“What, me?”
“Yes, you.”
A strange scent hung in the air between them, something Hae-som had never smelled before. Sensing danger of some kind, she narrowed her eyes.
“Why…?”
Jae-geon crossed his long right leg over the other and rubbed his sharp jaw.
“For tomorrow’s preview tasting, the youngest usually assists the chef.”
Just like on the first day of practical training, it sounded like she would help with the final touches at the chef’s table. Placing garnishes, for example.
“Can you do it?”
His tone was dry and purely professional. The lack of emotion actually reassured Hae-som. As a trainee, she had no reason to refuse.
“Yes, Chef.”
Jae-geon’s gaze traveled down her body from the crown of her head to her toes before stopping abruptly in the middle. The sleeves of her chef’s jacket failed to hide the red mark on the back of her hand.
Hae-som quickly moved both hands behind her back. The effort was pointless. A deep crease had already formed between Jae-geon’s brows.
“You’re hurt?”
“Huh? N-No, I’m not!”
She had actually come to report the injury, but the offer was too tempting to risk losing.
Watching the preview tasting up close mattered far more than treating a burn.
At this moment, neither Jae-geon nor Cha Ji-won mattered.
“Then what’s on the back of your hand?”
He had noticed every detail in that brief moment. Cornered, Hae-som squeezed her eyes shut. One lie always led to another.
“I was tasting the radish purée and forgot to wash it off. I’ll clean it right away.”
“Ah, the radish purée?”
Jae-geon closed the distance in a few long strides and grabbed her wrist. His grip forced her hand into view. Warm breath brushed across the back of it.
“The consistency and color look decent.”
His tongue slid slowly across his lips.
The blatant gesture made Hae-som swallow hard.
“Hng!”
His eyes curved with cruel amusement when he caught the movement of her throat.
The tip of his tongue swept away the pale ointment covering her injury. The soft, damp sensation felt so foreign that she tried to pull free, but his grip refused to budge.
Each brush of his tongue against the burn sent a tremor through her body. Her toes curled. Even breathing became difficult.
He showed no sign of releasing his captive, while Hae-som trembled like a deer caught by a hunter.
“Ch-Chef…!”
“Don’t get the wrong idea.”
His lips glistened with the ointment that definitely was not radish purée.
“Tasting is standard industry practice.”
After a long standoff, Hae-som finally escaped Jae-geon, only to be stopped by Jae-min a few steps later.
“Chef told you to go home?”
Something along those lines. Food preparation and ointment didn’t mix. Jae-geon had questioned her qualifications as a chef.
She felt a little wronged.
Since suffering the burn, she had been completely removed from kitchen duties. She had not touched a single ingredient. Even if she had been given the chance, she would have followed Not’s rules and washed her hands thoroughly.
Remembering Jae-geon’s firm expression that seemed to dismiss any excuse before it was spoken, Hae-som gave Jae-min a small nod.
“I think so.”
“Did he give you a hard time?”
Her head, which had been moving up and down, shook side to side instead.
“It wasn’t because of Chef. I was the one who messed up.”
Jae-min narrowed his eyes.
“Come on. We all know what Chef’s like. No need to defend him.”
“I mean it.”
“You’re not the only one he’s chewed out. Me, Hyung, even the team leader gets scolded on a regular basis. That’s kind of his way of showing he cares.”
Hae-som had already reflected on her own mistakes enough. Jae-min’s attempt at comfort—that it could have been worse—didn’t help much.
“Don’t take it too personally. It wasn’t anything emotional.”
But Jae-geon’s actions still bothered her.
Could someone really press close and lick the back of another person’s hand without any personal feelings involved?
If another senior chef had made the same mistake, would he have done the same thing?
Pushing the thought aside, Hae-som steeled herself instead.
If another opportunity like this came, she would never let it slip away.
But first, she needed to improve.
She clenched her fist so hard it felt like the blister on her hand might burst.
“Sunbae, can I ask you a favor?”
After unexpectedly leaving early, Hae-som headed straight to a motel near Not.
Water poured over the burn without mercy.
The sharp sting pierced her skin.
Even so, it felt insignificant compared to the scrape of Jae-geon’s tongue.
“Tasting is standard industry practice.”
Did he really need to be that dedicated?
Part of her wondered if she was reading too much into what had simply been a harsh lesson. But if Jae-min or Hyung had made the same mistake, there was no way he would have corrected them that way.
An old memory surfaced.
“You said you liked me.”
“When did I deny it?”
His intentions toward Cha Ji-won had always been obvious.
Yet whenever moments like this happened, her heart still lurched.
There’s no way a chef like him is actually interested in me.
I’m just a troublesome responsibility he inherited because of Ji-won.
Get a grip, Seong Hae-som.
After washing those thoughts down the drain, she checked the time.
Eight o’clock.
The main course—or maybe dessert—was probably being served by now. Service would end in two hours.
“Sunbae, can I ask you a favor?”
“What kind of favor?”
“Could you save some of the leftover ingredients after the test? I want to come back after closing and practice on my own.”
“With that hand? You want to practice more?”
Jae-min had stared at her in disbelief. Only after a great deal of pleading did she finally get his agreement.
Naturally, the other chefs could never find out.
Thinking back on the exhausting day, Hae-som stretched out across the soft bed.
Since she had free time, she planned to study the recipes carefully.
This would be her first time handling the pans alone.
She needed to be prepared.
She didn’t care if she got hurt again.
The ingredients Jae-min had set aside were hidden in a corner of the walk-in refrigerator.
After gathering a few more items, Hae-som looked around the dark kitchen.
The space that was usually filled with noise felt deserted.
Even the hum of the refrigerators sounded eerie.
“Ugh. This is kind of scary.”
Scary or not, she had work to do.
Hoping even ghosts would give up in the face of her persistence, Hae-som began preparing ingredients.
As she worked, she remembered the comments Jae-geon had made over her shoulder countless times.
She spoke aloud, imitating him.
And answered herself as well.
“When preparing radishes for the purée, only trim off the rough edges. Why?”
“Because most of the sharp, spicy flavor is in the skin.”
“If the sous-vide machine is set to sixty degrees, how long do you cook chicken tenderloin?”
“Ninety minutes in theory, but you should always check the condition before and after cooking.”
Why sweetfish had been chosen for the summer menu.
The origins of imja-sutang.
How to prepare sea urchin.
One question led to another.
Maybe because of those imaginary conversations, Hae-som no longer felt lonely or afraid.
She grew tense during the sugar work, but unlike before, she avoided injury.
By the time she produced a result she could finally accept, the clock read three in the morning.
After tasting everything and cleaning up, it was already four.
Completely exhausted, Hae-som dragged herself into the locker room.
Her half-closed eyes somehow found the metal locker with her name on it.
She unbuttoned her training uniform and reached for a clean T-shirt.
Instead, her hand closed around a stack of medicine boxes.
Burn ointment.
Medifoam dressings.
Burn scar cream.
Madecassol.
Fucidin.
And decaf coffee.
Hae-som slumped forward and rested her forehead against the locker door.
One moment he drove her away without mercy.
The next, he became considerate.
Cold one second.
Warm the next.
“Don’t get the wrong idea.”
And yet he kept giving her reasons to do exactly that.
His unpredictable shifts left her heart in knots.
There was no way her misunderstanding could be anything but dangerous.