Unexpected Events (1)
The curtain rose on the festival.
The 20th Gourmet Street Festival!
The streets were packed tighter than usual. Banners fluttered from every streetlamp, and the photo zones set up all over the place kept bursting with the sound of camera shutters. It was clear Jang On-gyu had poured serious money into this.
"Whoa, they're going all out this time, huh?"
"Hey, check that photo zone. The flower decorations are insane."
"How much cash did they dump into this?"
The entire once-quiet Shinsigaji was buzzing. A full-blown smash hit, in every sense of the word. And that massive wave of people, whether Jang On-gyu intended it or not, naturally spilled over toward our place.
"Welcome! This is the Factory Restaurant!"
Jinwoo's voice rang out as he greeted customers. Full house the second we opened. The waiting line stretched all the way outside the factory.
"Whoa, what's the vibe in here? This is an actual factory?"
"It's so hip… and what about that lettuce over there?"
"Let's just call that one 'unique' for now."
The rough concrete walls of the abandoned factory and the green plants I'd carefully cultivated—this mismatched harmony hit the festival crowd's sensibilities dead-on. It was the raw opposite of the polished street Jang On-gyu had laid out. In an era when "different" itself counted as fresh, it landed hard.
Thanks to that, the kitchen became a battlefield. A battlefield where you took orders, killed them, and pushed them out as fast as humanly possible.
"Boss! Four Hong Kong ramen, five lasagna kimbap! Oh, and extra shrimp-free fritters!"
"Got it."
"Boss! Two more ramen over here!"
"Additional order? Again?"
"They said they want more!"
"Tell them not to overeat and get sick."
"Yes, sir. From now on I'll warn them when I take extra orders."
"Good."
But it was a joyful battlefield. My hands never stopped moving. Pour the prepped stock. Boil the noodles. The moment I finished rolling a kimbap, Harang—who had stepped in as kitchen help—sliced it beside me.
Chop. Chop.
The detail of cutting clean through to the very edge of the seaweed. Harang was nailing that, slicing each roll into neat, even pieces.
Not bad at all.
Seventy percent of cooking is knife work. Doing that well alone meant Harang had every right to stand in a kitchen. I really do know how to pick people. Someone with a passion for cooking this intense. With a reliable partner like that, I could throw everything into the burners.
The senses I'd honed just to stay alive during the apocalypse now exploded into pure cooking instinct, all for the sake of making customers happy.
Cookware Enhancement
Knife sharpness reinforced.
Wok heat conductivity reinforced.
A blade edged with keenness danced. One toss of the wok painted everything with the taste of fire. The finished dishes barely left the pass before the reactions hit…
"Insane. What is this broth? Hangover cure on another level."
"The kimbap texture is crazy. The layers are actual lasagna."
"This fritter sounded like a joke, but it's no joke at all."
Exclamations burst out from every direction. And it wasn't just my food.
"Apple soup coming out! Try some Hong Kong home cooking!"
Brother Jang's voice was full of power too. Customers who had rounded their eyes at the unfamiliar loofah dish were giving thumbs-up the second they took a spoonful. The second-floor café was chaos as well. Diners who finished their meals naturally headed upstairs for Brother Woo's coffee, and the espresso machine never stopped running.
This was perfect synergy.
Beautiful.
Not a single won spent on sponsorship fees, and we were reaping the benefits. We caught the wave of people that came our way with nothing but taste and skill. Even if it was just planting our spoons on the massive table Jang On-gyu had set, I didn't care. No—it felt damn good.
We suffered last time trying to find a place thanks to him. This time, let's properly enjoy the free ride.
Looking at the flood of order tickets, the corners of my mouth lifted on their own.
Stat <Luck> has activated.
Was it just my imagination? In the battlefield of the kitchen, the timing of the stock, the moment the noodles hit perfect doneness—everything locked into place with uncanny precision.
This was a festival. And this was real business.
The storm blew through and was gone.
Lunch service sold out. Dinner service wiped the ingredients clean. That was the result of running without a single break for the festival.
"Ugh! I'm dying!"
"Hey, quit the drama. You ate two bowls of ramen."
"That's separate! My legs still hurt!"
The friends Jinwoo had rushed over—kids thrown in as short-term festival hires—were sprawled across the floor. Sweat-soaked bangs, flushed faces. They were howling about how exhausted they were, but their expressions stayed bright. Youth really was something.
