04. Mr. K

The decision to sign a contract to work generated an intriguing emotion at first. However, over time, Jira began to doubt, losing confidence in his own decision.

First, he didn’t know what Ko’s business was.

Second, he had no idea who Ko really was or what his background was.

And third, if the first job didn’t turn out successfully, he would probably be fired, and he wasn’t sure if it would be worth the pain.

All these concerns accumulated, making Jira feel increasingly overwhelmed. The only place he could think of to vent was the Burnout Bar, hoping to share his worries with someone, though not just anyone…

“You look exhausted today, nong,” said Ben, the usual bartender, in a tone that made Jira hunch his shoulders even more. He walked weakly to the bar counter and dropped onto a stool, with such a dejected expression that anyone who saw him would feel pity.

“I want something that lifts my spirits, Phi,” the young man requested, resting his head on the counter.

“Do you want me to make something special for you today?” offered Ben.

“Oh, no, I’m meeting someone!” replied Jira. Upon hearing this, Ben smiled and turned to prepare a drink with lemon and berries, something to help Jira feel fresher and straighten his back.

It didn’t take long before a colorful drink in a tall crystal cocktail glass slid in front of him, accompanied by a sign indicating table number 7. The situation seemed like d j vu.

“Enjoy,” said Ben, but the young man still had his head resting on the counter. The bartender then offered additional service: “Do you want me to take you to the table? Special service, free.”

“I’m fine, Phi,” replied Jira.

With effort, he lifted his small frame, face still dull and hair messy. Then, dragging himself, he headed to the indicated table, waiting for the person he was supposed to meet.

While waiting, he pulled out his phone and checked the messages he had exchanged with Pheem through a chat app. The content was clear: if he wanted to clarify his doubts about who Ko was and what business he ran, he had to look for clues.

Ing: anywhere around?

“Judging by what you told me, he seems like a tech bro. Didn’t you see any trophy or certificate?”

(*) “Tech bro” is English slang for men who work in tech fields, like startups, programmers, software engineers, etc.

Jirajira: “Last time I was there, I checked quickly and didn’t see any of that.”

Ing: “Then, when he’s not looking, check his things. His wallet, the documents on his desk. We all leave some clue, right? He’s a person, not a ghost.”

Jirajira: “Yes, a person, but not a normal one. Doesn’t answer anything. I tried asking the butler, but that guy is even worse, just smiles.”

“Sorry, there was traffic. Did you wait long?”

While Jira was lost in his thoughts, a familiar voice interrupted his ears. Pheem, with a smile, pulled him out of his reverie. Jira looked up from the phone, shaking off his unease for a moment, and showed a slight smile.

“Not much, you arrived just in time.”

Pheem sat and placed a glass of wine on the table. His eyes, always perceptive, immediately noticed Jira’s state. If he had rabbit ears, they would probably be drooping. It was evident he had had a rough time. With his natural ability, Pheem knew how to break the ice and make the other open up. His voice was part of his charm, but his friendly attitude was what really broke down the barriers.

“Since we are the same age, if you don’t mind, we can speak more casually,” proposed Pheem.

Jira slightly widened his eyes, responding quickly:

“So I call ‘you’ and you call me ‘I’?” “Then can I call you ‘you’?”
Pheem nodded. He took the card that was in the glass and read it to start the conversation. Although he had many questions in mind, he decided not to be too direct to avoid making Jira uncomfortable. He knew exactly when to advance and when to retreat, like a master of the game.

“Before knowing this place, where did you go when you were stressed?” “To get drunk with friends,” replied Jira honestly.
“And why didn’t you go with them this time?” Pheem instantly replied. “They’re busy with work, or some with their partners.”
“So you’re single, then?”

“How do you know?” asked Jira, curious. Pheem leaned slightly toward him.

“Just by looking into your eyes, I know,” he said with an intense gaze, like a hunter.

