Seokjun started the truck. He went home. Not to Aunt and Uncle's house, but to the studio apartment he'd rented. A three-million-won deposit and 350,000 won a month in rent. The room was small. Just a little wider than the truck bed.
He showered and lay down. He set his alarm for 4:30.
The second day. He arrived at the job site at five in the morning. Three units remained. Seokjun didn't stop. He removed the doors, cleaned them, and installed the film. One sheet at a time. Following what his hands remembered.
Four p.m. The last door in the last unit. He installed the film, finished the edges, and trimmed the excess with a utility knife.
Seokjun looked around all six units. Every door had new film on it. No air bubbles. No lifting. Things made by Seokjun's hands.
The company owner came to inspect the work. He looked at each door one by one. He touched the edges. He viewed the surfaces from an angle.
“…Clean work.”
Seokjun lowered his head.
“Thank you.”
“I'll call you again next time, Mr. Moon.”
Mr. Moon. It was the first time Seokjun had heard that title. Under Uncle, he was “Seokjun,” and at job sites, he was “Hey, you.” Mr. Moon. “Boss” had been attached to his own name.
On the drive back in the truck, Seokjun cried with his hands on the wheel. Silently. Tears fell onto the steering wheel.
He wasn't crying because he was happy. He was crying because he was scared. Scared that he had to do this alone every day. Tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that. Not even knowing whether there would be work.
The light was red. Seokjun wiped away his tears. The light turned green. He drove on.
It was work he'd started because he had nowhere else to go. Even now, he still had nowhere to go. But he had nowhere to return to, either.
He had no choice but to keep moving forward.