Assistant Manager Kim Hates Idols Chapter 480 - Liberation

Failing to be by my sister’s side when she passed remained the greatest regret of my life.

 

It wasn’t as if I had been far away. If we had hung out just a few hours longer before parting ways, if I had walked her a little farther on her way home, maybe the ending would have been different. I carried those pointless thoughts with me for years.

 

It was true that I wished for Manager Nam’s complete ruin. It would be a lie to say I never once hoped his future would be miserable, or at least far from happy.

 

That was why, even while threatening him, I gave him a minimum chance. No matter how much he distrusted my words, I warned him in the hopes that he would swallow his pride and go see his mother’s face. I told him to go greet her at least once. I told him that even if it felt too early, he should go and share at least one more piece of good news.

 

But at the same time, I was certain he wouldn’t listen. I knew better than anyone that he wasn’t the type to take others’ words to heart. He likely didn’t want to admit his precious mother’s end was near. And so, Manager Nam must have blown that final chance.

 

When you lose a family member, your mind goes blank at first. Three days pass without any room to think of anything else. You are sad, you regret the past in vain, and then you are faced with the fact that you must accept a completely altered reality.

 

My words, which Manager Nam had brushed off, gained power through tragedy. The statements I had made were now exerting dominance over his mind. How many people could ignore the skin-crawling fear that if they continued to live this way, they might lose their wife or daughter next?

 

The door to the meeting room opened, and Manager Nam entered, dressed in a formal suit. His eyes were deeply sunken.

 

“Welcome.”

 

When I invited him to sit, he pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. I watched him quietly for a moment, then stepped out of the room to fix him a cup of coffee. It was the golden ratio my body had memorized—a mix tailored to Nam’s taste that I myself couldn’t even drink.

 

Surprisingly, Manager Nam didn’t gulp the coffee down. Looking at the rising steam, he spoke.

 

“…I thought you’d say I got what I deserved.”

 

His voice was dry and cracked.

 

Was there really a ‘deserving’ when it comes to life and death? Maybe if the tragedy had happened directly to Manager Nam, the target of my resentment, things would be different, but there was no joy in seeing innocent people suffer.

 

My feelings were closer to pity. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t have mentioned his mother in the first place. It would have been better if he had driven straight to her, found my prediction to be wrong, and then felt awkward about it.

 

You should have just swallowed your damn pride once. You should have visited her even while cursing me for my jinxed words.

 

If you had, you wouldn’t have this lingering regret in your heart now.

 

A heavy silence followed. After a long period of wordless meditation, Manager Nam finally spoke.

 

“Have I really done that many things wrong?”

 

It sounded like he was talking to himself. I didn’t want to answer him. Reflection was only meaningful if he did it himself. Manager Nam rarely lifted his head.

 

The scene overlapped with the countless salary-review meetings we’d had at Hanpyeong Industry. Every year during salary negotiations, Manager Nam would try to belittle me in any way possible, and I would just pray for those agonizing hours to pass.

 

Not every element had been completely reversed, but the balance of power had clearly tilted to the other side. That, too, felt strange. It wasn’t particularly refreshing to see him cowering in fear that his own fate might be next, rather than out of genuine self-reflection.

 

“Say something.”

 

“…”

 

“Now that you’ve driven a person into such a desperate situation.”

 

Manager Nam’s breathing grew ragged.

 

“I believe I’ve done more than enough of what a passing stranger should do,” 

 

I said, fiddling with my phone. I had nothing to say to a man who had no idea that my habit of turning on the recording function whenever we spoke was a direct result of his own past actions.

 

“I gave you a clear warning. It was your choice to ignore it, Deputy Manager.”

 

“I would’ve listened if you’d said it nicely. But the way you said it made me resist…”

 

“And what exactly offended you?”

 

When I threw the question back, Manager Nam fell silent.

 

“Too embarrassed to say it yourself?”

