Page 9 of Break Room

My bedroom’s wall was directly exposed to the building’s exterior, causing a severe draught that would slowly creep into my office room.

As the temperature suddenly dropped, the office room grew increasingly chilly.

The only source of warmth came from the hallway leading to the break room and the break room itself.

I was often tempted to pause my work and casually wander the hallway.

If someone else went into the break room, I’d follow them to quietly observe their activities.

‘I cannot wait to see us in the show,’ Tumbler murmured to Cake in banmal. ‘It’ll be quite the spectacle, watching how far people are willing to go just to earn one tiny hint slip.’

Cake pressed an index finger to his lips to shush him, which made Tumbler’s eyes widen as if he’d just realised his mistake.

He frantically glanced around, then let out a nervous chuckle.

I pretended not to hear them as I pulled two slices of bread out of the toaster.

The edges were completely burnt, blackened to a crisp, and crumbled apart as I held them.

Tumbler and Cake seemed much closer than they had yesterday.

They must have spent considerable time alone together to become so intimate suddenly.

They were often found whispering to each other or snickering together at their inside jokes, almost as if they were showing off the strength of their alliance to everyone else.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was just me, or if the audience would later feel the same second-hand embarrassment I was feeling – it was pathetic.

Despite my earnest hope to stay ahead in the game for at least a day, by Tuesday afternoon, it seemed like everyone had managed to secure at least one hint. The anxious energy that had hovered over their actions the day before had disappeared.

I wondered if Coffee Mix had made a pact with someone else to share hints, but I leaned more towards the likelihood that, like Coffee Mix, everyone else had stumbled upon their hints by chance – or, from the producer’s perspective, inevitably, due to our own natural tendencies.

I focused on getting more hints without getting caught, moving cautiously to avoid drawing attention to myself.

First, I grabbed Tumbler’s prized tumbler – the one he’d bought from the original Starbucks store in Seattle.

I filled it with water and drank out of it.

I deliberately pressed my lips to the rim, leaving a faint smudge to make it unmistakeable that I had used the tumbler.

I tried not to think too much about Tumbler’s yellowing teeth as I did so.

Next, I pulled out the ice-cube tray that was filled with half cola and half coffee, and dumped the entire thing into the sink. Naturally, I didn’t bother refilling it, leaving whoever came next to deal with the empty tray.

‘What are you doing?’

I froze mid-step as I turned to leave the break room; Coffee Mix was standing in the doorway.

‘Just came by to check if anyone was here. You know, lounging around,’ I said casually.

She walked straight to the fridge and yanked open the freezer. She must have heard the sound of ice cubes clattering into the sink from the hallway – there was no other explanation. I noticed her standing on her tiptoes to take a quick glance at the empty spot where the tray usually sat.

‘Oh, I see,’ she replied.

As I made my way out of there and slid the break room door shut, I heard Coffee Mix humming softly from the other side. It seemed to be her way of saying, ‘So, you’re not sharing what you’ve figured out either? Fine. We’re even now.’

When I went back to my flat, I found two hint cards waiting for me in the box. Without a second thought, I circled Coffee Mix on the first card.

Unlike Tumbler’s hint, which was delivered on a chocolate bar, Coffee Mix’s came in the form of a box containing a set of Swiss army knives. The outer case had a warning that read:

Keep away from children.

As before, I scratched at the surface and revealed the hidden message underneath:

Keep valuable goods away from her.

Judging by the wording alone, it seemed Coffee Mix’s greed for communal supplies went beyond mere selfishness – it hinted at kleptomania and warned others to be cautious.

I scanned the QR code on the packaging. Surprisingly, her coworkers on the audio file speculated about Coffee Mix’s psychological insecurities, just as Tumbler did.

They were collectively convinced that her hoarding habit must have its roots in childhood trauma or some past incident.

Unlike Tumbler, there wasn’t a shred of empathy in their voices.

Instead, they spoke with a kind of cruel amusement, as though gleefully piecing together fragments of her behaviour into an exaggerated, scandalous story.

Without hesitation, I used the other hint card on Coffee Mix again. I quickly received another Swiss army knife set, but this time, the warning label had changed.

