Because she’d unexpectedly ended up keeping an “error notebook,” Hae-som’s days grew a bit busier.

The more she studied, the more holes in her knowledge popped up. She lost count of how many times she’d been thrown off by practice theory that had nothing to do with basic culinary common sense.

Whenever she got stuck, she’d grab whoever passed by and cling to them. She looked like she wouldn’t let go until she got an answer.

Maybe it was because she’d been chewed out by Jae-geon, but the people around her watched with a strange sort of pity. The seniors grumbled that she was a trouble, yet they still putting in real effort their heads together with her.

Each time she worked through a problem, Hae-som felt like she could breathe again. But satisfaction and lack of sleep were separate issues; her restless nights continued.

Her eyes felt cracked and dry, her mouth parched like a desert. There was no way she could have an appetite. As soon as evening came, she slipped out of the kitchen and headed to the garden.

Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. It was Song Ji.

[I screwed upㅠㅠ]

Hae-som’s fine hairs stood on end as she hurried to call her back. The lightning-fast response caught Song Ji off guard.

“Wow, there are days when Song Hae-som actually replies this fast?”

“I just happened to be on break.”

And to be honest, she had a mountain of things to ask Song Ji.

Was it really okay to keep leaning on someone else for sleep like this? And why had her body reacted so openly to something as intense as that…?

Song Ji, who had more experience than her, might know the answer. But the moment she thought of Jae-geon as the person involved, Hae-som couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Song Ji cut in quickly.

“I just got into it with Cha Ji-won.”

Hae-som’s lips parted in shock.

“What? With who? What do you mean?”

“I fought with the boss.”

“Why? What happened?”

Song Ji let out a low sigh.

“You remember I told you? Cha Ji-won sleeps around with the male staff here.”

“Yeah.”

“Turns out one of them was married. The wife showed up at the company, grabbed her hair, and caused a huge scene. The rumor’s probably spread across the entire industry by now.”

Hae-som didn’t even have the energy to be surprised anymore. Song Ji’s voice rose a notch.

“And that crazy woman took it out on me! This isn’t the first time either—she treats me like a punching bag.”

“So? Did you pull her hair too?”

“I’m not that stupid. I just used my mouth.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her it seems like she has a habit of taking her anger out in the wrong places. That instead of going after the men like she traps mice, why is she picking on powerless newbies?”

It was a pleasant bold statement, but Hae-som worried about what would happen next.

“So? What did Cha Ji-won say? Did she try to hurt you?”

“Surprisingly, she accepted it calmly and even apologized. Said to tell you she’s sorry too. That’s what makes it even more suspicious.”

“Exactly,” Hae-som agreed lightly, her gaze drifting to a tall figure crossing the garden toward her.

Was it already Friday? The thought that she could sleep in tomorrow eased her mind.

“Anyway, after completely destroying my reputation in this field, I’ve decided to start preparing for the civil service exam.”

Song Ji’s joking laughter got swallowed by the rumble of a subway passing overhead. In that gap, Yoo Eun-seong slipped in and crouched in front of Hae-som. Their knees nearly touched.

“I wondered why there was a stone tower by the wall. Figures it’s Song Hae-som.”

Eun-seong had come in thirty minutes early and was already in uniform. Maybe he’d taken Jae-geon’s advice—there was no trace of cigarette smoke. His bright smile looked clean and refreshing.

“Hey, Song Hae-som.”

“Yeah.”

“I heard the chef grilled you?”

He didn’t look worried. If anything, he seemed entertained.

Hae-som stared blankly at the grin tugging at his lips. She’d seen that expression before—on New Year’s Day when she turned twenty.

‘I like you, Oppa. I’m serious.’

Despite hearing the same confession over a hundred times, Yoo Eun-ho had answered with the same calm tone.

‘You know I can’t accept your feelings.’

‘I’m an adult now. Still no?’

‘Hae-som.’

‘…’

‘No means no.’

Stung by his firm rejection, Hae-som had buried herself under the blankets and cried for three days straight. Eun-seong, who kept bringing her tissues to her swollen eyes, had worn that same smile then.

As if he’d expected it all along.

“What’s so great about dating some old guy ten years older than you? You don’t even like him that much. Don’t get played—just end it here.”

That was even more ridiculous meddling. Then again, Lee Eun-seong had always been like this.

Faced with a familiar feeling, it was easier to respond.

