The Bomb Goes Off!

The bomb went off!

It blew up.

Just as I'd expected.

I'd already given them one kick with the sheer novelty of the dish. Surprise had its place, but the real core was always the taste. And I'd hidden another kick inside that, too.

Texture.

That's why I chose lasagna from the very beginning—for the texture.

The pleasure of the chew. Mouthfeel was its own branch of flavor. So I'd stacked the gimbap layer by layer and packed it with a variety of fillings.

First came the kick hidden beneath the seaweed.

Fried vermicelli tucked under the gim.

I'd burned through heat for exactly this moment. Inspired by kadaif, the vermicelli itself exploded with a crisp, fry-like crunch the second you bit down.

Once that shatter of crispness passed, the next note arrived as if it had been waiting its turn.

Shredded, seasoned crab stick.

Finely torn and seasoned, the crab stick gently caught any blandness that might have slipped through. Crab stick and gimbap had always been a natural pairing. Softness rolling in right after the fry, carrying its own delicious seasoning—and before that seasoning could even fade, the perilla-oil seaweed met rice seasoned with black pepper.

Five beats, all told.

The snap of the gim. The crunch of the vermicelli. The softness of the crab stick. The kick of the seasoning. Then the rice that seemed to mellow everything before it stung back with a bright, peppery pop. Like a single ensemble piece falling into perfect time—and once the flavor hit that hard, how were they supposed to keep pretending?

Even if they'd wanted to lie, it would have been impossible.

"I-it's delicious!"

That expression unique to mukbang YouTubers—the face they only made when something was truly good. Once that look appeared, the game was already over.

"Whoa… how do you get this kind of flavor out of gimbap?"

"You called it lasagna gimbap, and it really is something new."

There was no fighting it. They had no choice but to admit it was good.

"All right, then—lasagna gimbap is a pass!"

"Wow. I could eat two rolls of this. No—two whole pieces."

"But the most important one is still left, right?"

"Exactly. The ramen's the key. This is a snack bar, after all!"

They refused to give up to the end. With the look of people who had sworn they would not hold back this time, they brought the Hong Kong ramen to their mouths.

Slurrrp—

One soft, clean mouthful—

They ate it the way people who reviewed restaurants for a living knew how to eat—so it looked delicious.

Fine. They might have wanted to call it bad right here. But this simply could not taste bad.

I'd boiled it even further and amplified it another full step.

By simmering the loofah broth, I'd pushed the flavor even higher. The clean, bright freshness from the green onions came rushing in and forced the "this is good" face out of them whether they liked it or not.

"Khhh…"

"This is insane."

In the end, they admitted the taste, too.

And so—the final stretch.

Whatever they'd been paid to show up, they had fought tooth and nail. The food was good. I would grant them that. The ideas were good, too.

But then—

"Um… does the unit cost even work out like this?"

"Exactly. It's delicious, but… other customers have to be able to order this too… It feels weird if you're only treating the three of us specially, you know?"

The realistic unit cost. In other words, they were dragging out the claim that this was nothing more than "hospitality cooking" for YouTubers.

Petty.

They simply would not admit defeat cleanly. From a reviewer's standpoint, though, I supposed it made for a decent justification. They were right—dishes that didn't hit the unit cost only ever lived as one-off events.

But the answer I could give them here had already been decided.

"Of course I balanced the unit cost."

"Huh?"

"Look carefully at the lasagna gimbap. There aren't that many ingredients in it."

Seaweed. Vermicelli. Crab stick. Rice. Surprisingly little went into it.

"Ah…!"

"Even with the various seasonings, it's easily doable inside the unit cost."

"But… it takes a lot of hands-on work, doesn't it?"

"Hands-on work? Sure, it does."

Well now. They were even worrying about the labor. Meaning the labor cost was too high. But what could they do?

I might not handle all the serving myself, but the cooking? I was more than enough on my own. And last of all, I had one thing they didn't.

"If it takes that much work, then that labor cost is also part of the unit price, so—"

"I do it alone. And instead—"

"Hm?"

Sincerity.

"Isn't it fun?"

"Excuse me?"

"If all I'd thought about was unit cost and making money, I would have gone with a different dish. Haha."

"What kind of—"

"Sure, it takes a lot of hands and there's a lot to consider, so it's rough in its own way. But I find this fun. So it's fine."

"Doesn't it wear you out?"

"Wear me out? Well, I don't know about now, but later I might feel it's hard and exhausting. That's a problem for later… Right now I like this, so it's fine. Cooking is fun for me."

I liked cooking. Even if they were enemies, when I fed them something delicious like this and saw the genuine joy that came out of them—I liked that. Yes. That was enough.

And honestly—

I'm making plenty of money already, aren't I?

