Penny and Weather are in the staff lounge after a late lunch, enjoying a break for the first time in a while.
“Don’t worry about the front desk, I’ll take care of it,” Dallergut had told them. “Go ahead and take a break.”
Penny leans back on the old couch, stretching.
Some other staff members have brought their lunch from home, and are sitting around a long table, sluggishly picking at their food as they chat. They’re wearing brooches with the number “4” engraved on them. Penny tries to eavesdrop, wondering if they’re talking about the rumor that has been circulating among the staff. But they’re not.
“I’m eating as slowly as possible so we don’t have to get back to the fourth floor so soon,” says a staff member in a low-spirited tone.
“Speedo’s work trip should’ve lasted forever...”
“He just came back this morning... And it feels like a year has gone by already,” says another, picking up one grain of fried rice at a time with chopsticks, and then dropping them as the lounge door swings open.
“There you all are!” In comes Speedo, the fourth-floor manager. He’s in a bright neon jumpsuit. He seems to have the same jumpsuit in multiple colors. “My floor staff! Good thing I have company for my lunch! Enjoying some egg-fried rice? Consider adding some meat or celery when you fry your rice. I mean, you barely have anything in it. Oh wait, your lunch box isn’t a Thermos brand? I bought mine for just one gorden and ninety-nine seals. You know what? Let me share the link to the online shop. You’re welcome.” Speedo spills words at breakneck speed as the fourth-floor staff calmly close their lunch boxes. “What, are you already done?” Speedo asks.
“I’m not hungry.”
“There’s, like, half a meal left in your lunch box.”
“Just wanted to get back to work. If you’d let us, please...?”
“That’s wonderful... Of course. I’ll be back up soon.”
Before they leave, the staff members cast a desperate look at Penny and Weather, wordlessly imploring them to keep Speedo company for at least ten more minutes.
“So, Speedo, how was your trip? I heard you spent two weeks at the Nap Research Center. Must’ve been very educational,” Weather says.
“Oh hey, Weather! And Penny! You’re still following Weather everywhere like a baby chick,” Speedo says, taking a seat as he unwraps his triangle kimbap. “As for the research center, I already knew everything about their research. I had nothing to learn there. I ended up giving them a few tips, actually.”
Speedo continues to talk as he eats, shooting rice grains all over the table. Penny leans back. “Take your time to eat, Speedo. Don’t you like eating alone, by the way? You always complained about how others can’t keep up with your eating pace. Why’d you decide to come to the lounge?”
“Well, you know, at the research center, I always had lunch with the staff there, and they talked a lot about investment and finances, which I found so amusing. So, I grew to love having company at lunch. By the way, Weather, are you interested in investing in cheap emotions?”
“Investing in emotions? How?” asks Weather, looking intrigued.
Penny feigns disinterest, but she’s paying close attention too. She’s still scared of returning to the bank after the Flutter incident, but now that she has a full-time job, she’s more interested in investment.
“You do know that Rage goes up by thirty gordens per bottle in the winter...?”
“Of course I do. A few drops of Rage in the stove will flare up a dying fire. Lasts for at least a week. Nothing better for saving on the heating bills.” Weather gives Speedo a thumbs-up. “My husband and I love munching on ice cream near the blazing fire.”
“Listen up. The point is you no longer need to spend thirty gordens on Rage! The staff at the research center told me that now is the time to buy Confusion from the bank. Its rate will soar before winter comes.”
“But what use is there for Confusion?” Weather asks.
“You can use as much of the gas boiler as you want instead of the old fire stove. You put a few drops of Confusion inside the gas pipe, and the air in the room warms up in a flash. It’s like, the air particles just spread out everywhere. The staff gave me the heads-up to buy it in advance because they plan to publish a paper about it soon, which they think will cause a price spike.”
“That sounds a bit strange,” Penny chimes in. “Doesn’t air spread anyway? Sounds like they’re making that up. Also, isn’t it kind of dangerous to meddle with the gas pipe?” she adds, worried. “You haven’t already bought it up, have you?”
“Wh-what if I did?! Chunks of it, for one gorden per bottle. Are you suggesting the research center staff pranked me? Why would they? There’s no reason to, they like me!”
