“Why is everyone just sitting there while expensive Korean beef is burning? Eat.”

Moon Jong-im clicked the tips of her tongs together and urged them on. Left with no choice, Hae-som picked up her chopsticks and blinked her heavy eyes.

The appetizer Section Chef, Senior Kim from the entrée station, and some Park from desserts who was supposedly the same age as her. It could not have been a more uncomfortable table.

They had rearranged the company dinner seating to encourage bonding between teams, yet the front-of-house staff were all clustered together in the middle. The lively atmosphere was over there too.

“Alright, everyone, give me your attention for a moment.”

Jun-won, the man responsible for all this, tapped his chopsticks against a beer glass filled to the brim with soju. A clear xylophone-like ring echoed out.

“Thanks to everyone’s hard work, we achieved a new highest score at last week’s preview tasting.”

Waaaah!

A fierce cheer swept across the grill. Maybe the heat had gotten too strong, because black scorch marks were already appearing on the expensive premium beef short rib.

While Moon Jong-im’s attention wandered elsewhere, Hae-som quickly rescued the meat before it burned. Faint burn scars remained on the backs of her hands as they moved across the grill.

Maybe she had made too much of something so minor.

Her parents had held her hands and cried, but compared to the other chefs’ arms—covered with knife cuts, burn marks, and surgical scars—she was still a beginner. To an outsider, they could easily be mistaken for gangsters or yakuza.

There was one exception.

Someone whose arms were smooth and free of scars.

It was Jae-geon, dressed far too casually for someone who looked like the leader of the group.

He wore nothing more than a black short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, yet he still stood out. A suit looked better on him than being half-undressed, a chef’s jacket looked better than a suit, and somehow this looked best of all.

Not that her opinion mattered.

Hae-som shifted her gaze to Jun-won, who had raised his glass high overhead.

She had no idea Jae-geon’s eyes had just lingered on the scars on her hand.

“Let true love spread far and wide!”

“Let our ideals soar high!”

“Let all drinking glasses be equal!”

Jae-geon never once looked in her direction. Instead, he only shot Jun-won—who shouted, “Chamisul!”—a look that told him to maintain some dignity.

Hae-som accepted the glass being pushed at her from every direction and emptied the soju in one gulp.

She had spent so long holding herself together to avoid making mistakes that the warmth of alcohol was almost welcome.

As her guard loosened, questions began flying at her from all sides.

“Your name was Sung Hae-som, right? I heard you’re a college graduate. Then you don’t have much kitchen experience yet?”

“Really? I heard they’re thinking about hiring you as a full-time employee. That’s crazy with that little experience. You must be really good at cooking.”

“They say Chef dotes on you.”

“Is it true you two are dating?”

“The way he acts around you makes it obvious.”

They were not asking at face value.

Every question carried an unspoken message.

Who do you think you are?

It was true that, through a series of coincidences, Chef had paid her special attention for a time.

She had heard the rumors about being hired full-time as well.

But those rumors came from people’s suspicions and resentment. She had nothing she could confirm.

Hae-som kept her mouth shut.

Impatient sighs followed one after another.

The thought of eating meat made her stomach turn, so she focused on emptying glass after glass of soju instead.

---

“Whew.”

She had drunk far too much.

The company dinner had barely begun, yet her head was already spinning.

She washed her face with cold water and patted her damp cheeks, but she was half asleep. Rubbing at the dark circles that seemed more obvious than ever, Hae-som let out a bitter smile.

Maybe it was not the alcohol.

Maybe she was drunk on lack of sleep.

Another week had passed beneath nights that felt endless.

She needed cool air and fresh air instead of thick charcoal smoke.

The warm evening breeze swept through the restaurant garden and wrapped around her.

Moist summer air.

Sweet flower scents.

A courtyard that reminded her of Hunam-sa.

At last, she felt like she could breathe.

Naturally, Yoo Eun-ho came to mind.

At least he looked peaceful at the end.

People said the dead rested easier once they were properly sent off.

Half of her felt guilty for calling him back into her thoughts.

The other half just wanted to hear his voice one more time.

Hae-som woke her sleeping phone and opened her contacts.

[Yoo Eun-ho Oppa]

The name carved itself into her eyes, and her chest ached again.

There was no way a dead man’s phone number would still be active.

Even if Uncle Gyeong-ho and his wife had wanted to keep it, Yoo Eun-seong—merciless when it came to his older brother—would have canceled it long ago.

Even so, she pressed call.

She knew she would not get the answer she wanted.

But she needed to say goodbye.

Several rings passed.

Then a click.

Someone had answered.

“Oppa.”

The person on the other end said nothing, caught off guard by the greeting.

Using the alcohol as an excuse, Hae-som kept talking.

“How have you been?”

I haven’t been doing well.

Life hasn’t been easy.

Whether it was a complaint or a confession, the person did not hang up.

Maybe they were patient.

Maybe they felt sorry for whoever had suddenly started pouring their heart out.

