Troll

‌⁠♡⁩ TL: Khadija SK

 

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2. Do Not Speak.

 

Before anyone realized it, mid-December had arrived, and the streets of London, with Christmas just around the corner, were bustling with activity.

 

Not only were areas like Soho and Chinatown, where many shops are concentrated, lively, but so were the streets from Leicester Square to Trafalgar Square.

 

Bars, restaurants, and theaters were packed with people eager to enjoy what little was left of the year.

 

The ultra-luxury hotel located a bit away from the Thames River was no exception.

 

Although Christmas is a time spent with family, before that, it’s customary to hold gatherings with colleagues to wrap up the year.

 

The larger the company, the grander and more glamorous the event, so the hotel was once again overwhelmingly busy with events hosted by well-known companies all day long.

 

In the hotel’s underground parking lot:

 

“Up we go!”

 

With a determined grunt, Jin-ah moved a box of ingredients that had just arrived in the basement onto a cart. One, two, three… The boxes were stacked as high as her height, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to place even one more light box on top.

 

“Coming through.”

 

She maneuvered her way past other staff members, who were busily moving around, and got onto the staff elevator. Soon, with a ding, the elevator doors opened, and she groaned as she pushed the cart out.

 

The cart was loaded to its limit, and just getting it through the elevator door was enough to make her break into a sweat.

 

After passing through a few push-open doors, the warmth, the smell of food, and the noisy clatter of the dishwashing machine hit her ears.

 

When Jin-ah brought in the box full of vegetables, a few people glanced at her. Then, most of them quickly turned their heads away, as if to say it had nothing to do with them.

 

Seeing this, Jessie, who was standing in the corner, clicked her tongue and approached Jin-ah.

 

“I’ll help you. It’s hard to take down the ones on top, isn’t it?”

 

“Thanks, Jessie.”

 

The two of them worked together to unload the boxes. Even though they were the smallest in the kitchen, groaning as they carried the load, the others nearby pretended not to see them, continuing with their own work as if it wasn’t their concern. After moving all the boxes, Jessie leaned over and whispered to Jin-ah.

 

“Honestly, they’re all a bunch of useless jerks, right?”

 

Jina responded with a bitter smile.

 

It had been two weeks since she started working there.

 

The first week had been manageable. Honestly, with so many people around, it was hard to even know who was who. But after a week, she ran into trouble with the sous chef.

 

It was called a “problem,” but it was really just one-sided harassment.

 

Under normal circumstances, she would have let it slide. The industry was notoriously closed-off and hierarchical, so that level of harassment was something she had experienced as often as breathing.

 

But just a few minutes before, Jin-ah had received a call from the bank pressuring her about debt repayment. She had no patience left to endure the harassment.

 

Jin-ah confronted the sous chef right on the spot, and the incident escalated to the point where it was reported to the general manager.

 

After that, the ostracism began.

 

The sous chef blatantly ignored Jin-ah, and the others followed suit, behaving similarly.

 

The petty harassment continued—changing her schedule at will, reassigning her tasks, and picking at trivial things after she’d completed her work.

 

Luckily, temporary workers like Jessie, who had come in like Jin-ah, would quietly help her, which made things a little better. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping Jin-ah going.

 

“I’m putting up with it because of the money, that’s all.”

 

This hotel offered the highest salary among all the job listings she had seen.

 

Jin-ah thought about the money she had to pay back.

 

1,221,250 pounds.

 

Her debt, which had once been 821,250 pounds, had increased by 400,000 pounds.

 

The trust company had initiated the process to reclaim 400,000 pounds that had been paid out in advance, claiming it was due to the failure to fulfill the terms of the will.

 

Jin-ah repeatedly insisted that she had never authorized entry into the estate and that they had entered without her consent, but the trust company stated that since the terms of the will had not been followed, they had to proceed with the collection.

 

Moreover, the lawyer in charge, who had once been the vice president of the company, frowned upon hearing that Frida Troll’s body had disappeared.

 

He looked as if he was about to say something, but instead let out a long sigh and left, saying that Jin-ah would no longer have any dealings with him.

 

Afterward, she tried to contact him to negotiate, but to no avail. When she contacted the company, they told her that the vice president was in the process of resigning and preparing to move, and that it would be difficult to reach him in the future.

 

“From now on, I have to pay at least 2,000 pounds a month.”

 

Even at that rate, it would take 610 weeks. She’d have to pay it off for 50 years without spending anything on herself. And with interest added, the repayment period would only stretch longer.

 

Thinking about the debt made her feel suffocated.