Then, he joked to ease the tension: “And it looks like you’ve been single for quite a while.” “Now it’s my turn to guess,” said Jira, playing along, feeling a bit more lively.
As both leaned forward, the distance between their faces decreased, to the point where they could feel each other’s breath.

“You’re also single because you’re too busy working,” ventured Jira. “Good try! How did you know?”
“Easy. You’re handsome, attractive, you could have anyone just by standing still. Unless you’re not interested,” said Jira. He didn’t mention the other possibility: that Pheem didn’t want anything serious with anyone.

“Touch ,” replied Pheem, laughing. “How are you now?” he asked Jira.
“Somewhat better. I’m glad you talked to me. Thank you,” said Jira sincerely. Even if it was just a moment of relief, it was enough. Tomorrow’s problems could wait.

“You’re welcome.”

“Pheem, I got a new job. I don’t know if it will be good, but do you wish me luck?”

Pheem’s attractive face lit up with a smile. He slightly adjusted his glasses and looked into Jira’s eyes for a moment, long enough for something to begin forming between them.

It wasn’t a particularly sweet wish, but it was all Pheem could offer: “I hope your boss isn’t an idiot.”
…

“Do you think time and people are that valuable or what? You’re late!”

After receiving Pheem’s wish the night before, the next morning Jira faced his boss immediately. He thought that in his past life he must have committed some serious sin, because problems seemed endless.

Although he knew he had a work meeting and left home early, circumstances didn’t help. Obstacles appeared one after another, as if he were playing a video game where he had to overcome each level before facing the final boss: Khun Ko. And this boss was particularly fearsome.

“I’m sorry, sir. They are fixing the street, so the driver had to take a longer detour than usual.” “Isn’t it your responsibility to plan and arrive on time?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Jira lowered his head, no excuses. Late is late.

Seeing Jira’s attitude, Ko couldn’t continue scolding him. Although he himself was confused about why he let it pass so easily. Finally, he took a wireless earpiece and gave one to Jira, while keeping the other himself.

“Put it on. We’re going to practice. It’s simple, you don’t have to memorize a script, just repeat what I say.”

Ko moved to a corner of the room, from where he could still see Jira clearly. He put on the other earpiece and prepared the equipment to control the conversation remotely.

[I want to take over your company.]

Hearing Ko’s deep voice, Jira, from the other side of the room, was perplexed. He didn’t understand what Ko wanted. He repeated: “What are you asking me to do?”

[Did you hear what I said? Just repeat my words. Don’t you say you’re an actor?]

“But I need to know who you are, your background! How am I going to act if I know nothing about you?”

[With such a clear script, you need context? It’s a business negotiation, okay?]

Although still confused, Jira decided to go ahead, thinking he would understand as he went along. Ko’s voice sounded again through the earpiece.

[I want a board position with these figures. I don’t think it’s too much, right?] “A board position with these figures…”
Jira couldn’t continue. He stopped; his voice sounded unnatural, and disaster seemed obvious from afar, which began to irritate Ko.

[Really, you can’t even repeat this?]

“It’s acting, sir, I’m not a robot you feed data into and that’s it! I need background, context. Give me a decent script first!”

Ko, frustrated, removed the earpiece and approached Jira with a superior attitude.

“You want background? Fine! Play yourself, Jira. The context is that you’re in a job interview, as usual. You know you’re someone who almost gets the position but never does. They interview you out of formality, but you decide to release everything you’ve been holding inside. Do you understand the situation? It shouldn’t be hard to be yourself. Let’s start!”

Ko began the test in a neutral tone: “Do you understand or not?”

Jira, still stunned, didn’t respond. Ko stared at him, indicating he was serious.

Finally, Jira gave in: “I understand perfectly…”

After that phrase, Ko began to speak as if he knew Jira’s feelings, thoughts, and life in depth.

“I’m already used to it. I know they won’t hire me. Since I entered, they look for my flaws, any excuse to discard me.”

