At the power pole—humanity's last beacon of hope
"Twelve baht…"
Woon, a fresh graduate in a faded T-shirt, stood counting coins with teary eyes. Her bank account was shrinking at the same rate as her sanity. If she didn't land a job this week, she'd have no money to pay rent—two months overdue—and would be forced to drag herself back to the countryside to beg her parents for money… the same parents who had just finished paying for her degree.
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew a pale flyer straight into her face.
Smack!
She pulled it off, eyes scanning like a hawk—then freezing on a huge number printed boldly:
[HIRING: PERSONAL ASSISTANT – Earn 40% of Net Profit]
Qualifications: Must have ears to listen, a brain to interpret, and patience for creatures the world doesn't understand.
"This is literally made for me!" Woon's eyes sparkled. Hunger? Gone. Logic? Suspended. The "40%" was far too seductive to question.
She rushed to the address immediately.
Sky-High Residence – Luxury Penthouse, 45th Floor
Woon stood stiff in the center of a marble-floored room so expensive it probably had its own insurance policy.
But what was even stranger than the skyline view was a ridiculously handsome man—like a god who forgot he was on Earth—wearing a silk bathrobe.
His name was Kram.
And he was squatting on the floor, using tweezers to pluck sugar crystals off a donut… one grain at a time.
"I'm here to apply for the job!" Woon shouted.
Kram didn't look up. He murmured calmly:
"The chaotic scattering of sucrose crystals across fried dough… is the very disorder of the universe. Humanity is foolish to allow sweetness to destroy symmetry."
Woon froze for three seconds.
"So… you're annoyed the sugar isn't arranged neatly… so you pick it off?"
Kram's hand stopped instantly.
He looked up at her, eyes shining with something strange.
"You… what did you just say?"
"Well… you just want the donut clean and perfect, right? You like perfection?"
Kram stared.
"Uh… I mean… I came because of this flyer?"
Woon held up the paper.
Kram slowly stood, walked to an expensive wooden table, picked up an hourglass, and flipped it.
"I'll give you a trial task. If you pass, the 40% contract becomes effective immediately."
Woon asked nervously, "And what exactly is the job?"
Riiingggg!
A phone rang. Kram turned on speaker.
A frantic voice came through—Deputy Inspector Kan, his high school friend.
"Kram! Help me! There's this old rich guy in Nonthaburi going insane. He keeps hearing knocking from his family cemetery every night at 2 AM. He thinks the ancestors are haunting him… but when he opened the grave…"
"…it was EMPTY. Nobody inside. Not a single body!"
Kram smirked slightly.
"A soundwave phenomenon emerging without an empirically observable source… in an area of terminated life signals… is far too interesting to ignore."
He adjusted his glasses until they flashed dramatically.
Then he turned to Woon with a calm but crushing stare.
"You… your first hypothesis verification process begins now. Prepare low-frequency recording equipment. We are going to confirm whether 'emptiness that produces sound' is a contradiction of physics…"
"…or merely a trick of entropy still awaiting explanation."
The old family cemetery – 01:50 AM
The atmosphere was so eerie Woon clung tightly to Kram's sleeve. Marble gravestones stood in the darkness like luxury tombstones of the rich and paranoid.
Kram walked with a high-powered flashlight.
"You're here, Mr. Kram…?" the tycoon waited pale-faced. "It's almost 2 AM. Soon… they will start knocking."
Kram didn't reply. He stopped before the largest grave—one that had been empty for decades.
With gloved fingers, he rubbed the marble edge and muttered:
"Vibrations occurring in consistent periodic intervals… are physics' melody, not a ghost's lament. Look, Woon… the moss along the eastern groove is overly 'cooked.'"
Then he glanced at her.
Woon panicked and translated quickly:
"Uh… he means the knocking is too regular to be a ghost. And… the moss here looks kinda dried, like there's heat rising from below."
Knock… knock… knock…
The sound came from inside the empty grave.
The tycoon nearly fainted.
But Woon—shaking in fear—noticed Kram wasn't scared at all.