Penny has a lot to say but decides not to.
“Speedo, why don’t we go back to the bank tomorrow and exchange all of that for cash,” says Weather, trying to comfort him. “I can go with you. Don’t be disappointed, it was worth a try. Some bad emotions can be very useful indeed.”
Speedo slowly stands up, sweeping rice grains off his jumpsuit. “But I do feel like it will go up... How about I wait just a little bit? Even two gordens per bottle will make a huge profit...”
Weather firmly shakes her head. Speedo turns sullen and trudges out of the lounge. Penny and Weather stand too, ready to go back to the front desk.
“Weather, talking about bad emotions got me thinking... Is there any use for bad dreams?” Penny casually asks as she tidies up the cushions on the couch. She’s been waiting for the right time to ask about the rumor among the staff.
“What bad dreams?”
“You know... Dreams about your biggest fears, so-called ‘nightmares.’”
“Are you asking this because of the new deal?” Weather immediately reads Penny’s intention.
“So, you do know! There’s a rumor that Dallergut made a deal with a back-alley nightmare dreammaker. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is. His name is Maxim. We should expect his products soon on the third floor.”
“But I heard Maxim makes only scary dreams in his pitch-dark office... What if we lose our customers and sales go down?”
“Well. I’m not sure what Dallergut is up to, either... But I’m guessing it’ll cause a stir.”
The news is playing on an electronic display board above the building. The streets are packed but strangely quiet. An eerie silence, as if everyone is on mute, except for the anchor. A man is aimlessly walking along the street when he looks up at the display board. The anchor’s voice travels right into his ears, loud and clear, walking straight into his thoughts.
“We’re now at a ‘demographic cliff,’ where the mortality rate is triple the birth rate. We’ve hit the lowest number of military enlistments. The Military Manpower Administration announces the reenlistment of the discharged under thirty years of age and requires physical checkups once again...”
Feeling overwhelmed, the man winces and closes his eyes. He turns twenty-nine this year and was already discharged from the army seven years ago.
Reenlistment? He opens his eyes again, trying to concentrate on the news, trying to process all this, but he is already in the next scene.
The man is at the Military Manpower Administration office in his loose-fitting T-shirt. Inside his dream, he doesn’t find this quick scene transition strange. Instead, what fills his mind is the brutal reality of having to go through the military all over again. He’s surrounded by other men waiting for their physicals. They’re jostling him from side to side, slowly leading him to the front. The other men seem buoyant for some reason.
“I hope I can be on the A-plus rank.”
“Me, too. I might as well stay there as long as possible. I’m a total military guy.”
What is all this nonsense? The thought stays in his mind, muddying his brain, then disappears.
The man tries his hardest to maneuver his way out of the office, but his feet won’t budge an inch. It frustrates him so much that he feels like he’s going mad. He clenches his jaw and tries to move, but to no avail.
And just like that, his turn is called. He can’t help but watch through his physical checkup, unable to utter a word.
A-plus.
The word plus after A deeply irritates him. It is good to know he’s healthy, but this is the worst way to find out.
Another scene transition, and now the man is sitting on a leather chair at an old, stinky barbershop. Once again, he can’t move; it’s as if his body is tied up. He just manages to lift a finger and pulls on the leather part of the armrest where it’s starting to come apart at the seams. When it’s fully torn, the texture of the cotton wad feels real. The man looks at the barber in the mirror with an anxious look.
“You said you’ve been selected as A-plus? That’s three years of service, right? What a patriot! This is my treat!” says the barber.
The man feels like he’ll implode from a reality he cannot escape. Everyone seems strangely relaxed and compliant amid all this nonsense. His own helpless body is languid, unlike his tense emotions.
There’s no way I’m going back to the military. There is no way all these discharged men will comply with this madness!
The man’s thoughts search for a way out until he reaches a plausible conclusion.
“This must be a dream! Right? Is this a dream?” he asks the barber desperately.
“A dream? Ha ha, you must’ve had a rough meal.” The barber grins and presses an electric razor to his scalp. The cold metal sends chills down his spine, and soon his hair starts falling, and his back is sweating buckets.
