The two men entered an alley in Insadong, where tiled roofs pressed shoulder to shoulder.

Unlike Jae-geon, who had dressed comfortably for the midsummer heat in jeans and a cotton T-shirt, Jun-won was impeccably turned out in a three-piece suit. Even allowing for his title as general manager, it felt excessive.

“Are you on your way to some awards ceremony?”

“What kind of manners are these, dragging me out on my day off just to chew me out?”

“Who dragged you out? I said I was going to Insadong, and you came panting after me like a dog.”

“You said you were going to choose the drinks for the pairings. What kind of general manager would sit back and watch? Of course I had to come.”

“I don’t think you’ll be much help.”

“Want me to call Cha Ji-won instead?”

Jae-geon frowned at once, but Jun-won left him there and pretended not to notice. Pleased with his little jab, he knocked on the workshop door. A moment later, beneath a wooden sign that read Fermentation, an elderly gentleman appeared.

The scent of wood heavy with summer damp rushed over them, followed by the sweet-sour smell unique to nuruk. Jae-geon bowed his head in greeting, and Jun-won cozied up to the man with shameless affection.

“Ah, miss you so much, Mister Lee!”

“How have you been?”

“What could possibly happen to an old man shut up in a workshop making liquor? Come in before the drinks get warm.”

The two men stepped inside under the artisan’s warm smile. Orange trumpet vine blossoms spilled in clusters, and a single water lily floated on the pond as if cooling itself against the heat.

The mood was tranquil and familiar. That was why Jae-geon often stopped by under the pretext of pairings—when work would not come together, when worry lingered in his mind, when he needed to break through the knot of it.

Jun-won knew that habit well, so he always volunteered himself as a drinking companion. The elderly couple welcomed them every time. In other words, the nuruk workshop was practically their private bar.

Before long, an older woman who recognized them came hurrying across the yard, so fast it looked as if the hairpin in her chignon might come loose.

“My goodness, what took you so long? I was about to forget your faces.”

“Work’s been busy.”

“That excuse of yours never gets any better, does it?”

Jae-geon smoothed it over with a handsome smile and climbed onto the wooden floor. Several kinds of traditional liquor the couple had prepared for him were already set out on the table, along with snacks that looked like they would pair nicely.

“From the left: danyangju, chrysanthemum wine, gwahaju, and gamjeo soju. Take your time, and call if you need anything else.”

Jun-won tried to boss the old couple into staying and serving them, but they only laughed and waved it off, leaving the two men alone in the daecheong. Jae-geon filled his cup first with the danyangju, cloudy with pale lees.

Its aroma made the higher proof for the summer impossible to miss. It would probably be difficult to pair with the third-quarter menu aimed at autumn. Better to avoid the chrysanthemum wine and gwahaju too, since those had been used for pairings last year.

What about the gamjeo soju, with its savory note like roasted root vegetables? It was sweet without being forceful, which made it ideal alongside food.

Jun-won, who had rolled it around his mouth while drawing in air to taste it properly, blinked and nodded in agreement.

“This would work fine as the main pairing. It’s got weight without standing out too much.”

“We could serve it as a palate cleanser.”

“Between the entrée and the main?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve already developed the menu?”

“I’m going in to do it today.”

Jun-won dropped his cup and pulled a face as though he had had enough.

“The second-quarter menu hasn’t even been out for a week, my friend. The press loves it, the customers love it—why are you already getting anxious? That’s a compulsion.”

And coming to a neighborhood drinking spot in a full suit isn’t?

Thinking they were much the same, Jae-geon gave up on answering and downed the clear liquor.

“A week off is enough. How much longer am I supposed to sit around doing nothing?”

“Why? Got nothing else to do? Hae-som won’t play with you?”

At that, after a full week had passed since the staff dinner, it struck him that Jun-won had actually held out for quite a long time. Jae-geon gave up the smokescreen and thought back to that morning a week ago.

“You used protection properly, right?”

Someone once said that the most reliable form of birth control is not using it at all.

So he used protection properly—as carefully as he ever could.

Still, it seemed necessary to give a little lecture to a beginner who appeared to have had this kind of experience quite often.

“Is this how people usually live?”

“……Huh?”

“I mean, sleeping around with just anyone while making lame excuses—whether you’re drunk or half-asleep—and leaving birth control entirely up to your partner. What makes you think that’s okay?”

The only saving grace was that the people who knew what he had done that night were limited to Jun-won and Hwi.

Given how badly Hae-som’s reputation had already sunk, that much was a relief.

She had said she slept well around him. He could not decide whether that was something to be pleased about or troubled by.

