Jae-geon stared at the sujeonggwa granita with a troubled look.

“Lee Woon-seop.”

Woon-seop, who had been moistening his dry lips with eager anticipation, straightened his broad shoulders.

“Yes, Chef?”

“Money tight these days?”

“…Pardon?”

He’d mentioned having three children.

All daughters, if Jae-geon remembered correctly.

With prices soaring and the cost of raising kids only climbing higher, maybe he needed the extra money.

Something like the bonus for developing a new menu.

Otherwise, why else would he drag the head chef over to sample his desserts three times at the very least—and ten times at most?

Ever since transferring to the dessert station—around the same time his third daughter was born—Woon-seop had thrown himself into menu development with relentless enthusiasm.

Jae-geon leaned against the station, his brows knitting as his gaze settled on the finely shaved sujeonggwa ice filling the cocktail glass.

“You call it a granita, but it’s just half-frozen sujeonggwa.”

If there had been even the slightest twist on the original, he wouldn’t have been this disappointed.

He could have served it with pine nut dasik.

Or, at the very least, run it through a Pacojet and turned it into a sorbet.

“You know this is misleading the customers, right?”

Faced with the blunt criticism, Woon-seop bowed his bear-like head without protest.

“You’re right. Sorry for wasting your time, Chef.”

Despite being three years older than Jae-geon, Woon-seop always addressed him with impeccable respect.

Far more respectfully than the ones who started getting cocky the moment he let his guard down.

Maybe that was why.

Other than Jun-won, Woon-seop was the person Jae-geon trusted most.

He’d even considered putting the intern he’d taken on at a whim under Woon-seop’s wing.

The timing had seemed right.

Woon-seop oversaw desserts.

After appetizers, it was one of the easier stations for an intern to learn.

And every chef on the dessert team happened to be married—which, for reasons Jae-geon himself couldn’t quite explain, had somehow struck him as another point in Woon-seop’s favor.

In the end, only one thing stopped him.

Lee Woon-seop’s desserts.

Woon-seop liked to joke that he came from the lineage of the royal kitchen.

One ancestor had served as a court lady in the royal kitchens, another as a palace attendant.

That attendant, apparently, was the elderly Mrs. Noh who now ran the nuruk workshop in Insadong.

Whether it was in his blood or simply something he’d absorbed growing up, Jae-geon couldn’t say.

He’d first tasted Woon-seop’s food by chance at a drinking gathering.

Before the meal was over, he’d offered him a job.

Not earning its third Michelin Star the following year hadn’t been luck.

Woon-seop’s food had played no small part.

His cooking could fit into almost any station.

A little rigid.

A little rustic.

But his food fit in anywhere.

Desserts, however, were the lone exception.

Whether the techniques were simply too different or creativity just wasn’t his strength, Jae-geon didn’t know.

But the desserts made by CDP Lee Woon-seop weren’t even as good as those of a commis chef.

During Woon-seop’s first month after transferring departments, Jae-geon was on him every single day.

The youngest chef in desserts had quit after witnessing it.

That’s how tense the kitchen had become.

Like a breakwater standing against crashing waves, Woon-seop endured every outburst.

Once he’d finally begun getting the hang of desserts…

The food torture began.

Passion?

Fine.

Jae-geon welcomed passion.

But when a dessert showed no trace of thought—nothing beyond exactly what it claimed to be—it left him with almost nothing to evaluate.

Woon-seop caught the thorny look in his eyes and bowed again, somewhere between an apology and gratitude.

That was when—

“Urgh!”

The large man stumbled violently, thrown off balance.

The culprit wasn’t anyone bigger.

It was Hae-som.

Barely half his size.

Maybe even a quarter.

She shoved Woon-seop aside without warning.

No apology.

Not even a greeting.

Woon-seop blinked.

“H-Hae-som?”

Bambi.

Rookie.

Newbie.

Som-i.

She certainly had plenty of nicknames.

Her eyes trembled with restrained anger.

Dark shadows lingered beneath them.

She hadn’t slept again.

So what?

Going to ask me to put you to sleep again?

Jae-geon let out a slow breath.

As always, he smoothed back the bangs that had fallen over his forehead before lowering his hand.

His fingers caught the strings of her apron.

“H—!”

He pulled them loose with slow, practiced movements from behind her.

