The scattered lights beyond the wide glass windows made her suddenly aware of just how high up they were. On the hillside where Seochon and Bukchon met, Gyeongbokgung spread out below like a perfectly assembled Lego set.

Certain the night view had played a part in Not earning its three Michelin stars, Hae-som stepped into the dining hall alone, balancing the prepared dish on a tray.

Her confident stride faltered when she spotted Jae-geon at table three.

Light like fresh snow broke across his broad shoulders. His eyes held a trace of melancholy, his profile swallowed by shadow, a faint smile resting on his well-shaped lips.

All of it reminded her of Eun-ho again. That unexplained sense of déjà vu surged up and struck her chest.

Eun-ho had been too frail to move freely, so of course they had never come somewhere this refined together. Still, she used to say that when she became a top-tier chef, she would cook for him one day.

So this had to be nothing more than a fragment of memory taking shape as illusion.

Jeong Jae-geon was not Yoo Eun-ho.

Yoo Eun-ho was dead.

Muttering the conclusion she had repeated thousands of times, Hae-som approached him.

She set the tray beside his straight whiskey glass, marked faintly with his lips, and forced strength into her thinning voice. As she bent to place the dish down, the edge of her apron hovered near his knee.

“I’ll serve the dish you requested.”

Jae-geon’s gaze brushed over the point where they nearly touched, then moved to Hae-som’s tightly pressed lips.

“Seong Hae-som.”

His voice resonated low, near her waist. The aroma of whiskey traced upward along his composed figure.

“Explain it. Whether you learned it or you’re guessing.”

He clearly did not want a simple, surface-level description of the menu.

He wanted to hear why the garnishes were used, why the order mattered, to give meaning to each ingredient.

Hae-som gathered her thoughts quickly, held the tray close, and stepped back to put deliberate distance between them.

“The main course begins with a rich matsutake steak. Fresh carrots from Jeju are balanced with yuzu for acidity, while the pine-needle emulsion creates an overall impression of the forest where the mushrooms grow…”

She spoke with steady care. Jae-geon did not interrupt, only raising his glass again and again as the pine-scented whiskey went down.

His expression did not shift. Meanwhile, Hae-som felt lightheaded, as if she were the one getting drunk instead. Still, she managed to finish her explanation without slipping.

That clear line between head chef and intern settled her heart. At last, she could face him properly, and she bowed.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Chef. I’ll wait for your feedback after your meal.”

But just as she tried to step away, Jae-geon caught her wrist without hesitation.

His large thumb traced along her wrist bone, easing her grip. The tray slipped from her hand, and he set it aside on the table edge. Then, tightening his hold just slightly, he pulled her back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The air felt thin all at once, and Hae-som struggled to breathe. She opened her mouth, but no answer came.

“First day tasting is our restaurant’s rule. You need to know the flavor before you can cook. Sit. Eat it properly.”

His voice was dry and rough, nothing like Eun-ho’s gentle tone. Yet the sensation lingering on her skin denied that difference.

The man in front of her isn’t Jae-geon. He might be Eun-ho. Eun-ho didn’t die—he disappeared. He came back.

Hae-som sank down without resistance. The lounge chair cushioned her like it had been made for her body.

A heavy set of cutlery was placed in her hand. Seeing her limp wrist, he asked,

“What are you holding it like that for? Want me to feed you?”

“…No, I’m fine.”

She somehow kept her formal tone, but the thought that he might be Eun-ho hadn’t changed at all.

“Then should I leave?”

“No!”

This opportunity had been so hard to gain—something she had waited for so long.

She couldn’t let Eun-ho walk away again.

What if, once this moment ended, he vanished like fog again?

That fear dragged her deeper, until a reckless desire rose in her throat and spilled out.

“Chef.”

“….”

“Will you stay with me until I finish?”

As his brows lifted slightly, she hurried to add a clumsy excuse.

“They say if you eat alone, your luck runs away.”

A low laugh slipped from him, soft and easy.

