Chapter 3

The day Jo Iseo and Sisyphus met.

Sisyphus held up his contract with pride and asserted his rights.

“Jo Iseo, then I shall now enjoy my ten-minute break.”

“By all means.”

With their conversation over, Sisyphus let go of the tension that had been wound tight like a bowstring.

‘So this is the famous Jo Iseo, the golden employee everyone talks about? Tch. I was wary, but he’s nothing special. Come on—if I managed to deceive the CEO of Happy World, what could a regular grunt like him possibly do to me?’

Eternal ten minutes.

Even by his own standards, it was a brilliant idea.

So Sisyphus continued to lie around, basking in his own smugness and slacking off.

Time passed. Who knew how long?

The artificial sun—crafted by Daedalus—rose and fell several times, oblivious to the concept of actual hours. Eventually, a pair of black-robed delivery ghosts approached Sisyphus.

“Delivery from Charon Transport. Are you Sisyphus?”

“What’s this about?”

“Let’s see… These items are listed under ‘sender: Jo Iseo, Department of Punishment Enforcement.’”

A delivery… from Jo Iseo?

That suspiciously competent golden boy?

Surely he was up to something.

Sisyphus, now alone, cautiously opened the sealed box.

Boing—

A cloud of fluffy, springy wool burst upward like popcorn.

It was shockingly soft, golden, and glowed like a dream.

Even Sisyphus was taken aback.

‘Golden fleece? The legendary wool that instantly soothes fatigue when you lie on it? The one said to block even the harshest cold when woven into clothing? That one?!’

And that wasn’t all.

♪ “For whom do those lovely nymphs weep~” ♫

A sweet melody echoed from beneath the fleece—from a conch shell.

Sisyphus, ever perceptive, immediately recognized it as “Song of the Nymphs,” the hit single from Orpheus, the most renowned singer of the underworld.

Those enchanted shells had sold out ages ago. Getting one now required serious coin.

‘Why… would Jo Iseo send me this? There’s no way he could afford this on a regular associate’s salary. He must’ve blown the department’s entire budget to buy this stuff.’

Seeing rare treasures—normally forbidden to inmates—spread before him filled Sisyphus with an uneasy suspicion.

‘Is this... that thing? The North Wind and the Sun strategy? The traveler took off his coat not from the biting wind, but from the sun’s gentle warmth.’

Maybe Jo Iseo wasn’t trying to punish him through fear and pain—but through kindness.

And Sisyphus was, in his own way, impressed.

‘A clever play. Very clever. Truly the kind of move a top employee would pull. But Jo Iseo, you’ve failed. Maybe it would’ve worked on someone else, but not me. I’m like my boulder—unyielding and solid.’

Smirking internally, Sisyphus laid on the golden fleece, enjoying the music and savoring his honey-sweet break.

He napped. He recited poetry to himself.

He did everything… except roll the boulder.

‘Okay… getting kinda bored now.’

But boredom is a powerful force.

Especially for a man like Sisyphus, whose entire afterlife had revolved around repetitive,

backbreaking labor. His muscles, unused for so long, felt like they were rusting.

‘I’ve rested too long. I’m stiff. Maybe a little workout would help.’

He dropped to the ground and started push-ups.

“Two-thousand twenty-one… Two-thousand twenty-two…”

But something was off.

‘The weight’s too light.’

His eyes drifted—inevitably—to the boulder.

Gulp.

Heavy. Massive. Solid. Satisfyingly painful to lift.

The perfect tool for muscle growth.

‘If I push that thing up the hill, my muscles will feel amazing.’

Habits are terrifying.

After centuries of boulder-rolling, Sisyphus had become a weightlifting addict.

He reached for the boulder—just a little…

“Mr. Sisyphus! Break time isn’t over yet! Hands off the rock!”

“Oh crap—CEO save me! Jo Iseo!”

Out of nowhere, Jo Iseo appeared and barked like thunder.

Sisyphus flinched and jerked his hand away from the boulder.

His nonexistent heart nearly leapt from his chest.

Still, after catching his breath, he managed to force a smile.

“Jo Iseo, I think I’m done with my break. Thanks to the fleece and music, I’ve enjoyed a deeply fulfilling ten minutes. I’ll now resume my punishment.”

“No! Absolutely not! Your ten minutes are not over!”

“…Excuse me?”

Sisyphus blinked.

Did he just… hear that correctly?

An associate refusing to let a prisoner resume punishment?

Jo Iseo, face serious as death, was adamant.

“Please return to the fleece immediately. Your contractually approved ten-minute break has not yet ended. Do not touch the rock.”

“…”

Cold sweat broke out on Sisyphus’s brow.

His hard-earned muscles were melting away in real time, and he was being forbidden from using them.

And that’s when it hit him—

‘This man… This was his plan all along! He’s trying to rob me of my only joy—exercise!’

He started to panic.

What kept Sisyphus going through eternal punishment wasn’t suffering—it was the purpose in building strength.

Now, this associate from Happy World was trying to strip that away with complete sincerity.

“Jo Iseo! Please—let me roll the boulder just once! Just once to the top! That’s all I ask!”

“Denied.”

“I beg you! Please! I’m asking with all my soul!”

“Denied. I gave you a fleece bed and soothing music. Don’t think about boulders—just keep resting.”

“You—”

“You…?”