Oh, God. This—this is real.
His shirt is soaking wet; he can feel it sticking to the back of the overstuffed leather chair.
That was when the man woke up from the dream. His bed was drenched with sweat. He blurted out a few pent-up curse words and let “real” reality envelop him.
Thank goodness. That was indeed a dream.
Looking back, none of the scenes in the dream made sense. But when you’re inside a dream, you fall for the illusion. I was discharged long ago; why am I still having these dreams? The man sluggishly rose and aired his sweaty blanket out the window, but he couldn’t shake his unsettled emotions.
The woman is a high-school student in her dream tonight. She knows she’s in a predicament: It’s three days before final exams.
The first day of exams will cover math, chemistry and physics—subjects for which last-minute cramming won’t work. Why did I not study at all? the woman inside the dream wonders.
And that’s the problem. She hasn’t studied. She doesn’t even recall reviewing even a single page of material. Her breath shallows. It feels like her blood has stopped flowing to her brain. Her sight becomes blurry. Her eyes are wide open, but her spatial sense is confused. Her friends gather around and tease her, unaware and insensitive.
“Are you waiting for another perfect score, Song-yee?”
“I bet she is! Remember last time? She missed one question and cried!”
“You must’ve studied your butt off again.”
The woman tries to keep her composure and barely answers, “No, I didn’t study at all this time.” She rests her head on her desk. The smell of the cheap wood makes everything more real. She muses about why she has not studied for the exam at all.
What got me here, so unprepared? This is so unlike her. She tries to think of all the possible reasons, none of which seem to make sense, and her stream of thoughts ends there.
When she’s inside the dream, there’s no way to know that this is only a dream—that she never needs to take another test in her real life, because she’s well past that age. She graduated from school a long time ago and is now working full-time. She’s an adult.
Again, an abrupt scene transition. It is so seamless that she doesn’t notice it. She’s in class on a humid day before summer vacation. Her final day of exams.
Her desk is in the center of the classroom. On it lies an exam sheet full of questions, all unanswered.
I’m screwed! I can’t remember a thing.
The woman is looking at the exam sheet, sweating. It doesn’t help that she’s wearing a heavy uniform, which traps the sweat, dripping from the inside. On top of that, murmurs passing among her classmates pierce her ears.
“Is this for real? This test is so easy!”
The woman starts to panic as the test turns into two pages, then three, and continues to grow. She flips to the next page and the next; she doesn’t knows any answers.
The sounds of her peers turning the pages of their own exams fills the classroom. The woman has not solved a single problem yet.
The numbers in the math questions get muddled, and the big clock on the teacher’s desk keeps on ticking hopelessly toward the finishing time. The ticktock rings loud and sharp, as if it’s coming from inside her head.
Nervously, the woman jiggles her legs and bites her nails.
If I fail this test, my parents will be so disappointed!
The math teacher will summon me to the office after seeing my score.
What if they come to me during the break to cross-check the answers and see my wrong responses?
Nothing is more important for the woman right now than this test. The spikes of stress pierce her head as she starts to tear up. Then, the bright classroom suddenly plunges into shadow. Waves from the schoolyard flood in through the open windows, engulfing the classroom.
As her body is overtaken by the waves, the woman lets out a sigh of relief.
Thank God—the test will be canceled!
She woke up from her outrageous dream, her mind alert but blank. She felt disorientated and needed some time to get back to reality. Lying in bed, she repeated a series of affirmations.
I’m twenty-nine now. I graduated from high school a decade ago. I don’t need to take midterms and finals and will never need to again.
Slowly, these self-assurances helped her senses to recover.
This was not her first time dreaming about exams. She was an ace student growing up, but her school life had been full of pressure around tests.
I’m so sick of this, she thought with a sigh.
Since this morning, dozens of infuriated customers demanding a refund have swarmed the Dallergut Dream Department Store. “How dare you sell this garbage?” they complain. Dallergut asked all employees to direct refund customers to his office. Since then, he hasn’t come out.