He shifted his posture, crossing his legs. The stiff fabric of his slacks pulled tight.

The muscle beneath the thin cloth insisted he could not be Eun-ho—but her reasoning no longer followed logic.

“Bon appétit.”

Grateful for his quiet agreement, Hae-som tightened her grip on her cutlery.

Then she began to eat as slowly as she could, wishing the moment would never end.

---

“Hey there, Not newbie.”

“Hello, sir.”

One week into her internship, greeting the farm owner who partnered with Not had become routine. Park Jong-woo liked to call Hae-som “Not’s kid,” since it had been a while since a new face joined.

As she took the order sheet from him, Hae-som glanced at the words stamped on the truck—[Farm-to-Table]—and asked,

“Where’s your farm located?”

“Hm? Why?”

“I’d like to visit someday. I’m curious what you grow.”

He reportedly cultivated around fifty types of produce, from hard-to-find varieties to specialty crops he developed himself as a former botanist. It was more than enough to spark her curiosity.

“Yongin, next to the Natural Farm.”

“Really? I live in Bundang. Can I visit sometime?”

“You’ll need permission from the chef. Security’s strict.”

“…Ah. Right.”

She had grown somewhat used to dealing with Jae-geon, but facing him directly still felt impossible. There was no way that strict chef would grant an intern permission. Her resolve crumbled like sand.

Jong-woo carried the supplies inside with care, smiling faintly at her.

“You’ve only been here a week, and you’re already this eager. Or maybe that’s why you’re eager?”

“My skills aren’t there yet, so I have to make up for it with effort.”

Hae-som laughed weakly and opened the boxes he had brought in. As always, red lines traced the whites of her eyes as she checked the order list.

Burdock, micro herbs, wild greens for the noodle dish. Other ingredients for different sections.

Once the vegetables came in, seafood would follow, then dairy and meat. After that, preparation would be complete, just in time for the senior staff to arrive.

Maybe it was her relentless effort, but the sharp looks from her first day had softened. The atmosphere wasn’t exactly warm, but it was enough.

If there was still one unpredictable variable in her internship, it wasn’t her chronic insomnia or the fading hostility—it was Jae-geon.

He remained cold most of the time, yet sometimes, without warning, he acted unexpectedly gentle.

Asking if she had eaten. Rolling up her sleeves, brushing her skin in the process. Correcting her grip on a knife by covering her hand with his.

There was no personal intent in his actions—but her heart reacted anyway.

Jeong Jae-geon is not Yoo Eun-ho. Yoo Eun-ho is dead. Then why… can’t I let go of the thought that he might be Eun-ho?

She was being led astray by a mind worn down by lack of sleep. It wasn’t even worth a bitter laugh.

On top of the wall lined with earthenware jars, Hae-som carefully stacked stones into a small tower. The unsteady pile swayed like a drunk but somehow held.

She pressed her palms together and bowed her head.

She wasn’t trying to claim Jae-geon was Eun-ho. She wasn’t wishing for the dead to return, nor dreaming of becoming a full-time staff member at Not.

She only wanted to sleep.

Was even that too much to ask?

The one time she had collapsed into deep sleep—after her first day—had been a miracle. Since then, her insomnia returned as if it had never left.

Running herself dry, taking sleeping pills—nothing worked. Sleep slipped past her every night.

The brief naps she stole in a corner of the locker room after dawn prep were her only relief.

For some reason, even that failed her today. That was why she ended up here, quietly making a prayer.

Four years of sleeplessness… Don’t you feel even a little pity?

“Ha…”

Maybe this was punishment for clinging to foolish hopes, trying to connect Jae-geon and Eun-ho no matter what.

With a heavy sigh, she turned away. Her temples throbbed, and her foot twisted sharply inside her kitchen shoes.

“Bambi!”

Jun-won, who had been watching her, lifted a hand in greeting.

But Hae-som’s gaze passed him without pause—and landed on Jae-geon, who watched with a faint, mocking smile.