The knife is extremely sharp. Take care not to hurt yourself.

I peeled off the film and the message underneath changed to:

Her personality is extremely sharp. Take care not to hurt yourself.

The accompanying audio hint described an encounter where someone had tried to confront Coffee Mix about her supposed trauma, only to be met with stinging backlash.

The confrontation mirrored what I had witnessed earlier between her and Tumbler.

Frustration set in – two hint cards wasted, offering nothing new.

They merely confirmed what was already apparent: that, at least, I had a fairly good sense of gauging people.

I started to question the authenticity of the audio clips.

Were they genuine testimonials from Coffee Mix’s coworkers, or had the production crew fabricated any of it to create a narrative?

I replayed the recordings over and over, dissecting every inflection and nuance, hoping to detect a telltale sign of a staff member’s voice or maybe the producer’s recognisable accent. I couldn’t tell anything for certain.

By Wednesday, I’d hit a complete mental block. I had exhausted all my ideas for using the existing items in the break room, and it seemed the other players were in the same boat. We all needed to push ourselves beyond our usual behaviours to find new ways to break the ‘rules’.

It quickly became clear that the production crew wouldn’t reward repeated or similar offences.

I confirmed this when I stole a bite from Monologue’s leftover sandwich in the fridge, only to find no hint card waiting for me – it was too similar to my first action on day one, when I’d devoured Cake’s chocolate cake.

Later, when Coffee Mix left crumbs from her Couque D’Asse snack all over the table, I was inspired to try a new strategy of deliberately spilling juice into the sink. But apparently, that fell into the same category as Coffee Mix’s action of ‘making a mess’, which didn’t count.

Fortunately, as the saying goes, yesterday’s enemy is today’s ally.

During this creative block, my biggest inspiration turned out to be none other than my coworkers, A and B.

Thinking of A, I microwaved a ready-to-eat mapo tofu rice dish – specifically chosen for its juicy stuffing – and let it heat for far longer than necessary until the sauce splattered everywhere.

But even this didn’t earn me a hint card, probably because it still fell under the broad category of ‘making a mess’, like my previous attempts.

However, when I microwaved some cheonggukjang I’d ordered for delivery and let the pungent stench of fermented soybeans linger inside the break room by keeping the door shut, I finally received a hint card.

Imagining A and B’s reaction when they saw this on the show – and how it might give them something to think about – made me feel more exhilarated than I had since I’d arrived here. For lunch, I treated myself to hot cheonggukjang and polished off two full bowls of rice.

This time, I didn’t rush to open the hint card. Instead, I observed what was going on, deciding to wait before using this precious opportunity on someone.

That afternoon, a sudden announcement blared through the speaker system, seemingly prompted by a heated incident in the break room.

‘Verbal abuse and violent behaviour directed at specific individuals or groups are strictly prohibited.’

Someone had left the fridge door open, and someone else had retaliated by unplugging the fridge entirely.

After a long day of work, eager to savour the GooGoo Cluster ice cream that I’d been saving, I opened the fridge to find a puddle of white and caramel-coloured cream. I was horrified by such cruelty.

By Thursday morning, the madness among the contestants had reached its peak.

Coffee Mix stole the spotlight by washing her long hair in the break-room sink.

Clumps of hair clogged the drain, leaving Monologue utterly flabbergasted.

He stormed off, only to return moments later with a cleaning tool from who knows where, and launched into a full-blown tantrum.

‘Dear God, grant me the courage to endure this war . . .’ he muttered dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut as he yanked slimy clumps of hair from the drain, the tool gripped tightly in his hand.

As if on cue, Cake barged in and snatched the hot water I’d just boiled, pouring it over her instant noodles without so much as a glance in my direction.

‘I’m sorry. I had to do something. I think I’m last,’ she said hurriedly.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Tumbler was the one who had talked her into this.

He stood nearby, waiting for her, quickly separating and handing her some wooden chopsticks upon her return.

His tiny fist shot into the air as if he were a cheerleader and he silently mouthed his encouragement: ‘Hwaiting!’