In this good environment, doing what I wanted to do—how could it be hard? That was my real heart, and the way the present me was enjoying things. All I hoped for now was that it would come across.

The chat window I glimpsed in passing was exploding.

Defense battle: success.

I'm curious how far this Luck is going to reach.

The Luck stat.

In plain terms, it made things go smoothly. Even in my past life it had rarely appeared; I'd only obtained it years after awakening. Luck wasn't a power that manifested directly.

But the effect was solid.

Instead, I would naturally feel it guiding me toward good outcomes. The same dish would have a higher success rate. Things ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that should have failed on probability alone would succeed. As Luck rose, fortune simply followed.

Would this time produce the same result?

YouTube's reach turned out better than expected.

Maybe the unedited video that went up after the stream had luckily caught the algorithm. Replies piled up one after another under the three visiting YouTubers' videos. The effect showed immediately—and in a positive direction.

"This the place?"

"Oh, yeah! This is it! Looks just like the video."

"Nice! Let's eat right now."

"Dude, look at the crowd already. You can smell the 'good restaurant' vibe from here, right?"

New people had found us. Fresh customers I had never seen before.

"Gimbap over here!"

"Can we get that lasagna gimbap!?"

"Hong Kong ramen for me!"

What they were after was all the same—yesterday's dishes.

"Normally it's chef's choice, but today's a special exception—we can do it!"

"Oh! Please!"

"Me too!"

"Yes! Order received!"

What reason was there not to serve them? For the record, we had prepared everything in advance.

"Hyung-nim, you ready?"

"Of course! I've been boiling it hard since last night!"

Jang hyung-nim had already simmered a huge batch of loofah broth over at the Hong Kong restaurant. Even though he must have been worn out from boiling since yesterday, his face was bright.

"I can pay off one debt with this!"

"A debt?"

"You helped me add this menu, right? And in the end it all came back around to you, so I'm just too happy about it!"

"Hahaha. What kind of debt is that? Still, working together feels good."

"Right? It's great."

If anything, he looked even more energized.

"I'm ready too!"

Haraeng, whose dream had been cooking, had come out first thing in the morning and prepped the base ingredients. Frying the vermicelli, letting the seasoning soak into the crab stick, toasting the seaweed—simple work, but—

She'd been happy the whole time.

Throughout the prep, the smile never left her face. She'd said she was satisfied with just serving, but deep down she had clearly wanted to cook.

We'll have to talk about that later.

That was a discussion for another time.

"Additional order ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over here!"

"Yes, coming!"

Right now we were too busy clearing the new wave of orders.

Interior construction was still in full swing, but the building was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clearly going to become a café before long. On the highest rooftop of that place, four people stood. Three of them were the YouTubers who had "pulled off a job" yesterday—including HyunseungTV.

"…I'm sorry."

"We're really sorry."

Stationed in a building near the Factory Restaurant, they kept their heads bowed low—toward the PR team leader.

"It wasn't hard, was it? Go eat, say it's not good. Just that one line. Nothing special, right?"

"…Right."

"You were just supposed to set the scene a little. The rest was my job."

"That's correct."

The three admitted it easily enough. The PR team leader, however, pounded his chest in frustration as if he couldn't breathe.

No, why can't they do something this simple?

From his perspective, the current situation made no sense at all. Going there and saying it tasted bad wasn't that difficult. Yet they had failed.

"Haven't you been to places like Michelin French restaurants?"

"We have. Several times."

"Then why do you go around making those same impressed faces there?"

"That's…"

"That's what!"

What was so hard about this? He simply could not understand—until they said something even harder to understand.

"…It was actually delicious."

"Yeah. It was really good, okay? I tried to hold it in, but the second I ate it my mouth started watering and the dopamine just— I couldn't help it…"

"Same. It was seriously that good!"

Apparently recalling yesterday's flavors, they were even smacking their lips. The PR team leader grew even more flustered.

"Am I asking you for a taste review right now? I'm asking why you failed, and you're sitting there doing a flavor evaluation!"

"…"

"…"

"…"

Embarrassed, the three fell silent again. But the team leader's sense of absurdity refused to fade. The pounding in his chest wouldn't settle either.

If the boss finds out about this, I'm in trouble. I tried to score a few points and this is what happens?

What was supposed to earn him points had ended up helping the enemy. If it came out that he was the one behind it, things would get complicated fast.

This is as far as it goes.

A long tail only got you caught. The team leader decided to quietly close the matter for now.

"We'll keep this between us for the time being. Since the job failed, there won't be any separate ad-budget payout… hm?"

Just as he was trying to wrap things up, the PR team leader's phone rang. The name locked onto the screen was three syllables long.

"…Ah."

The moment he saw it, the team leader knew.

We're screwed.

This had been found out.