When Ko finished, Jira repeated, increasingly immersed in the words. It was the truth, a painful truth that struck him as if opening a wound.

Without intending to stop, Ko approached from behind and continued whispering in Jira’s ear:

“I wonder why I wake up early, dress well, just for someone who doesn’t know me to decide my future. Why do I have to work until I’m exhausted for a few baths? If I could, I wouldn’t be here begging you.”

Jira repeated, though the words were long and he didn’t say them precisely, the message remained intact.

“Even if I get the job, I’m always afraid the company will find an excuse to fire me. If they don’t like something, I pay for it, as if I were their punching bag.”

Jira’s voice trembled, mixed with anger and confusion. Ko was touching him at his deepest point but didn’t stop.

“I just feel there’s no place for me. I’m not good at anything. I want to know how much more I have to stand out to be chosen.”

Ko was going too far.

Jira’s voice trembled even more, tears showing in his eyes, blurring his vision. It was a truth that was destroying him. After that, he didn’t hear anything else, though the words continued arriving through the earpiece.

When he came to, Ko was in front of him, looking at him coldly, as if he had no heart, while Jira tried to hold back his tears.

“Did you check all my social media or what?” asked Jira. Ko didn’t answer, just shrugged indifferently. Losing his temper, Jira insulted him: “You’re a damn idiot!”

Ko smiled, turned around, poured plum liquor into a glass, and offered it to Jira, who was still wiping his tears.

“It seems you can talk now, but I don’t want emotions. For this job, no dramas. I don’t want tears. Drink this, it will help you focus on work.”

Jira took a deep breath, took the glass, but after the first sip, the tears came again. Not even the liquor was as bitter as his life.

Ko gave him a moment to calm down. Perhaps because Jira had been through a lot, he could recover quickly after a moment of weakness. His tears stopped falling.

“I prepared a suit for you. Go change.”

Ko’s voice came from afar. Sniffling, Jira looked at the suit the butler had brought. Instead of changing, his eyes went to the bedroom, where he saw Ko changing without closing the door. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Jira pretended to carry the liquor glass and approached Ko’s desk.

He needed information about Ko.

He rummaged through documents among a pile of electronic devices but found nothing identifying his boss. He was about to give up when, by chance, he saw a hotel welcome card, partially covered by objects. He took it, and though it was wrinkled, he could read it. It was a handwritten note by the hotel manager, but what interested him was the name…

Khun Korawit Kitivela “I got it!”
He memorized the name, but for safety, fearing he might forget it under pressure, he decided to write it down. He took a pen from the desk and ran to the bathroom. He took out a tissue to write the name, but then thought they might discover it if they checked. He threw the tissue in the trash and instead wrote Ko’s full name on the edge of his underwear.

Upon leaving the bathroom, Ko was gone. Jira looked around and jumped when he realized Ko was right behind him, almost on top of him.

“I told you to change. What are you waiting for?” “Eh… I haven’t finished my drink yet,” improvised Jira. “If you don’t finish it, throw it away.”
“What a waste. If I add something to cover it, the taste will still be good.” “Enough nonsense, go change!” ordered Ko.
“I’m going, I’m going,” said Jira, taking the suit and running back to the bathroom.

Once ready, he saw Ko sitting on a sofa with a serious expression. He wore a gray t-shirt and shorts, nothing remarkable, in contrast to Jira, who was wearing a perfectly tailored suit.

“It’s not a complicated situation,” Ko began, explaining again. Jira followed and stood, listening attentively.

“You’re going to act as a nominee, a representative of a foreign investment company. Your task is to make the owner of the company we’re negotiating with feel comfortable and accept our investment.”

“What?”

“What part didn’t you understand?” “Everything. Speak plain, man!”
Ko stood up and approached Jira, adjusting his buttons and clothing with firm hands. While doing so, he explained:

“My company wants to acquire another, but if we do it directly, it will be too obvious and the other might suspect. You will act as a representative of a foreign company, which is actually mine. We need them to accept our investment and let us be partners.”