Penny tries to estimate how many customers she’s sent to his office so far. Dallergut pokes his head out and says, “Welcome,” inviting them in and then closing the door. Soon, his small office won’t have room for any more customers. Penny thinks the logjam will only worsen the situation, creating complaints they never thought they’d have to deal with.
“Weather, I’m going to stop by Dallergut’s office real quick.”
Weather gives a big yawn instead of an answer. Penny takes it as: Do what you want.
She knocks on Dallergut’s office door, holding a tray full of Calm Cookies, Dallergut’s favorites.
“Excuse me. Can I come in?”
No sound from the inside. Penny puts her ear to the door. Strangely quiet. Are all of them in meditation or something, holding hands side by side? She hesitates a bit before turning the doorknob.
The office is empty.
Instead, the boxes once towering beside Dallergut’s cabinet are now strewn across the floor. With the pile gone, a small, half-open door has been revealed, barely big enough for one person to squeeze through. Penny had no idea there was a hidden room inside the office.
She peeks through the door and sees a flight of blueish stone steps. The opening is narrow, but clean and comfortable enough for people to walk down. Penny hears murmurs drifting up the stairs.
“Dallergut? Are you there?” Penny’s voice echoes down the stone steps.
“Penny, is that you? Oh, you came at just the perfect time!” She hears Dallergut but he’s nowhere in sight. “There’s a bundle of purchase confirmation letters on my desk. Can you bring them down here?”
“Purchase confirmation letters? I’m on it!” Penny puts down the cookie tray and starts looking for the letters. On the long desk are various certificates of quality signed by dreammakers, and other documents, including a thank you letter for a fifty-year contract renewal. Dallergut may dress neatly, but his desk is a mess. The second-floor staff would have a field day cleaning this place, Penny thinks, chuckling.
Penny goes through the documents as she whirls around the desk, tripping over the boxes at her feet. She makes a firm note to herself to ask Dallergut for permission to throw all these boxes away. There are dates written on top of each box; some are at least a decade old.
She finds the bundle of purchase confirmation letters hidden under a thick book.
“Dallergut! I found it! I’m coming down!”
Penny cautiously steps downstairs, with the cookie tray in one hand and the paper bundle in the other. The stairwell gets darker as she descends, but when she reaches the bottom, the space is brighter than the lobby. Sitting around a marble round table are the customers, having tea with Dallergut.
Apart from the few still huffing and puffing, most seem to have softened from the tea Dallergut offered them. The astute Dallergut must’ve put drops of Relief or Relax syrup into the tea beforehand, Penny realizes.
As well as the lighting fixtures on the wall illuminating each corner, lamps outside the fake window create an illusion of sunrays streaming in.
“Are these the ones?” Penny hands him the pile.
“Yes. Thanks!”
“I had no idea you have a place like this.”
“I created it for just this sort of situation. You don’t want to make a scene that disturbs other customers’ shopping experiences.” Dallergut drops his voice to a mutter.
The customers had gone quiet when Penny’s entered, but now were back to grumbling.
“So, what is it that you want to show us? Don’t try to get away with any lame excuse,” a female customer states, folding her arms.
“Do you have any idea how many of us have dreamed of being reenlisted? Why on earth would you sell a dream like that?” a guy sitting across from Dallergut snaps, putting his teacup on the table with a thud. Other people quickly follow suit.
“As I said, I was discharged last month, and I just dreamed of returning to the military. Can you even imagine what that feels like?”
“Same with the exam dream! Is this some appalling sadistic hobby of yours? Tormenting people who are asleep?”
“I second that! I’ve been a longtime regular of your store, but I should boycott you from now on. Do you know that other up-and-coming stores sell feel-good dreams only? You need to keep up with the times if you want to keep your customers!” scoffs a woman wearing checked pajamas and sitting cross-legged.
Penny stands there at a loss, overwhelmed by the grim situation. It is her first time seeing customers being this aggressive toward Dallergut. But her boss seems entirely peaceful, as always.
“My dear customers, we thoroughly informed you what each product entailed when we sold it to you. Of course, we understand you wouldn’t be here if you remembered that. We’re sorry to hear you have no memory of it. But that’s the way things go around here so we have to accept it.”
“Right, we don’t remember at all. Of course we don’t! Why would anyone buy nightmares on purpose? That is nonsense!”