But the moment he saw the fine red veins burst in her eyes, proof that she still had not slept properly after that day, his resolve bent at last, like a surrender.

If he was already being a fool for her, should he not see it through to the end? The thought passed lightly across his mind: maybe he wanted to help her get some real sleep.

Jae-geon turned to Jun-won, who had stopped prying and was simply drinking in silence.

“You said you and the department chair are close, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ask if her practicum can be extended until graduation.”

If early employment could be counted for credit, Hae-som’s degree would not be a problem. And if that happened, she could also get out from under Cha Ji-won’s influence.

There was already enough talk, inside and outside the kitchen, about Seong Hae-som’s placement. Maybe this would only be adding fuel to the fire.

Whatever happens to me, Chef, it won’t matter to you.

That line had stuck in his ears and kept scraping at his nerves. More than detached, she had sounded almost enlightened—resigned.

What a troublesome girl.

“If the practicum can’t be extended, then tell them we’ll hire her early as an intern.”

“Not as full-time staff?”

“With that level of experience, it’s too soon to bring her in full-time. Too many people are watching. And those eyes aren’t exactly kind.”

“Is that so? Hope our Bambi doesn’t lose heart surrounded by all those overseas-trained types.”

That was the sort of thing people said only because they did not know Seong Hae-som’s temperament—how she would argue every point to the end. Even thinking back on it felt absurd. Jae-geon emptied his glass as if he were wiping that conversation away.

“We’ll put up a hiring notice next spring, so she can handle the rest herself when the time comes. Oh—and don’t forget to order two chef’s jackets in size S.”

Although she had a petite frame where even an XS fit would be loose, he concluded that an S would be the best fit, considering the bust size he had estimated the night before.

Their business more or less settled, the two men politely declined the old couple’s offer to stay the night and left Insadong.

By the time they reached the streets of Seochon, Jae-geon was carrying a bottle of gamjeo soju for the pairing in one hand.

---

Under sunlight that had begun to take on the full look of summer, Hae-som had taken refuge in a café somewhere in Seochon with Song Ji.

Fanning herself with her hand, Song Ji groaned.

“Wow, this is exhausting. It’s not even August yet, and it’s already this hot?”

“I know. At this rate, we’re going to melt.”

It had already been a month since Hae-som started her practicum at Not. By sheer coincidence, she had arrived at exactly the right time to learn two seasonal menus, which was a stroke of luck—but because she had not been able to stay through one season in full, she could not help feeling a little regretful.

As Song Ji listened to Hae-som’s mixed feelings about the practicum, she narrowed her eyes and studied the bloodshot whites tangled with fine red veins.

“You’re working so hard you’re losing sleep over it, and they still won’t extend your practicum until graduation?”

“If nobody’s said anything by now, I guess that means they won’t.”

“So they had no problem making an insomniac work late into the night, but now they’re going to cut you loose? Jeong Jae-geon is too much!”

“I’m the one who pushed myself and practiced.”

“Even so! How can they just throw all that effort away and leave you drained like this? Seriously!”

Pushed along by the rumors and by the looks of people keeping her at arm’s length, Hae-som had let herself imagine sweet little fantasies more than once.

A dream where she created a dish entirely with her own hands and sent it out to a customer’s table. A dream where Jae-geon praised her and said she had done well.

She knew from experience that dreams were only fantasies, and had tried to keep herself in check. Even so, she had been so happy that the smile would not leave her face.

Ever since leaving Jae-geon’s house, though, she haven’t been able to dream at all.

Now that she’d had an unexpected one-night stand, it was impossible to keep up the pretense and continue her internship.

Hae-som let out a laugh that sounded almost like a sigh.

“It was never a place I could really belong in to begin with. I should be satisfied that I got to experience it at all.”

Song Ji sucked down her iced Americano with a loud slurp and moistened her dry lips.

“I’ll probably stay at Savorin until graduation.”

“Really? Did Cha Ji-won say that?”

Come to think of it, there had been little news from Ji-won lately. Had she gotten the attention she wanted from Jae-geon and simply tossed the rest aside? Whatever the case, it made Hae-som’s head hurt.

“It’s probably some underhanded move to boost the school’s employment rate. There was never any talk of a full-time position.”

With a bitter smile, Song Ji clinked her cup against Hae-som’s. The ice cubes floating on the surface like little buoys crashed downward.

“Why is life so dry? It feels like it sticks in your throat.”

The coffee that ought to have been bitter tasted sweet, and the life that ought to have been sweet tasted bitter.

Song Ji, who had already drained her drink with breezy ease, suddenly seemed to remember something. Letting out a soft, “Ah,” she started to speak.