“Why don’t you send someone from the legal department or a real businessman? Why me?”

“I’ve already sent others, but they always resist. They don’t trust because the representatives don’t understand fashion enough to earn their trust. But I think you can do it.”

“And who is the other?”

“The brand Library, from Thames.” Reality hit Jira like a hammer.
“I already told you I worked with him. He’s going to recognize me!”

Suddenly, fear overtook him. What already seemed difficult was now even more terrifying, with the risk of being discovered.

“Don’t worry. People like Thames only pay attention to those who are useful to them. Trust me, he won’t remember you.”

Ko finished adjusting Jira’s suit and guided him to a full-length mirror. Upon seeing himself, Jira was surprised. The perfectly tailored suit combined elegance and creativity, making him look more beautiful than usual, almost androgynous.

“What style!” exclaimed Jira. “Not bad,” replied Ko.
He took the car keys and left the room, leaving a final phrase in a tone between serious and joking:

“Ready, Khun Nadech Kukimiya?”

Jira looked at Ko’s broad back, then at the half-drunk glass of plum liquor. Feeling guilty about wasting it, he grabbed a nearby book to cover it and followed Ko.

…

A sleek black Maserati pulled into the parking lot of a luxury restaurant.

After turning off the engine, Ko put on his earpiece while Jira watched nervously and asked again, “So… what do I have to say?”

“Start by speaking freely-about art, opinions, anything. Make him relax. When he lets his guard down, I’ll give you the lines.”

“And how do I make him let his guard down? Do I punch him or something?” “Are you pretending to be stupid?”
The comment stung more than the previous dramatic scene.

“There are a thousand ways; I don’t know which one to use,” Jira defended himself. Ko sighed, took Jira’s face in both hands, and forced him to look directly at him.
“I don’t fully understand, but you and him are artists-you should understand each other better. You paint, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then think like you’re Vermeer*. You paint an incredibly beautiful painting-who would you sell it to?”

“But Vermeer died poor; who would buy it?”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Ko growled, having researched artists using AI. “If it were me, I’d sell it to someone who values my work.”
“Then make him feel that. Don’t forget-you now have more power than him. Don’t be afraid. If he brings up business, stay silent and steer the conversation toward fashion or art.”

(*) Johannes Reynierszoon Vermeer (1632-1675), Dutch Baroque painter known for his depictions of everyday life in soft natural light, like Girl with a Pearl Earring and The Milkmaid.

Ko continued speaking while holding Jira’s face.

“When the time comes, I’ll say what I want, and you repeat it. Understood?”

Jira nodded timidly. To Ko, it was an adorable sight, and he lingered looking at him a moment longer before letting go.

As Jira put on the earpiece, Ko pulled a piece of paper from the car compartment, wrote something down, and slipped it into Jira’s suit pocket.

“What’s this?” asked Jira.

“Keep it. I’ll tell you when to give it.”

Though he didn’t fully understand, Jira nodded. Both braced themselves and got out of the car confidently.

Inside the restaurant, an employee greeted them politely. Thames hadn’t arrived yet, so they came early to prepare. Ko seated Jira at the table reserved for the negotiation and moved to another table at a distance to observe, putting on sunglasses.

“Stop shaking your leg,” Ko warned over the earpiece, noticing Jira’s restlessness. “I’m nervous.”
With sharp perception, Ko looked toward the entrance and saw Thames approaching with an assistant, dressed in a gray suit. He quickly signaled:

“He’s here. Sit properly.”

Jira took a sip of water to calm himself, sweating nervously. Thames approached briskly, bowing politely-a stark contrast to the intimidating demeanor he had shown at a previous audition.

Jira stood to shake his hand and introduced himself formally:

“Good morning, Mr. Thames. I’m Ko, a partner of the company negotiating with you today.”