“Oh, my dear customer, I’m afraid these are technically different from typical nightmares. While we do sell a few involving ghosts or monsters, they are mainly for special holidays. What you purchased is not any nightmare. The exact title of this product is ‘Overcoming Trauma.’ Your dream was made by a young and very talented dreammaker who took time to fine-tune his craft. It’s a very well-made dream,” Dallergut affirms with pride.
Another round of murmurs from the customers. Some are asking each other, “What on earth is he talking about?” and others are muttering, “I think he’s making things up.” Not even Penny understands Dallergut’s words.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what it is. It’s very unpleasant to face the memories we don’t want to face, much less trauma. I want a full refund!” A man wearing the rented nightgown springs to his feet.
“Sir, as you know, we have a deferred payment system, so you actually haven’t paid anything yet...” Penny chimes in.
Dallergut stops her. “It’s okay, Penny. No need to stir up an argument.” He turns back to the customers. “We’ve brought the purchase confirmation letters you signed when you bought the products. Please take a look. You’ll recognize your signatures.” Dallergut hands out the letters to each customer, then goes back to his seat. Penny glances at the letter of the customer next to her.
Purchase Confirmation Letter
This product titled “Overcoming Trauma” is a sale on commission. We have robust and strict guidelines from the association to handpick dreams with verified quality, creativity and effectiveness.
First, this dream was created for those who wish to train their minds and increase their self-esteem semipermanently. Its substance may vary depending on the purchaser’s specific trauma.
Second, this product will only be paid for in full once the purchaser experiences positive emotions after waking up from the respective dream. At this point, its contract will be completed.
Third, given the traits of this dream, the purchaser may request an exchange or cancel the purchase within thirty days of the purchase date. However, it is not recommended, as the purchaser will not remember and will repurchase it anyway.
Last, the purchaser has been informed about the product details. Until the purchaser overcomes the trauma, they agree to dream it regularly, per the seller’s advice.
(Signature)
*Note: After purchase, if the purchaser’s daily life is affected by heavy stress or insomnia due to anxiety, the seller may cancel the sale at their discretion.
The signatures at the bottom do indeed belong to the customers themselves. Customers who were throwing temper tantrums moments ago now seem dumbfounded. The customers read and reread their letters, trying to process all the information.
“But how would this thing train our minds or increase our self-esteem? It’s only increased my stress so far,” asks one customer, who seems to be the first to understand the letter.
Penny agrees with this customer. This is the question that has been on her mind. She fully empathizes with everyone’s frustrations.
“We sincerely apologize if our products have caused you stress. Of course, we can help you cancel your purchase if you wish never to dream it again. No payment has been processed, since you’ve not experienced positive results. So, no need to worry about refunds, either.” As Dallergut says this, the customers start to thaw.
“Yes, we can accommodate whatever you wish to do. But how about we give it some time until you start to see results?” Penny carefully adds, seeing they’re no longer in a cranky mood to argue.
“Do you know how awful it feels to relive the worst moment of your life? I want good things to live in my dreams.” A customer shudders.
Dallergut consoles her. “But is it really the worst moment of your life?” he asks.
The customers all look at Dallergut. Their expressions all seem to say, Let’s see what nonsense this guy will come up with this time.
“If you put it into perspective, the worst moments of your life were also when you had to persevere. Now that you’ve made it through the other side, it all depends on your perspective. Isn’t it a testament to your strength, having endured those challenging times and prevailed?”
The customers muse over his words as they sip their tea. Penny takes the chance to hand out the Calm Cookies. Soon, only the sounds of cookies crunching and teacups clanging fill the underground room.
“Come to think of it, all psychotherapy starts from accepting your mind as it is. He does have a point,” says the female customer in the checked pajamas. A few others nod in agreement.
After a while, exactly half of them ask to cancel the purchase.
“I understand. If you feel this way, we can proceed to withdraw your contract.”
“I feel bad. I know I signed it myself. But I’d like to leave my trauma in the past.”
“No worries at all. If you do have any change of heart, please come back anytime.”
