My 50 Million Won Salary

Chapter 4

The convenience store door chimes loudly as the next shift replacement walks in from the pouring rain, wiping their boots on the mat.

Perfect timing.

You don't waste a single second. You unclip your store apron, toss it onto the back counter, and turn to give Ji-hoon Park a harsh, deeply unimpressed look.

"Stop following me, Park," you snap in your disguised, low male voice, grabbing your old black backpack and swinging it over your shoulder. "It's weird. We aren't friends. And no, I have absolutely zero plans to be linked to you as some fake gay couple. Get a life."

Before he can even open his mouth to respond, you bolt.

You burst through the store doors and sprint directly out into the heavy, dark downpour.

You completely ignore the freezing rain soaking through your black hoodie, focusing entirely on navigating the slick streets. You are already running late for your next four-hour shift as a waiter at a restaurant down in the low district.

Behind you, Ji-hoon stands under the bright convenience store awning, watching your hooded figure sprint into the shadows of the storm. The rain drenches everything, but his dark eyes remain intensely fixated on the path you took, a dangerous, possessive smirk playing on his lips.

By the time you slide through the back employee entrance of the restaurant, your checkered Vans are soaked and you're shivering slightly.

You sprint into the staff bathroom, quickly wringing out your short, brown wig, wiping your glasses dry, and throwing on the standard waiter uniform shirt over your damp clothes.

You adjust your disguise, take a deep breath to channel your quiet, introverted boy persona, and step out onto the restaurant floor.

The restaurant is a stark contrast to the elite world of your high school. It's a bustling, loud, and slightly gritty establishment in the low district, packed with working-class citizens seeking shelter from the storm over hot bowls of soup and grilled meat.

For the first two hours, you move like clockwork. You keep your head down, carry heavy trays of food, and balance dirty dishes, your forced athletic stamina from climbing ten flights of stairs everyday keeping you moving efficiently.

You don't speak unless spoken to, blending perfectly into the background noise of the restaurant.

Around 11:00 pm, the heavy rain outside finally begins to slow into a light drizzle. The front door chimes, and a wave of cold air enters the dining room.

"Welcome," you murmur automatically, keeping your eyes on the tray in your hands as you pass the entrance.

"A table for four," a smooth, distinctly aristocratic voice requests.

Your heart stops.

That voice doesn't belong in the low district.

You slowly glance up through your thick glasses. Standing at the entrance are four incredibly handsome, towering figures, completely commanding the room's attention despite the casual luxury coats they wear to shield themselves from the weather.

It is the entire asshole group (or A4, the name you secretly named their group).

Ji-hoon Park stands at the front, his dark eyes instantly locking onto you with a predatory, satisfied gleam. Next to him is Leon Von Rothschild, looking around the gritty restaurant with a polite, entirely fake aristocratic smile. Ren Tanaka is casually checking his reflection in a window, running a hand through his silver hair, while Min-jae Kang adjusts his glasses, observing the room with a cold, clinical detachment.

"Ah, Ares," Ji-hoon purrs loudly enough for his friends to hear, a dark. Completely obsessed smirk spreading across his face as he steps directly into your path. "What a coincidence. My friends and I were looking for a late-night snack, and I highly recommended this place. You're our waiter tonight, right?"

Leon raises a sharp brow, his piercing blue eyes examining your baggy, waiter attire and your short wig with sudden, intense curiosity.

"So this is the little scholarship boy you couldn't stop talking about on the drive over, Ji-hoon?"

The school's most powerful elite circle has just ambushed your second job, and Ji-hoon has brought them right to your station.

What the f**k?!

Your inner voice is creaming in pure agony, but your face remains a perfectly crafted mask.

You force a bright, completely customer-service-compliant grin onto your face, through the sheer force of it looks almost painful. You grab four menus from the host stand and step forward.

As you hand them out, you shift your gaze to Ji-hoon Park, your violet eyes flashing with a deadly, murderous glare behind the thick lenses of your glasses.

"Welcome to our restaurant," you say in your disguised, low male voice, practically dripping with sarcastic sweetness. "Here are your menus. What can I get started for the magnificent kings of Seoul International High School tonight?"

Ji-hoon's dark eyes gleam with absolute, unadulterated delight at your silent fury. He takes his menu, his fingers deliberately brushing against yours for a brief second before you pull your hand back.