Forcing strength into her trembling lips, Hae-som finally emptied everything she had been carrying inside.

She did not cry out loud.

But the part of her that had never accepted the farewell finally broke apart.

“Eat well, sleep well, and don’t get hurt anymore. Just… live well.”

Goodbye.

For real this time.

The call ended with the words she had never managed to say.

The screen blinked and went dark.

Another wave of grief crashed over her.

Still, Hae-som pulled herself together and deleted Yoo Eun-ho’s number.

A cold wind swept through her small chest.

“…Hey, rookie. You okay?”

The voice came out of nowhere.

Hae-som jumped.

Judging by the look on his face, Hwi seemed just as startled.

The moment she saw the cigarette hanging from his lips, Hae-som completely forgot that she had just been sniffling like the heroine of a tragic romance.

She shot to her feet, fists planted at her sides.

Even the tears still hanging from her eyes seemed defiant.

“Senior, what are you doing?”

He knew perfectly well that getting caught smoking could get him thrown out of Not.

Yet he only flicked the cigarette and answered without concern.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just happened to pass by.”

A lazy grin spread across his face.

Then he added some advice.

“A woman isn’t attractive if she’s always bowing her head. You can go along with people, but push back once in a while.”

What was he even talking about?

Hae-som narrowed her eyes, snatched the cigarette from between his lips, and snapped it in half.

The alcohol had stripped away both her manners and her restraint.

“What if Chef sees you? Do you want to write a resignation letter?”

“I always crave cigarettes when I drink.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“I’ll smoke just one and quit after that.”

“Senior!”

Hwi picked up the broken cigarette and tossed it into a trash can.

A laugh escaped him.

“This is all Sung Hae-som Oppa’s fault.”

He continued muttering things that made no sense.

Calling someone ten years younger Oppa was shameless enough already.

His gaze wandered across the flower bed, where blossoms swayed in the breeze.

Then he noticed a patch of freshly dug soil near the edge and smiled.

“Rookie.”

“What?”

“You look too miserable. I should plant you for a bit.”

“Huh?”

Despite her blunt reply, Hwi only grinned.

Then he scooped her up without warning.

Her sneakers flew through the air.

A moment later, he carefully shoved both of her feet into the hole he had found.

The pile of dirt beside it collapsed at once, swallowing her white socks.

The more she struggled, the deeper the rich soil dragged her feet down.

“What are you doing?!”

Ignoring her protest, Hwi even packed down the little mound of dirt around her feet.

“I’ll come back and water you later. Stay there until then.”

It was a creative solution worthy of a top chef.

As if she really had absorbed nutrients from the soil, Hae-som’s shoulders began shaking with renewed energy.

“Senior!”

She glared at Hwi’s retreating back as he headed toward the smoking area.

Then, realizing resistance was pointless, she slumped down.

So he really intended to smoke after all.

Hae-som shot daggers at Hwi as he headed for the smoking area.

Wasn’t he afraid Chef might appear at any moment?

Apparently not.

She was annoyed that he had planted her in a flower bed and told her not to bother him.

Still, she could not just stand by and watch him get caught.

Calling for help felt ridiculous.

But she could not stay planted here like a flower either.

The alcohol left both her body and mind floating.

“Don’t tell me this is some game where I’m supposed to guess which one is the flower.”

Huh?

That voice—

Hae-som managed to free her ankles from the dirt and lifted her head.

A deep frown formed at once.

“Didn’t expect you to be into analog aesthetics. Going for a little novice monk vibe?”

Jae-geon stood there, leaning to one side.

The only flaw in his otherwise perfect appearance was the backpack hanging from his shoulder, covered in an absurd number of cute keychains.

Hae-som frowned at first.

Then she recognized the bag as her own and gave an embarrassed smile.

“Hello.”

Ignoring the greeting, Jae-geon crossed the distance to the flower bed in a few long strides.

As though there were never any doubt about which flower was which, he picked Hae-som out immediately.

An arm slid beneath her without warning and lifted her with ease.

He did not put her down.

The scent of bitter alcohol drifted from where their bodies touched.

His gaze moved across her piece by piece.

The sweat on her forehead.

The tip of her nose.

Her dry lips.

The line of her neck.

The soft curve of her chest.

Hae-som felt every second of it.

Pale pink flowers seemed to bloom across her skin.

“Sung Hae-som.”

Covering her warming face, Hae-som kicked her feet.

“Put me down.”

Jae-geon’s eyes had settled on the scars on the back of her hand.

“Why didn’t you put ointment on this? It’s scarred.”

“Put me down.”

“Answer me.”

It was a weak act of rebellion, like throwing an egg at a rock.

The only person taking damage was Hae-som herself.

The dizziness in her head grew worse.

The hangover she had been suppressing, along with all the emotions she had swallowed, surged upward.

Her stomach twisted.

Her vision swam.

“Put me down.”

“Something else.”

“Thank you for getting me out.”

“Something else.”

“Then what?”

His neat brows rose as if he disliked her answer.

“You have something to say to me, don’t you?”