 

“…”

 

“No one likes hearing bad news, but that wasn’t the problem, was it? Can’t you admit that you were offended by a young punk speaking as if he were teaching you, and that you were displeased by being pointed out for living your life wrongly? Should I have flattered you and begged you to go see your mother?”

 

“If you had…”

 

“Nothing would have changed even then.”

 

I didn’t need to hear the rest to know what he was going to say. He would have claimed something might have been different. Manager Nam was always like that.

 

But why should I have catered to him every step of the way? He would have been confident that he knew more than me and could make better judgments anyway. We were both long past the age where criticism had to be wrapped in compliments.

 

“I understand wanting to vent your frustration. But that’s as far as it goes.”

 

To Manager Nam, who had lived his life doing whatever he wanted, being rejected must have been unfamiliar. Sure enough, his confusion showed plainly.

 

“If you have nothing more to say, I’ll leave first. I have nothing to tell you.”

 

“Wait a moment.”

 

Manager Nam hurriedly called out to me.

 

“Fine. I wasn’t exactly someone who lived an admirable life. I’ll admit that honestly.”

 

“…”

 

“But I was busy surviving. I struggled to support my family, fighting through a ruthless society where you have to step on people to get ahead.”

 

‘Should I consider it progress that he didn’t come here acting shamelessly?’

 

I swallowed a sigh inwardly. The reason I didn’t just storm out was because his words felt more like an attempt to explain himself to me, rather than self-justification to prove he was honorable.

 

The two were similar, but fundamentally different—the former carried shame, while the latter came from pride. It seemed he had done a lot of thinking at his mother’s funeral. He wasn’t just a son in words only.

 

“It must have been hard to climb up by stepping on your competitors. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

 

“Then why me…?”

 

“The people being stepped on have it harder.”

 

Manager Nam flinched.

 

“No matter how busy they are, some people still live honestly. Some people fulfill their responsibilities to their families without exploiting others.”

 

“…”

 

“You chose to live selfishly, Deputy General Manager. Because it was easier. And I was simply telling you that someone has to pay the price for that convenience.”

 

I understood why he was acting out. When people blame themselves, they often end up blaming others or society, too. Admitting that everything was your own fault was incredibly difficult. It was a perfectly natural phenomenon.

 

But…

 

“If you keep going the way you have been, you’ll become a department manager. You’ll rise through the ranks comfortably. It won’t take long to become a team leader or even a director. You already suspect as much.”

 

“Then.”

 

“Someone dies. Like I told you back then. I give it five years after you sit in that manager’s chair.”

 

…Wasn’t it your own ironclad rule to hold people accountable for their mistakes, Manager Nam?

 

I didn’t use any lies or tricks to threaten him. Since I actually died around that time, I figured that even if the person who replaced me didn’t inherit my sudden death, they would hardly be able to live a normal life.

 

It was a pity that even after three days of self-blame and reflecting on the past, he couldn’t clearly pinpoint what the problem was.

 

‘I guessed it would be difficult since he’s never engaged in self-reflection before.’

 

He must have agonized until his head felt like it would burst, before crawling to me with an unanswerable question. Sure enough.

 

“Can’t you just tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do as someone who still lacks a lot?”

 

Reminded of death, Manager Nam asked a predictable question.

 

“I’m really at a loss. People my age are all like this. After enough years in corporate life, your way of thinking gets fixed…”

 

“Excuses solve nothing.”

 

“…”

 

“That’s something you say all the time, isn’t it?”

 

‘I hate excuses most in the world. Why should I care about other people’s circumstances?’

 

Receiving back the words he used to say habitually, Manager Nam’s face turned pale. He stared at me for a moment, then lowered his head. As if resigned, he mumbled in a small voice.

 

“Should I get on my knees?”

 

“…”

 

“Would that ease your mind, Mr. Kim Iwol?”

 

“No. Don’t do that.”

 

Nothing related to Manager Nam held any meaning for me. I expected nothing from him except that he lived his life correctly from now on.

 

As for his offer to kneel, I’d acknowledge that he’d made a huge decision, given the man I knew.

