Even after a sleepless night, Song Hae-som stood there as calm and steady as ever. Her plating was clean and simple, just like him. Her expression was exactly the same as the day she first stepped into Not—back when she had held out that ridiculous letter of recommendation from Cha Ji‑won.
Jae‑geon leaned against the chef’s table, his head swimming. He stood with arms crossed, pretending to be stern and waiting. Then Hae-som stepped forward and presented her four‑course burdock menu.
“This is the burdock tasting menu you asked for. I’ll wait for your evaluation before service begins.”
From the neat, careful arrangement alone, he could tell—without even tasting—how much effort this must have cost her. How fierce she must have struggled… all so she could leave him.
A sharp, bitter ache spread through his chest. He stood frozen, unable to speak, as she stepped forward and set the tray before him.
“I hope you will keep the promise you made.”
A polite, firm way of saying: Hurry up and taste it.
He followed her arrangement, course by course. First came the burdock ceviche—shaved into long, elegant ribbons, curled like delicate lace. Tucked between each fold were slices of perfectly roasted matsutake. They fit together beautifully.
Her plating was clean, uncluttered—just like him. Instead of piling on unnecessary garnish, she had dotted it carefully with balsamic reduction—just the way he would have done it.
More exactly… it reminded him of the dishes he himself had struggled to perfect during his years in France. It was as though she had studied his old recipe notes and committed them perfectly to memory.
Beyond the question of whether she would stay or go… his first thought was simply: she is incredible. He had poured over every detail of his own work until his eyes burned—and now she had surpassed him.
She had not simply used the burdock flesh—she had blanched it keeping the skin intact. An inspired choice, preserving both its nutrients and its texture. This appetizer of hers… was flawless.
Perfect enough to serve to guests, exactly as it was.
“Ah…”
He had overlooked one thing—her terrifying, innate mastery of Korean cuisine, and especially temple cooking. No matter how he searched… he could find not a single flaw. From appetizer all the way through dessert, his judgment remained exactly the same: perfect.
As Head Chef Jung Jae‑geon… he should have been awestruck. He should have marked this for the menu next quarter without hesitation. But as the man who loved her, he didn’t have the courage to face the truth.
There must be something better. Some recipe even she has not yet found. Something I myself have not yet discovered.
Therefore… you cannot leave me.
A bird that had been perched near the stone pagoda took flight in a sudden rustle. The sky stood vast and high—at the very threshold of autumn. The sunset, slowly deepening, washed over Jae‑geon’s face.
Golden light… then amber… then deep, burning crimson. And finally, as the light turned black… he turned around. Jun‑won stood there, watching him with a heavy, troubled look.
“Aren’t you coming to the briefing?”
Hae-som’s voice—steady, determined—echoed in his ringing ears.
“I will wait for your evaluation before service begins.”
She would ask him. She would demand to know—was it good enough? And as her Head Chef, before anything else… he knew he must praise her. Must acknowledge her. Must let her go.
“I hope you will keep the promise you made.”
Watching that single bird fly away had left him hollow enough… how could he ever let her go?
He would use every means. Every single way. To keep her here. Whatever it took.
“Jung Jae‑geon!”
Jun‑won’s shout snapped him back to his senses. His mind, drifting far away, landed somewhere entirely unexpected.
“Where is Yoo Eun-seong?”
There had to be a way to change her mind. And if anyone knew… surely that man—who showed up every Friday and Saturday at valet, clearly miserable on her behalf—would know.
“It’s his day off. And today’s Wednesday.”
He could barely keep track of days anymore. His world had fallen apart. Yet one thing remained perfectly clear: he would keep her. No matter what.
“Give me Yoo Eun-seong’s number.”
For the first time since opening day… Jae‑geon did not enter the kitchen for service. He could not.
Every sense of his began and ended with her. Sight, smell, touch… even taste—all of it had gone numb. Even the faint, familiar scent of pine he knew so well had vanished.
Fortunately… the summer menu was nearly finished. Every chef knew it by heart. Service would hold together without him.
The CDPs, all senior chefs in their own right, would take turns standing at Chef’s Table. It would be a fine test of their skills… a rare opportunity.
And Hae-som… who had been so eager to leave… would surely wonder why he never came.
He sat perched on the hood of his car, plucking pine needles, when a tall figure approached.
“You’re early.”
Yoo Eun-seong bowed—polite, respectful… yet with something faintly off, something sharp in his tone.
“I live nearby. Should I report to the valet team?”
“If there were an issue there… Cha Jun‑won would have called you already.”