The customers who have opted to cancel the purchase rush out of the place, eager to get back to sleep. The other half, those who have decided to keep the contract, comfort each other, seeming resolved.
“Let’s keep it up, everyone. No more army dreams next year!”
“Definitely. I really want to graduate from these test dreams, too. So, you’re saying if I feel positive emotions after the dream, I should be good to go?”
“That’s right—and I understand it won’t be easy,” Dallergut responds, standing up. “But please remember—you all are stronger than you think. You have achieved and overcome more than you realize. Once you accept that, things will get much better. This is my small gift to you for your decision to continue your resolution.” Dallergut takes out a bottle of perfume the size of his palm and sprays it on the customers’ pajama sleeves. A subtle summer forest scent spreads through their clothes.
“What is this?” asks the female customer in the checked pajamas, sniffing her sleeves. “It smells amazing.”
“This perfume helps you sort through your thoughts in a positive direction. It won’t have a drastic impact, but you’ll find it useful. I use it myself sometimes. Please stop by anytime you feel frustrated. I can spray as much of this perfume as you need. And of course, you can also come back to cancel your contract, as the others did.”
The customers return to the first floor, while Dallergut and Penny stay behind to clean up the teacups.
“Dallergut, what if every single one of them cancels it? The damage will be huge. Not only for us, but also for the dreammaker.”
“We shall hope that won’t happen.”
“What? Are you saying there is no backup plan?”
“It is an incredible feat that half of those customers decided to keep the contract. I have no doubt this dream will have successful results for them,” says Dallergut, glowing confidently.
The man continued to dream about being reenlisted in the army. It did leave him in a funk every time, but he soon realized he didn’t need to be affected by anything as trifling as a dream. At the end of the day, he remained fully discharged from the military.
So the next time he had this dream, he laughed it off. I survived the military, after all; what is there I can’t do?
The man recollected the day of his discharge—awkwardly stepping out into the world with his resolutions. And it didn’t take long for him to realize that, having overcome the dream, his trauma was no longer a trauma, but a mark of his achievement.
That is when the man’s payment comes through to the Dallergut Dream Department Store. He doesn’t dream about the military ever again.
When the woman kept dreaming about taking tests, despite never having to take another one in real life, she finally acknowledged that she never fully got over the pressure from that period of her life.
She also realized how hard she’s been on herself by assigning deadlines to everything—not only at work, but also with milestones like marriage and pregnancy: things that did not require a timeline, or even fulfillment.
One rainy morning, after having had the same test dream three nights in a row, she was determined to no longer be at the mercy of her own subconscious. She sat comfortably by the window, gazing out at the rain. She closed her eyes to focus on the feeling she’d had when she did well on her tests instead of the pressure she’d felt during exams.
I’m proud of myself for all the achievements I’ve made so far. I did a great job in the past and will do well at whatever I set my mind to. The self-encouragement was what she needed to let go. She extended kindness to herself.
Her test dreams no longer haunted her. And as time passed, she forgot entirely that she had ever had the dreams. That was when her payment came through to the Dallergut Dream Department Store.
Ding Dong. “A large amount of Confidence has been paid for ‘Overcoming Trauma.’”
Ding Dong. “A large amount of Self-Esteem has been paid for ‘Overcoming Trauma.’”
“The payments are coming through, finally.” Dallergut checks the notifications on the monitor, delighted. “By the way, Penny, I’m heading to Maxim to deliver his share; do you want to come along? We don’t have many customers today, so Weather should be able to cover it. Right, Weather?”
“If you can pick up some cream puffs on the way back, why not?” Weather adds.
“What do you say, Penny? Maxim is a people person. He just doesn’t like to be outside. But he will love our company.”
“Well... Okay,” Penny reluctantly agrees.
On their way to meet Maxim, Penny can’t help but worry. She intentionally slows her pace, trying to delay the meeting. She has heard so much about him. All the scary rumors may not be true, but she knows at least one of them is: that Maxim makes hair-raising dreams all day behind a blackout curtain in his back-alley production studio.
The “Overcoming Trauma” incident has shown her that Maxim’s dreams are not always dark, but Penny still finds the idea of being around someone like him a little uncomfortable.