As though drawn by a magnet, Hae-som’s body drifted back against his chest.

His hands slid around her waist and met beneath her navel.

Was she actually eating properly?

For someone determined to become a world-class chef, she hardly seemed to eat. Her waist was so slender his hands almost wrapped around it.

He tied a neat knot below her navel before stepping back with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t know either.”

Why he’d extended her internship when she hadn’t even asked.

Why the thought of Yoo Eun-seong bothered him.

Why he worried her flat stomach would go empty.

Why he kept wondering how someone who disliked both seafood and meat managed to eat at all.

Or why the thought of her finally sleeping soundly one night—without him—and canceling their arrangement made his chest tighten.

He didn’t have answers.

It wasn’t simple affection for a junior.

That much he knew.

Whatever this feeling was…

He’d never experienced it before.

With a quiet sigh, Jae-geon pushed the thoughts aside and pulled over the staff meal tray he’d secretly set aside.

Rice with gondre greens.

Chive soy sauce.

Mushroom jeon.

Spinach doenjang soup.

A meal that looked exactly like something Hae-som might have grown up eating at Hunam-sa.

Hae-som accepted the tray, her expression growing even more conflicted.

“So let’s find out.”

He met her eyes.

“Tomorrow.”

---

The long-awaited day finally arrived.

Rows of bangjja yugi tableware gleamed with a muted golden glow atop crisp linen.

Under the warm pin lights, Jae-geon was inspecting each piece when his attention drifted elsewhere.

An interview was underway several tables away.

From the discussion about driver’s licenses, it sounded like they were hiring a replacement for the valet who’d recently quit.

“I’m currently on leave from the National Police University while completing my military service. Even if I return next semester, I’ll still be available to work Fridays and Saturdays like you requested.”

Oddly enough, the young man’s confident gaze kept landing on Jae-geon instead of Jun-won, who was conducting the interview.

Hwi, who had been inspecting the cutlery beside him, seemed to notice the same thing and glanced over as well.

“Anything else you’d like to ask?”

Only after Jun-won’s question did the applicant finally look away.

Jae-geon returned his attention to a piece of tableware with a tiny chip.

Once after washing.

Again while organizing.

And once more before service.

No matter how often he reminded everyone to inspect everything thoroughly, damaged pieces kept finding their way into his hands.

Hwi watched the faint line forming between Jae-geon’s brows before speaking.

“Know who that is?”

“Looks like the new parking staff.”

“I wasn’t asking about his job.”

“Then what?”

Hwi tossed the piece he’d been holding back into the tray with a loud clack and let out a long sigh.

“I seriously can’t tell whether you two are dating or not. Cha Ji-won’s the one who sent Hae-som here, right? I know it’s ancient history, but this is just asking for trouble—”

“Stay on topic.”

Jae-geon’s voice cut him off.

“Who is he?”

He watched as Jun-won handed the young man a name tag and uniform.

The applicant met Jae-geon’s stare head-on, answering it with an easy smile.

He looked about Hae-som’s age.

Then it clicked.

A name surfaced.

“…Yoo Eun-seong?”

“Oh, you already knew?” Hwi laughed. “No wonder you’ve been shooting lasers at him since he walked in.”

Just as he’d felt when he’d seen Hae-som’s phone ringing endlessly that night…

Jae-geon’s thoughts turned cold.

How close were they…

For her to follow him without hesitation after a night of drinking?

How did Hae-som really respond to Yoo Eun-seong’s feelings?

How likely was the very thing he’d been worried about—

The thing he’d probably keep worrying about—

To happen?

No matter how hard he tried to stay objective, unpleasant possibilities kept multiplying.

Meanwhile, the interview ended without incident.

Jun-won stood with Eun-seong, giving him a quick tour of the restaurant.

Spotting Jae-geon, he waved enthusiastically.

“Perfect timing. Come say hello. This is our head chef, Jung Jae-geon. And this is Yoo Eun-seong, who’s joining the valet team starting today.”

Then Jun-won added something he didn’t need to.

Something that landed like a deliberate reminder.

Or perhaps a warning.

“They’ve been friends with Hae-som for years.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Yoo Eun-seong smiled as he extended his hand. “Please take good care of Hae-som.”

The sharp-eyed smile.

The outstretched hand.

Jae-geon had just stepped into a perfectly laid trap.