“…You—you devil! I’ve rolled boulders here for centuries, but I’ve never had a guard like you! You cursed devil! You wretched, evil man!”

Crude insults flew.

But Jo Iseo remained calm and cold.

“Mr. Sisyphus, contracts are absolute. The ink used was made from the waters of the River Styx. Not even the highest executive can override it. So please, continue your break.”

Shhh—

He could almost hear his muscle mass vanishing, one glorious bicep at a time.

The pain of muscle loss was worse than any torture he’d ever endured.

“But… there’s no way to measure ten minutes in Happy World.”

‘This man… he’s diabolical!’

Finally, Sisyphus had to admit defeat.

“Jo Iseo… you already know, don’t you? There is a way to accurately track ten minutes, even in the afterlife.”

In a hidden corner of Happy World, the old titan Chronos still lived.

The god of agriculture and time, he passed his days crafting magical hourglasses.

Even in this timeless world, those sandglasses measured time perfectly.

“If I can get a hold of one of Chronos’s ten-minute hourglasses… then my break can be timed. It will end, and I’ll regain my right to roll that boulder again!”

***

Sisyphus had officially malfunctioned.

“The right to receive punishment?”

That’s… not how rights work.

But thanks to Sisyphus shouting about it loud enough for all of the underworld to hear, the news reached Bones. And Bones, in all his skeletal enthusiasm, brought Sisyphus a golden hourglass capable of measuring a precise ten minutes.

Sisyphus was thrilled.

“Can you increase the boulder’s weight? I’ve had a few days off, so I’ll need extra load to stimulate my muscles.”

In the end, Sisyphus returned to pushing an even heavier boulder—no schemes, no loopholes.

The electric energy generated by the rolling rock surged, lighting up the ghost workers’ dorms brighter than ever.

“Fwooooo~”

“Whooo whooo~”

The tiny ghost workers buzzed happily, rubbing their fluffy, pillow-like bodies against my cheeks in thanks.

They seemed to believe it was all thanks to me that their dorms were illuminated again.

Even Bones, with nothing but his skeletal jaw, beamed at me.

“Sisyphus is producing more energy than ever in Happy World history! We’ve got so much surplus energy we’re selling it! Department budget’s at an all-time high! Jo Iseo, you’re a star!”

“…”

“And—your promotion’s official! Assistant Manager! Congratulations! Just two winters in and already a manager? Only the third person in Happy World history to rise that fast! And the first mortal ever!”

“Jo Iseo, hooray!”

“Jo Iseo, hooray!”

“Actually, Manager Bones, isn’t it almost time to clock out?”

“Ah, right. Judging by the sand, it’s almost 6 PM. Time to clock out, everyone!”

It wasn’t just Sisyphus who now had a concept of time.

Bones, realizing how useful “time” was for productivity, bought a bulk order of Chronos’s hourglasses and distributed them across the Punishment Enforcement Division.

And just like that, time became part of our workflow.

“Ahhh, scheduled hours! Makes work so much more enjoyable! Productivity’s way up! Jo Iseo, I knew you’d handle this brilliantly!”

“…Heh heh heh…”

“Sorry for 1st Team’s Krates, but I think you’ve basically locked in Employee of the Year again.”

“Hehehehehe!”

“Seeing you laugh makes me happy, too! Oh, right—before you go home, remember: the new executive arrives tomorrow at 8 AM sharp. Don’t be late. Also, check your mailbox before you leave.”

“Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehe!”

…How did it come to this?

My grand plan to get fired and transfer to Olympus was now even further out of reach.

This is hell.

No—this is Happy World.

But even in a tiger’s den, there’s always a way out if you keep your wits about you.

And maybe… even in Happy World, if I stay sharp, I can find a loophole.

In fact, I found the answer thanks to a certain comment from my colleague Markius.

“The new executive arrives at 8 AM tomorrow?”

Apparently, every employee is expected to be there to greet her.

Everyone will be on their best behavior, trying to make a great first impression.

But what if I left a terrible first impression?

Like showing up late.

Wouldn’t I look like a chicken among cranes?

A reverse of the classic idiom (a crane among chickens)—a strategy I called (a chicken among cranes).

Genius.

Of course, there was a catch.

If it looks like I’m deliberately disrespecting the executive, I might not get fired—I might get punished instead.

Happy World was a place with strict hierarchy.

If I even hinted that I was intentionally insulting a superior, the outcome wouldn’t be termination.

It would be incarceration.

That’s why my screw-up had to look natural.

So how do I show up late accidentally?

“Alcohol, of course.”

—Sorry, I overslept because I was hungover.

—Hungover?! I’ve never seen someone this sloppy. You’re fired!

—What the Happy World?! I feel very good!

It was my plan, and it was flawless.

Honestly, it’d be harder to fail at failing.

There would be no miraculous gold veins.

No muscle-obsessed prisoners begging to work.

This time, I’d deliver a perfect failure.

So without hesitation, I headed straight for the nearest bar.

But then… I remembered something.

“Didn’t Markius say to check my mailbox before I left?”

Curious, I almost went to look.

But then decided against it.

It was probably just another one of his useless chain letters.

***

Inside Jo Iseo’s mailbox was a single envelope.

A letter.

On it, written in slightly crooked but familiar handwriting:

“I picked up some info that might help you.

The new executive? Turns out she’s a heavy drinker.

—From your dear colleague, Markius.”