“Hurry up, Penny.” Dallergut stops and turns back, far ahead of her.
“Yes, Dallergut. I’m coming!” Penny gives in and picks up the pace.
Maxim’s studio is like a quiet island isolated from the surrounding stores. Piles of leaves and old junk are scattered around the entrance. A vast window, covered by a blackout curtain, renders the studio dark and gloomy.
Dallergut gently knocks on the door. “Hey, Maxim, are you there?”
Unexpectedly, it’s a polite, ordinary-looking young man who comes out. “Oh, hello, Dallergut! What brings you to this humble abode?” In a short-sleeved shirt and ripped jeans under a black work apron, Maxim is tall and slender in physique, with broad shoulders and long arms and legs. He stands with a natural slouch. Watching his unstable steps as he guides them in, Penny is clouded by a scary thought that perhaps his spine was once completely fractured and has just been reattached.
The three sit around Maxim’s worktable, which he hastily cleans in front of them. Dallergut enjoys the wine-pickled figs that Maxim offers. As for Penny, the crimson figs look rather frightening, like blood, possibly due to the dark studio lighting—or her own mood—and she doesn’t dare try one.
“Excuse me, could we possibly turn up the light? Or how about we open the blackout curtains? It’s just a bit too dark and the sunlight is beautiful today,” Penny suggests, partially because the darkness scares her and partially because she wants a better view of Maxim’s studio.
“I’m sorry, but my dreams will turn blurry if they’re exposed to too much light. They need to be sharper and more vivid than other dreams. The whole point is lost if people find out they’re dreaming, you know? I hope you understand.”
“That makes total sense.” Penny realizes her request was disrespectful, and tries to make up for it by embracing his hospitality. She puts a fig pickle inside her mouth. To her surprise, the fruit is sweet and soft.
“Here are your payments.” Dallergut pulls out a thick envelope from his inside pocket.
“Oh, they came through faster than expected. These customers are resilient. I bet it’s all your doing, right, Dallergut?”
“Of course not. It’s all thanks to our strong and wise customers who recognize your dreams’ true potential.”
“Thank you for doing business with me. I never thought people would like my unpleasant dreams at all.”
“No, thank you! I appreciate you standing your ground in creating these dreams. I truly believe the world needs the dreams you make.”
It looks like Maxim’s getting emotional. He stares upward with his lips pursed, as if trying to fight back tears, but Penny can’t be sure in the dark lighting.
“That’s very flattering to hear. But you know, this business can make you doubt yourself. Everyone has dark moments they don’t like to remember. And maybe that can be an option, you know, to put all that behind you. It may even be the best option. So, I sometimes get wound up, thinking what I’m doing is meaningless... All these thoughts haunt me sometimes,” Maxim says.
Dallergut is lost in thought. He seems to choose his words carefully.
Maxim isn’t as intimidating as Penny anticipated, so she doesn’t mind interrupting. “Then why not just be straightforward? You can make dreams that show people’s happiest moments or achievements,” she suggests.
“You certainly know how to lighten the mood.” Maxim seems to like Penny’s idea.
“It’ll make everyone happy, for sure!” she says. “Way easier to receive payments, too!”
“You’re looking out for me, aren’t you?” For a moment, Penny’s concerned he might have taken her response the wrong way, that she was implying something about his finances. But then it dawns on her he’s joking.
“Penny, do you know what sets a good dream apart from an ordinary one?” Dallergut asks.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve told me before...” Penny tries to recall the many nuggets of wisdom Dallergut has shared. Maxim watches her ponder.
“You said the value of a dream depends on the customer...” she murmurs. “Oh, that’s right! The difference between a good dream and an ordinary dream depends on whether the customers find enlightenment. The point is that they need to discover the lessons themselves rather than us spoon-feeding them. That’s what makes a dream good.”
“That’s right. Overcoming hardships in the past makes people who they are now: survivors and heroes. Our job is to make them realize that on their own.”
“Yes, that is why we sell dreams. At the end of the day, it’s all up to the customer. Am I right?” Penny says.
“Dallergut, you certainly have a great employee working with you,” Maxim says, smiling as brightly as the sunlight outside.