Thames looked at him attentively. Nervous, Jira quickly glanced at Ko, who observed from afar.

“You’re so nervous it looks like you’re about to faint. Are you really that scared?” Ko whispered through the earpiece.

Jira wanted to reply but held himself back, remembering his role. Thames didn’t seem to recognize him, which brought some relief and confidence to continue the plan.

“Shall we order something to eat?” Jira offered. “No, thank you,” Thames declined.
The atmosphere grew tense, filled with an awkward silence. Ko intervened through the earpiece:

“Talk about something he likes-his clothes, anything.”

“Uh…” Jira, drawing a blank, decided to talk about something familiar. “Spring, sir.”
“I loved your collection.”

“Oh, thank you,” Thames replied.

“Will we see the next collection soon?”

Thames didn’t seem interested in trivial chatter. His initially polite demeanor faded, revealing his true personality. Jira, having worked with him before, knew what he was like but had no idea how to soften him. This was his first job-and perhaps his last.

“What are you staring into space for? Give him the paper,” Ko ordered.

Jira found the paper in his pocket and handed it to Thames. Thames unfolded it slowly and looked at it in surprise.

“With these figures… what would we have to give you in return?”

Ko smiled from afar and gave instructions through the earpiece, with Jira as intermediary:

“A board position for these figures isn’t too much, right? That way we can see if we fit together long-term. Sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?”

Thames stared at Jira as if he wanted to devour him. “I know what you’re trying to do. Stop, no…”
Thames stood, ready to leave. Ko didn’t give up. He instructed Jira to stop him. In a desperate move, Ko put on a mask, grabbed a glass of wine, and “accidentally” spilled it on Thames’ linen suit, leaving a red stain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Ko apologized, feigning clumsiness while trying to clean the suit with a handkerchief.

Thames, annoyed but restraining his anger, raised a hand to stop him. “It’s fine, I’ll clean it myself. No problem.”
Thames headed to the restroom, and Jira, stunned, received a shout from Ko: “What are you standing there for? Follow him!”
“And what do I say to him?”

“Art, fashion, anything! I hired you for this-show some intelligence!”

Jira knew this was his last chance. There wasn’t much else he could do, but persuading someone was hard. He took an inhaler from his pocket, used it to regain his strength, and silently prayed as he walked toward the restroom.

In the bathroom, Thames tried to clean the wine stain. Regaining some confidence, Jira approached and offered help:

“Shall I help you?”

Thames, irritated and exhausted, had no energy to argue.

“Have you done this in other companies?” he asked as Jira cleaned the stain with a handkerchief.

“If I said you’re the first, you wouldn’t believe me, right? This suit is the DNA of your brand, isn’t it? I think it’s from 1991, correct?”

“You know that?” Thames was surprised.

“I did my thesis on you,” Jira explained. Thames’ expression showed skepticism. “I interviewed you at your old factory, but surely you don’t remember.”
“What was your thesis about?”

“I wanted to understand what’s more important in fashion: art or marketing. Why do major brands change designers so often? If a design is beautiful and artistic but doesn’t sell, versus another mediocre but successful design-who stays in the game?”

“And what did I say?”

“You said legacy is the most important thing for a brand. Without it, there’s no reason to exist. Do you still think the same, Mr. Thames?”

The legacy-the origin, distinctive design, craftsmanship, even the founder’s personality-all were part of the “heritage” Thames valued.

Thames didn’t respond immediately, reflecting. Then he asked, “What was the conclusion of your thesis?”
“Fashion is pure capitalism. Nowadays, isn’t it said that good fashion is what sells?” “So my Library, which doesn’t sell, isn’t good?”
“Fashion isn’t pure art,” Jira continued. “It has to sell.”
“Art has to adapt to the market to sell.”

Thames fell silent, wounded by the truth. Aware that his words could hurt, Jira decided to balance them with something more hopeful:

“Personally, I don’t see it that way. For my work, I have to be honest with you. But you can go back to making the clothes you love, and I’ll make sure the buyers see it as pure art.”