Jae‑geon let the pine needles drift away on the wind and stood up. He was tall—over 180cm—and Eun-seong stood nearly a head shorter. They faced one another, eye to eye.
Eun-seong smiled—a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. Sharp. Cold. Annoyed at being called in on his day off.
At that moment… Jae‑geon had no idea what that smile meant. He could never have guessed.
“Not valet. I need you to drive me.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Let’s say I have.”
He tossed the keys into Eun-seong’s palm and wrenched open the rear passenger door. Then added, as the younger man stared bewildered:
“I’ll pay you well. Let’s go.”
Eun-seong simply raised an eyebrow—insolent, perhaps, but capable. A promising young man. Tall enough—over 180cm. Strong too—he was a police academy student returning from leave. Sharp‑featured, handsome… the kind girls fell for easily.
They had known each other for years… so why had he and Hae-som never worked out?
Yoo Eun-seong adjusted the seat and mirrors like he’d done it a hundred times before. Their eyes met in the rearview.
“Where to?”
“Your place.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Take us to your house, Yoo Eun-seong.”
Eun-seong stepped on the gas without another question. The powerful car surged forward, so suddenly it nearly hit the entrance gate. He steered smoothly onto the road, watching carefully ahead.
“Nice car.”
“You know cars well. And you handle them well too.”
“Not me. My brother loved them. I just picked things up being around him.”
Jae-geon smiled faintly, doesn’t care by the unexpected mention of someone else.
“You were close.”
“We were.”
A flush rose on Eun-seong’s cheeks. He stopped the car just short of the line and looked deep into Jae‑geon through the mirror. His eyes trembled—with a longing so intense it was almost painful.
“Cut to the chase, Chef. Why am I here?”
“…What?”
“You skip service. Drag me in on my day off. Is there anything important enough for that… besides Song Hae-som?”
Jae-geon let out an empty laugh, the words striking straight through him. Eun-seong smiled back, cool and knowing, as he pulled back onto the road.
“Let me guess. What am I to her? Her first love? A shared past? Or… am I just someone you hate?”
He spoke with the same sharp, direct frankness Hae-som always used. Jae‑geon met him calmly.
“Are you so very fond of me, then?”
“Not particularly. In several ways.”
The honesty felt almost refreshing. Jae‑geon smiled.
Slowly… his senses began returning. He looked at the back of Eun-seong’s head, sharp and angular, so different from Hae-som’s soft, round features. And that scent… a rich, woody shampoo drifting from him… familiar… and suddenly chilling.
He wiped his cold, damp palms against his trousers. And then Eun-seong spoke.
“Do you love Song Hae-som?”
Love? That word was far too small. What he felt was something else entirely.
And so here he was, doing the one thing he’d never imagined doing. Asking the man who loved her too—her close friend, hiding a secret love—how to win her heart.
Eun-seong turned the car around at the gate and pulled over to the curb. He shifted into Park, set the brake, and turned fully to face him.
“I loved her too. Once. A long time ago. Before it was over before it even began.”
It did not sound like bitterness—like he had confessed and been rejected and nursed a grudge ever since. The two of them had always been easy together—Hae-som quick and sharp, Eun-seong steady and quick‑witted.
“Why did it end?”
“Because my brother loved her too.”
He smiled—a sad, crooked smile.
“In a way… they were each other’s first love. And each other’s unrequited love.”
Only then did it click. The brother Eun-seong kept mentioning…
Hae-som’s first crush. The one she had loved quietly. The one who had loved her back… and who had stood between Eun-seong and her all along.
Yoo Eun‑ho.
A cold, dark suspicion tightened Jae‑geon’s eyes. He gripped his seatbelt.
Eun-seong sat perfectly still—adjusting mirrors, checking his posture—then turned fully toward him, leaning in.
“Chef.”
His gaze swept slowly over Jae‑geon’s face—forehead, brows, eyes, nose, mouth—lingering, measuring. He stopped at the line of his jaw, then spoke words that would change everything.
“Hae-som… she has terrible taste in men. She only ever liked the same type.”
Jae‑geon frowned.
“She liked my brother. And you… apart from being healthier and stronger… you look exactly like him. It’s almost eerie. Honestly, it’s disturbing.”
“…What?”
Who… who do I look like?
His heart slammed against his ribs. His breath caught, stammering and broken.
Eun-seong smiled—sharp, satisfied, cruel—and drove the final spike home.
“Be fair, Chef. Don’t be jealous of a dead man. Play fair… even against a ghost.”