Instead, he was staring at a tiny "white insect" crawling along the stone.
"This vibration frequency is generating noise that severely disrupts my auditory processing and cognitive function. Extremely irritating."
Kram frowned, extending his hand toward the grave without breaking eye contact.
"You… go fetch an instrument capable of physically separating bonded matter. I need to perform a dissection to determine what degree of idiocy powers this 'sound-generating engine of greed.'"
Woon nodded rapidly.
"Yes! I'll get it!"
She turned to Deputy Inspector Kan.
"Officer… do you have a crowbar?"
Kan stared at her like she'd asked for a bazooka.
"Uh… yes… it's in my car…"
Woon sprinted to the car, grabbed the crowbar, and brought it back.
Kram glanced at Kan.
So Woon handed the crowbar to Kan, and Kan pried open the marble cover.
BOOM!
The marble lid cracked open.
Inside was not a corpse…
But a tunnel.
A hidden tunnel dug from outside the cemetery walls. Inside, a small machine was running, repeatedly slamming into stone, producing the knocking sound. Wooden barrels were lined up everywhere.
"Moonshine…?" Kan gasped.
Kram sighed.
"Kan… can your nose seriously not distinguish ethanol from aromatic hydrocarbon compounds? This is clearly polymerization in an enclosed environment. As for the vibration, it is simply a mechanical failure of piston free-play transmitting kinetic energy into marble."
"And these insects are fleeing due to thermal shock conditions."
"I have summarized it as efficiently as possible. Do you have any further questions that would be equally inefficient?"
Kram finished with a blank face.
Kan and the tycoon stood frozen—like their brains had crashed.
Woon immediately translated:
"Officer… short version: it's not alcohol, it's dangerous chemicals. The machine below is overheating so termites can't survive and are fleeing. The knocking is just the machine hitting the stone."
Kan quickly called his team and stormed the area.
The criminal turned out to be…
the cemetery caretaker.
He'd used the grave as a secret illegal factory, assuming nobody would ever inspect a tomb at night.
On the way back
Kram sat quietly in the back seat, staring out the window like he was processing information humans weren't designed to understand.
Woon sat beside him, hugging her bag tightly, still clutching her last few coins like they might evaporate.
Then Kram spoke flatly.
"You passed the trial."
Woon jolted.
"Huh?! Really? But I didn't even do anything!"
Kram nodded slightly.
"Most people fail structural communication immediately when I begin speaking. But you… can decompose my complexity into language normal humans understand within seconds."
Woon frowned.
"Then maybe you should just speak normally."
Kram stared at her for a moment, then looked away.
"I do speak normally."
"Your main duty is to receive output from my thought system and translate it into speech for clients."
He continued, serious as if describing a world-saving position.
"And more importantly… your name is 'Woon.'"
Woon blinked.
"My name… what about it?"
"It's perfect," Kram said deadpan.
"Because it is the name of a miraculous substance from a blue robotic cat from the 22nd century that allows different species to understand each other."
(Translation Konjac.)
"For me… your name is the definition of this position."
Woon gave an awkward smile, thinking:
Wait… is my boss a Doraemon fan??
"Well… okay then. I'll be your translation jelly."
Kram pulled out an envelope stuffed with cash and handed it to her.
"This is your first share. Twelve thousand baht. Calculated as 40% of my logic consulting fee today."
Woon counted it with trembling hands. When she realized the number was real, her eyes filled with tears.
"Twelve thousand… sniff… I survived…"
"Tonight I don't have to boil one instant noodle packet and stretch it across three meals anymore!"
Kram watched her emotional breakdown with a blank stare, as if he couldn't understand why escaping poverty was exciting.
"Please cease this disorganized and inefficient emotional expression. Prepare to begin full-scale operation tomorrow at exactly 08:00:00."
Woon shouted enthusiastically:
"Yes sir! I'll be Woon, jelly, or whatever—this Woon is yours, boss!"
And just like that, she was ready to sell her soul for 40%.