Jira stopped cleaning the suit.

“I think that’s all for the stain. But, you know, a wine-stained suit has its charm. It could be your next collection-surely it would sell.”

From start to finish, Thames didn’t even realize when he began enjoying the conversation with this young man.

“Just a board position, right?” Thames asked to confirm, his face serious. Jira smiled faintly.
…

White smoke floated in the air, the scent of nicotine enveloping Ko as he smoked outside the restaurant to relieve tension. Jira, having completed his mission, approached with a smile, seeking acknowledgment.

“I got a board position,” he announced.

“Well done. I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Ko replied. “Is that a compliment or what?”
“A compliment,” said Ko, and Jira smiled again.

“I’m an employee worth what they pay me,” Jira affirmed. He noticed a wine stain on Ko’s shirt and asked,

“Do you want me to clean your shirt?” “No, I’ll throw it out.”
“How did you think of the wine stunt? Watched too many movies?” “You were being slow.”
“By the way, what’s your plan? Restructure Library? What will you do with that board seat?” Now that the job was done, Jira felt he deserved to know the truth about Ko’s plans.

“I’ll send you as a representative, like today.”

“But is just one board seat enough for you to control the company?”

“Do you think that’s the only seat I have?” Ko tilted his head, smiling unsettlingly.

“I have people planted on the board, each with their own shares. Some directors will vote for me. Do you think that’s enough for me to take control?”

Jira swallowed hard, incredulous. He had never known who Ko really was or what he did-but now it was clear he was far more dangerous than he had imagined.

“What will happen to Library afterward?”

“Don’t worry. No big plans. I’ll just use their data archive for an AI analysis.”

“What?!” Jira didn’t understand.

“I want the AI to learn their designs. Why wait for new designers?” Ko took a drag from his cigarette and placed a hand on Jira’s shoulder, eyes sharp as a hawk.

“We don’t need to lead trends, just follow them as fast as possible.” “But Library is a legend in Thailand!”
“A legend of copies? They copy European brands, everyone knows. That’s why I want their data-for the AI. If copyright issues arise, we can say we learned from them.”

“Copying is part of the process. Designers seek inspiration. But you can’t deny Library has a unique artisanal value.”

“Inspiration? I call it copying. But don’t worry-I’ll try to continue it the best I can. Like you said yourself, this is capitalism. I’ll help end their legend with dignity.”

Jira’s words turned against him like an arrow. From the beginning, he thought being Ko’s representative meant acquiring and improving the brand. He had expected positive change, elegant growth in fashion. But now, knowing the truth, not only would there be no development, the designers might disappear, replaced by AI.

“How can you do this? I’m telling Thames!”

Anger slowly built. Jira felt like a tool being used to destroy people and their careers. “Who are you going to tell?” Ko asked.
“Thames, of course!”

Ko dropped his cigarette to the ground and stepped closer to Jira, unconcerned.

“Did you forget what you signed? If you speak, you won’t be able to handle the consequences.”

“If you want to continue this, you can’t be weak. After this, you’ll have to acquire other companies. I won’t repeat myself.”

Jira pressed his lips together. He knew he couldn’t win. Remaining Ko’s tool wasn’t an option.

Fate had led him to a crossroads: wealth in exchange for obeying orders-even the vilest-or returning to his life before knowing Ko.

After thinking it over, he made a decision. “Screw it all! I’m leaving. I quit.”
His words rang out with strength and emotion. He expected Ko to get angry-but Ko only crossed his arms and looked at him with disdain.

“You’re not really going to quit.” “I said I quit, right now!”
“See you tomorrow.”

Jira’s words had no effect. Ko left him alone and returned to the Maserati, which drove away slowly.

Jira watched the car, a thousand thoughts spinning in his head. And that’s when he realized…
That person was more cruel and ruthless than he could have ever imagined.