 

At least this month, she could earn around 4,000 pounds due to the busy season. But after Christmas? The hotel work would end, and it would take time to find another decent job.

 

Even if she managed to find a job with good pay, after paying off her debt, what she’d be left with was practically nothing.

 

Jin-ah was now afraid to think about the future. She was certain that nothing good awaited her.

 

* * *

 

While the sous chef explained the recipes for today’s dishes, Jin-ah began preparing the vegetables she had brought from afar.

 

They deliberately had the tall employees stand with their backs to Jin-ah, as if to ensure she wouldn’t learn anything.

 

Jessie, who was working beside her trimming the ingredients, whispered, “These petty jerks must have tiny *****,” which made Jin-ah chuckle and continue working.

 

As Jin-ah prepared the ingredients, she noticed that today’s batch was particularly high-quality.

 

“They’re especially good today. Not a single wilted or spoiled item.”

 

She could tell just by touching them. The ingredients that arrived today were the best of the best. Not only were they in perfect condition, but they were also so flawless in appearance that they could have been models.

 

“It’s because of the Aylesford Group party today. Apparently, they sent them themselves.”

 

“Isford?”

 

Her voice rose involuntarily, causing the sous chef, who was demonstrating a dish, to shout at her not to make unnecessary noise while working. Ignoring the burning stares on her back, Jin-ah closed her mouth.

 

Isford. Just hearing that name now made her grit her teeth.

 

When the police were investigating the case, other members of the production team testified. They said that Ian Isford had insisted on going to Kno-Dearg, even though they were told they didn’t have permission to film there.

 

“you heard it’ll cause trouble for that b*tch if we go in, right? That means we have to go, damn it.”

 

Ian, feeling bitter about being bribed, was more stubborn than usual, they said.

 

When Jin-ah heard this from the police, her hands trembled. If they lived in a country where guns were legal, she would have shot him in the head right then and there.

 

She had tried to sue Ian afterward. But every law firm she went to backed down as soon as they learned who her opponent was—Isford.

 

The few firms willing to help were clearly just looking to pocket her retainer.

 

In the end, Jin-ah had to give up on suing Ian. She didn’t have the money, and even if she filed a lawsuit, she knew she would have to face Isford’s lawyers. She had no confidence that she could win.

 

“Will that bastard show up today?”

 

Her chopping became louder as she poured her emotions into it.

 

“If someone had to die, why couldn’t it be him?”

 

That thought crossed her mind, but she shook her head.

 

Little does she know that If that had happened, it wouldn’t just be him who died; she would have too.

 

* * *

 

By evening, the kitchen had turned into a battlefield.

 

The event for the Isford Group turned out to be a function that took over the entire restaurant. The kitchen was so loud with shouting and the sounds of cooking that her ears felt numb, and the prepared ingredients were quickly running out.

 

Two courses had already been served, and now it was time for the main dish.

 

Although it was a Christmas party, it was such a massive company that it was no exaggeration to say that everyone filling the restaurant was a VIP.

 

As a result, unlike at most companies where everyone would be served the same menu, today the guests could choose from several main dishes, prepared to their preference.

 

This made the steak station especially busy, as they cooked the steaks to suit each guest’s taste. Over their heads, sheets of paper fluttered, listing the names of the attendees, their preferences, and the total number of dishes ordered.

 

The incident happened as the last of the meals were being served.

 

The hall manager came over, holding a plate of steak, and spoke to the sous chef.

 

“There’s a mistake. It was supposed to go out rare, but it went out well-done.”

 

The sous chef gave him a look as if to ask why he was bothering him with that. Wasn’t serving steak the servers’ responsibility?

 

“But the guest asked for it to be remade by someone who doesn’t smoke.”

 

At that, the sous chef’s expression twisted.

 

The head chef here had strictly forbidden anyone from smoking while working under him, not even in their dreams. Confirming that the head chef couldn’t hear the hall manager, the sous chef ground his teeth.

 

“Who the hell says something like that? And why are you accommodating every little thing? Just bring it out rare and be done with it.”

 

“It’s someone worth accommodating. Ian Isford, heir to Isford. So hurry up and remake it, by someone who doesn’t smoke, just like he wants.”

 

The sous chef scoffed at that.

 

“I remember him always ordering well-done. Rare? What’s this about rare? Did he suddenly develop a taste for raw meat?”

 

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Hey everyone! I’m really sorry for not updating the novel in months—things got a bit crazy lately so I was so busy ⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙ I’d love to know if you’re still enjoying the story and if there’s anything you think I should improve ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡ Thanks for sticking around! Feel free to share your thoughts ~