Her sense of reality returned that weekend.

Not had opened five years ago. Eun-ho died four years ago. Which meant Chef Jeong Jae-geon and Yoo Eun-ho could not be the same person.

Hae-som pushed back her heavy head, weighed down by fatigue.

Not

Her mindset felt different from the fierce resolve she carried the first time she came here, driven by nothing but the will to become a chef.

She did not trust herself to face Jae-geon as though nothing had happened. Nor did she trust herself to shake off the overlapping image of Eun-ho that rose without warning. The insomnia that worsened again after that day left her worried whether she could even perform properly.

Still, it’s a chance you worked hard to get. Lots of awards, lots of stars. Give it a shot. If it feels wrong, quit.

Yet it felt too precious an opportunity to abandon out of fear.

As Jae-geon said, a Michelin three-star restaurant had no reason to take interns in the first place. Even if there were an open recruitment, she would stand no chance against the overseas-trained elite.

Like calluses forming on a hand that grips a knife, like scabs settling over wounds, Hae-som could only hope her soft, defenseless heart would toughen soon.

She took a light breath and reached for the brass door handle. At that moment, the heavy door slid back, revealing a chef with a warm, gentle look.

Without meaning to, Hae-som stepped back half a pace and scanned the name on his chest. Moon Jong-im. For some reason, the name felt friendly.

“Oh, hello.”

“Seong Hae-som, right? The chef told me. You start today. I’m Moon Jong-im, head of the appetizer team.”

A strong feeling settled in that she would belong to his team during her internship. Perhaps even a sense that he would be a good person.

The tension she had been holding around her mouth loosened, and she smiled.

“Please speak comfortably, Team Leader.”

“That can wait. Come on in first.”

He even spoke politely to a college intern. Worlds apart from someone who talked about common sense and intelligence.

It was true that she had spent several sleepless nights shaken by his looks, but at his core, he was nothing like Eun-ho.

Eun-ho never spoke in a way that belittled others. He only drew lines and ran, frustrating people with his distance.

Jeong Jae-geon was a different person from Yoo Eun-ho.

Yoo Eun-ho was not Jeong Jae-geon.

Hae-som carved the conclusion she reached over the weekend into her head, into her chest, and followed behind Jong-im.

Crossing the soft lawn without hesitation, Jong-im slowed between the main building and the annex.

“From now on, use the staff entrance instead of the front gate. Straight ahead is the staff entrance. Turn left for the fermentation room.”

“Yes.”

She thought they would head into the fermentation room, but Jong-im turned back toward the garden.

Passing the line of jars set in the sunny spot, passing the pine tree where Jae-geon once stood, the two headed for the restaurant hall.

The introductions continued.

A dining space designed with ergonomics in mind for guest comfort. Over a thousand varieties of alcohol sourced from around the world to match the level of the cuisine.

The long rectangular hall faced an equally long kitchen, mirroring the building’s shape, so the cooking process stayed visible from the dining area. Jong-im followed her gaze and explained.

“From the left, the stations follow the course order. Appetizers, entrées, main, dessert.”

Since Jong-im led the appetizer team, the kitchen tucked into the far left corner must be where she would work.

More than anything, she liked that it sat farthest from the chef’s table in the main section.

That meant fewer moments facing Jae-geon, and fewer reasons for her heart to tighten.

“To the left of the appetizer section are the office, locker rooms, and restrooms. To the right of the dessert section are the dry storage, supplies room, and a small restroom.”

“Yes.”

Seeing Hae-som smile as if she understood, Jong-im clapped his hands as though satisfied with a job done.

“Then shall we get you changed?”

By the time Hae-som came out of the women’s locker room in her chef’s uniform, Jong-im stood with two men who seemed to hold similar positions. Jong-im, smiling with ease, spotted her and beckoned.

“Oh, Hae-som. Come say hello. Seo Jun-young, head of entrées. Lee Woon-seop, head of desserts.”

Jun-young lifted his sharp chin and spoke with clear annoyance.

“She’s just a college intern. Why treat her so formally? Did the chef tell you to?”

In contrast, Woon-seop looked as soft as cotton candy. The thick hands folded in front of him carried a sweet scent of sugar.

“Oh! I graduated from that university too! Fancy meeting a junior here.”

“Hello, sunbae.”

“Somi? I’m Seop. Heh, let’s get along.”

Their appearances matched their departments so well that Hae-som barely held back a laugh and darted her eyes around. The key figure, the main-part team leader, was nowhere to be seen. At his station, perhaps?

Jong-im headed for the kitchen without a word, and her question faded there.

They passed a space she guessed to be Jae-geon’s office. The door stayed closed, but the lights were on, as though a serious meeting took place.

Hae-som cut off the glance she sent that way and shook her head. Then she repeated the words again.

Jeong Jae-geon was a different person from Yoo Eun-ho.

Yoo Eun-ho was not Jeong Jae-geon.

As she murmured to herself, Jong-im watched her with a look of concern.

“As you expect, the first few weeks will feel rough. Most of the staff came from Michelin kitchens, so they can get territorial. And this is our first time taking an intern.”

Jun-young’s harsh reaction seemed to bother him.

“No overseas training, right?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…”

Jong-im also looked puzzled by Jae-geon’s decision, yet he did not press Hae-som with the question. She felt grateful for his restraint, though a bitter note lingered.

“Either way, keeping pace will strain you. Still, chances like this are rare. Hang in there.”

With so many hidden pitfalls, could she really endure without dropping out?

Hae-som clenched a small fist, wishing she would. She bit her lip with resolve, though her small chest thumped with a vague sense of dread.

Soon, Jong-im pushed open the kitchen door and drew attention with loud claps. The main and dessert sections stayed put, but the appetizer and entrée chefs stopped their work and turned.

“Starting today, Seong Hae-som will intern at Not. The chef gave special orders to teach her with care until she gets used to the kitchen. Understood?”

No answer came. In the long silence, only the stock simmering in a pot made noise. When Jong-im frowned hard, a few whispered “Yes, Chef,” finally followed.

Would she face this same humiliation again in the main section? Darkness pressed at Hae-som’s vision, but Jong-im stepped forward with firm resolve, as though this initiation had to be endured once.

As they passed the appetizer and entrée areas, sharp stares stabbed at her. Someone scoffed, “Damn, a woman?” Others laughed at the white uniform with the university logo.

She felt like an ugly duckling in every sense.

Hae-som entered the main section with her spirits crushed. The chef’s table where finished dishes went out sat in the center, with four stations facing each other behind it.

Jong-im clapped again and raised his voice.

“Starting today, Seong Hae-som will intern in the main section. Teach her what she doesn’t know. And if anyone pulls nonsense because she’s a woman, I report straight to the chef. Clear?”

Wait. The main section?