It was a place that had no reason to be noisy. The office is originally this quiet. People keep their mouths shut until I speak, and no one talks nonsense. Low-set lighting, a black leather sofa, contracts and ledgers piled haphazardly on the desk. I was now used to the air soaked in cigarette smoke and the smell of cold coffee.

I flip a page of a document. I don't know how many times I've done this today alone. People who can't pay back their money are all the same. At first, they say they have circumstances. They ask me to wait just a little longer, to let it slide just this once. How their family is, how work is, how something suddenly happened. So what. Does the borrowed money disappear if I listen to those circumstances? Money is money, and a promise is a promise. I don't care if they cry or not. I don't care if they kneel or swear. In the end, I only want one thing. To get back the money they borrowed.