“Eun-seong.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got chili flakes stuck in your front teeth.”

She shifted her weight against his knee and pushed him over in one smooth move.

Caught off guard, Eun-seong burst out laughing as he landed on the grass with his legs splayed. There were no chili flakes in sight.

---

Song Hae-som, who’d been chatting and joking around with the valet staff, blended in perfectly into the Entrée section.

“You used figs last fall, right? What was the menu again? Oh—fig foie gras terrine! Could I see the recipe?”

She didn’t seem intent on copying it outright—more like she wanted to understand the overall composition.

Maybe it was because she’d worked so hard these past few days; the dish Hae-som had secretly studied showed remarkable improvement.

Seared scallops with soy-brushed, torch-caramelized figs. The touch of using minari stems to cleanse the palate was excellent.

Claiming her place in the main section, the main dish itself was flawless. She must have gotten significant help from Han Seung-jun or Hwi.

From a head chef’s perspective, a trainee eager to learn should have been endearing. Yet Jae-geon found himself bothered by everything.

He worried about her skipping meals all day, disliked seeing her spend her mealtime fooling around with Yoo Eun-seong, and—most of all—felt annoyed for reasons he doesn’t fully understand watching her stick so closely to the Entrée section.

If he’d known it would be like this, he might have kept her right by his side, teaching her one-on-one. A spoonful of food, a piece of advice—that kind of rhythm.

But he knew better. If he’d kept her under his wing, she wouldn’t have grown this fast.

Some things could only be learned by facing them head-on and trying again and again.

That had been true for Jae-geon, and for everyone in the kitchen.

Maybe that was why the Entrée chefs, who’d once avoided trainees outright, had suddenly changed their stance—remembering their own early days.

Watching her bright, shining eyes, Jae-geon forced his chest to settle. A dry laugh slipped out.

---

Had he mistaken what day it was today?

“Chef?”

On the intercom monitor, a pair of wide, bead-like eyes blinked.

“Chef? Are you not home?”

“I am. What is it?”

“I had something to ask. If it’s okay…”

She’d already churned his insides all day, making bitterness rise in his stomach—what business did she have coming all the way to his house now?

Jae-geon pulled clothes on over his damp body and stepped outside. The breeze carried a hint of coolness, brushing past his sharp nose.

Beep. He unlocked the gate and pulled it open. Hae-som stood in the exact same posture as on the intercom—hesitant, on the verge of bolting.

“Did you forget the passcode?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“It didn’t feel right to just come in when it’s not Saturday. Someone might be home, and… well…”

“And?”

“I’ll just ask what I need and go.”

“So you’re just here to squeeze what you want out of me?”

Leaning against the frame to keep the gate from closing, Jae-geon grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside.

Thud. Click. Amid the metallic sounds, a faint gasp slipped from Hae-som. For some reason, that alone stirred him.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then turned his back on her and crossed the garden.

Two pine trees, planted long before he’d moved in, stood tall, filling the space with the scent of resin.

Between them, in that pine-scented air, Jae-geon sat down in a patio chair and crossed one leg.

Hae-som, trailing him like a shadow, stopped just short of touching his shin. The wind blew cold, yet her small face looked flushed as if under harsh sun.

Did she really have something to ask?

“You said you had a question. Ask.”

A gust of night air lifted her bangs. She raised her hand as if to cover the scar on her forehead—using the very hand marked by a burn.

Without realizing she was covering one scar with another, Hae-som pushed her eyes open. Her dark gaze carried clear exhaustion.

“No matter how much I think about it, I don’t understand what a dessert that isn’t sweet is, Chef.”

He’d never told her to bring feedback, let alone given her a deadline. No wonder everyone looked at her with pity—and treated the head chef like some kind of beast.

And having his private life intruded on under the excuse of work didn’t sit well with him either. Jae-geon ran a hand through his damp hair with a sigh.

“You barged into a man’s house at this hour without a shred of fear, and that’s all you came to say?”

At his crooked tone, Hae-som tilted her head with a small “Huh?” It drove him crazy—how she could get under his skin over the smallest things.

Jae-geon uncrossed his legs and stood up at once. Hae-som was busy fussing over the fallen patio chair behind him.

“…!”

He grabbed her hand just as she reached for it. Then, in one motion, he lifted her up, holding her as looked straight at her.

“Stay the night, and I’ll tell you.”

Her round, dark eyes shook like a startled doll.