 

“What value would your knees have to me?”

 

Still, if I had to choose an action among those he could take that might actually have value…

 

“Apologize. There are several people you need to ask for forgiveness.”

 

“…”

 

“Don’t just say you’ve reflected or that you intend to change. Show it. Not performative gestures—real sincerity.”

 

…I would use the same method of change that Gu Jahan had shown me.

 

While Manager Nam took time to think, I didn’t say a single word, allowing him to deliberate to his heart’s content.

 

Instead, I took out a clean sheet of paper and a pen. Then, I began to write a handover note for him. It was essentially the final document I hadn’t been able to leave behind because I passed away without a resignation interview, sent directly to Manager Nam.

 

How to apologize properly. First, maintain a polite attitude. Second, clearly specify what you did wrong. Third, do not make excuses.

 

The list of things to say beneath that was endless. Do not add unnecessary comments, state the motivation behind the mistake and the point where it became a problem, provide a minimum solution and a plan for compensation, etc.

 

I also left some requests as his predecessor. Attend mandatory training yourself. Especially do not do other things while the workplace harassment lecture is playing.

 

Resolve household matters within the home. Keep in mind that employees are not responsible for personal affairs unrelated to work.

 

Do not forget that employees are human.

 

For a long while, only the scratching sound of writing could be heard in the meeting room. Manager Nam no longer pressed me to say comforting words, nor did he throw a tantrum for a solution. He simply remained silent and waited for my next move.

 

I quietly pushed the paper toward him. Manager Nam picked up the ‘How to Apologize Properly’ guide. Silence fell.

 

This is goodbye.

 

Whether you regret it after crumpling it up and throwing it away, or sneakily pull it out to look at it later out of fear of the coming consequences while acting as if nothing is wrong—do as you please.

 

Once Manager Nam leaves, I will truly be done with Hanpyeong Industry forever…

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Manager Nam, who had been staring at the writing on the paper, murmured.

 

“I never should have hit you. I’m also sorry for barging in here without warning.”

 

I thought he was practicing, but he wasn’t. He was speaking to me.

 

“I took my anger out on you because I didn’t want to hear the truth. It was my fault.”

 

Manager Nam’s gaze was still fixed on the paper. His hands trembled, causing the paper to flutter.

 

Every word Manager Nam spoke was very slow. The image of him shouting or acting superior had vanished. Everything was unfamiliar.

 

“You suffered a lot… because of me.”

 

He said more, but I couldn’t hear it. I turned my gaze away, not wanting to see his reddened eyes.

 

He said he was sorry. He said it was his fault. That I had suffered a lot.

 

‘Ha.’

 

It was annoying. I wanted to snap at him, asking what he was doing only now.

 

“Thank you for giving me a chance to change.”

 

Manager Nam got up and bowed. He gathered his coat, folded the paper neatly, and walked out.

 

How much of that gratitude was sincere? He wouldn’t have blinked an eye if it hadn’t involved his family. Some of it might have been forced, or spoken mechanically.

 

I didn’t believe him. Even if he had meant every word, I had no intention of accepting it at face value. I didn’t feel sorry for him, either. My wish for him to live in fear of his own misfortune remained unchanged.

 

Even so…

 

‘I feel light.’

 

Because I never thought I’d receive an apology or gratitude in my entire life. After spending my life carrying unfair burdens, doing other people’s work, and receiving no appreciation for it, treating all of that as if it were normal, I was hearing the words ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’ for the first time.

 

That insignificant, spoken formality… felt like it was telling the version of me that sat in Hanpyeong Industry that the pain I experienced there wasn’t my fault.

 

I covered my face with both hands. Memories of the time when I deserved an apology but never heard one flashed through my mind. I could finally shake those things off now.

 

Even if someone accused me, asking whether I had been perfect myself, life would hurt less than before. At least I would no longer eat away at myself, looking back to see if there was even a single flaw in me.

 

I was no longer afraid. That was enough.