Leon accepts his menu with a soft, aristocratic chuckle, his piercing blue eyes tracking your stiff posture. "Fascinating. Ji-hoon wasn't exaggerating. You really do look like you want to poison our food, Ares."

"Don't mind him," Ren chimes in, sliding into the booth first and running a hand through his silver hair, giving you a lazy, idol-like smirk. "He's just cranky because he had to ride in a car that cost less than six figures to get down to this district. Honestly, the vibe here isn't bad. Very… retro."

Min-Jae sits down quietly, adjusting his pristine glasses as he skims the cheap plastic menu. His clinical, detached gaze flickers up to evaluate your face. "Your heart rate seems elevated, Ares. And your clothes are still damp from the rain. You should change, or you'll risk contracting hypothermia before the semester ends."

You tightened your grip on your order pad.

To these four, you are just a strange, fascinating little charity-case boy who somehow caught Ji-hoon's bizarre attention.

They have absolutely no clue that beneath this baggy waiter uniform, the short brown wig, and the terrible posture is a girl, let alone an illegitimate daughter of the late richest man in South Korea.

Even if they did find out about your lineage, it wouldn't matter. Your father had a circus of illegitimate and legitimate heirs fighting for his empire, and you were discarded into an orphanage long ago.

To the elite world, you are less than a shadow.

Ji-hoon leans back against the booth, crossing his legs elegantly as he looks up at you with that terrifying possessive fixated stare.

"I'll have the spicy grilled pork and a bottle of soju," Ji-hoon orders smoothly, never breaking eye contact with you. "And make sure you bring it out, Ares. My friends have a lot of questions about how a quiet scholarship kid managed to become the obsession of my week."

Leon tilts his head, a manipulative, dangerous smile touching his lips.

"Actually, I'm more interested in his gaming. Ji-hoon mentioned you played a rather… impressive match earlier. What was the username again?"

Your blood runs cold. If they link Ares to godofwar in front of the whole school, your quiet life is completely dead.

They are playing with you like predators cornering a mouse, and the gaming secret is on the line.

What the f**k do you do?

You force that bright, completely fake customer-service grin right back onto your face, tightly gripping your order pad.

"Understood. Your orders will be coming out shortly," you say in your disguised, low male voice.

As you turn on your heel to head toward the kitchen, you can't help but murmur furiously under your breath, just loud enough for their sharp ears to catch: "If you want fancy food and a luxury ambiance, you should have stayed in Gangnam. Why the f**k do you expect high-class dining in a place you literally just deemed too cheap? Idiots…"

Ren lets out a loud, delighted laugh from the booth.

"Wow. He really doesn't care who we are, does he? I love this kid."

You completely ignore Leon's prodding questions about you MMSS username, refusing to give them a single scrap of information.

In the kitchen, you grab their trays of heavy stone bowls filled with steaming hot soups, grilled meats, and a bottle of soju. Your forced athletic stamina makes carrying the heavy load easy, and you march back into their booth.

Silently and mechanically, you place the dishes down in front of them one by one, keeping your face completely blank like a professional ghost.

But as you set down Ji-hoon Park's spicy grilled pork right in front of him, you keep the tray lifted high enough to block the view of his three friends.

Under the cover of the tray, you look Ji-hoon dead in the eye and give him a sharp, aggressive, and highly personal middle finger.

Ji-hoon's dark eyes flare with absolute amusement. He catches your hand by the wrist for a split second under the tray, his thumb brushing against your skin before you harshly yank your arm back and step away.

"Enjoy your meal," you mutter flatly, turning to leave them to their food.

"Hey, Ares," Leon calls out smoothly, pouring a glass of soju for Ji-hoon. His blue eyes are sharp, watching your retreating back. "Don't go too far. We might need refills. And Ji-hoon here still hasn't told us how a scholarship kid got his wrist bruised."

You keep walking, your heart hammering against your ribs.

The restaurant clock slowly ticks toward midnight, the end of your brutal 8-hour double shift. You just need to survive another thirty minutes, get to the safety of your 10th-floor rooftop apartment, and finally shed this suffocating male disguise.

Your shift is finally ending, and the A4 group is finishing up their food.