"Alright, everyone, listen up!"
At my call, every pair of eyes locked on me. I pulled out the thick envelopes I'd prepared earlier.
"You all worked hard today. This is small, but it's my way of saying thanks."
"Oh! Boss! Is this the weekly pay?"
"No. Today's wages."
"Huh?"
The kids' eyes went huge the moment the envelopes hit their hands. The ones who opened them had their jaws on the floor. Double the promised hourly rate, plus a fifty-thousand-won Shin Saimdang note on top for taxi fare.
"Whoa, Boss! Is this for real?"
"You didn't make a mistake, right? I'm not giving this back."
"It's a festival. We should enjoy it together. Think of it as special hazard pay."
They erupted into cheers.
"Boss! Loyalty! I'll bury my bones here!"
"Boss, want me to bring more friends? No—if Jinwoo ever quits, just tell me first!"
"You little—!"
Simple but absolute. As always, what moves people isn't words—it's solid compensation. Whether in the apocalypse or now, that truth never changed.
"Tomorrow's going to be as busy as today. Maybe busier. Come ready."
"Don't worry, sir! I'll burn this body to ash!"
"See you tomorrow! Loyalty!"
The kids snapped ninety-degree bows and bolted out of the factory in high spirits. Laughter trailed behind them without a break. Watching their backs, Jinwoo snorted a laugh.
"Hyung, you're gonna spoil those kids."
"They did great for first-timers. You take better care of the ones who do well. That way they show up fired up tomorrow, right?"
"True. Looking at those faces, they'll be flying around tomorrow."
Jinwoo grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.
We closed the factory doors and hung the "Preparing" sign. Now it was just our time.
"Hahaha! Everyone worked hard!"
Brother Jang's booming laugh filled the factory. Brother Woo came over as he untied his apron, his face full of clean exhaustion rather than fatigue.
"Today was truly historic. All the extra beans I prepped for the festival are gone."
"Same here. The apple soup? We ran out and still couldn't keep up."
Brother Jang, face flushed, launched into war stories with full hand and foot gestures. Brother Woo laughed, in a good mood, and cracked a can of beer.
Hiss. Clack.
The crisp sound spread through the factory.
"Come on, everyone grab one! It's a festival day, right? We've got to enjoy it somehow!"
"Absolutely!"
We knocked our cans together. Cold beer slid down our throats.
Refreshing.
The day's fatigue washed clean away. Brother Woo wiped the foam from his lip, eyes sparkling.
"Honestly—Jang On-gyu set the whole board, but it feels like we're the ones sweeping up all the money, doesn't it?"
"Right? Photo zones and everything, they spent all the cash, and people are coming here to eat."
I smiled watching the two of them snicker. This was it. A place that smelled like people. This moment of sweating together and celebrating together. It wasn't simply because we'd made a lot of money. It was proof we hadn't been wrong. The sweetest part was the thrill that we—who had nearly been shoved aside by the massive capital and system Jang On-gyu brought—were flipping this board with pure skill.
The mood is good.
It felt like we would only keep climbing from here.
Until then, at least.
An office with a full view of Shinsigaji.
Jang On-gyu stood by the window, looking down at the streets turned into a sea of lights by the festival. Flashing neon, crowds packing every inch—the perfect picture he had designed and funded himself.
Knock knock.
Secretary Park entered. His steps were light.
"Reporting, sir."
"How is it?"
"Even accounting for the festival, we're above projections. Sales up three hundred fifty percent versus last week. All-time high."
The tablet Secretary Park held out showed a steeply climbing graph. The corner of Jang On-gyu's mouth lifted. Three hundred fifty percent, and this was only the beginning. Pouring money under the banner of sponsorship fees had been worth it.
"The weekend will be even better. Once the invited singers arrive, the crowds will multiply several times over."
"Right. Row when the tide comes in."
The title of business genius wasn't free. He knew how to set a board, and he knew how to own it. Everything was going smoothly.
Except for one place.
Jang On-gyu lifted his teacup and asked casually, "And them?"
There was no subject. But Secretary Park understood instantly. The far end of Shinsigaji. The Factory Restaurant that had rejected his offer and chosen to go its own way. Here, he hesitated.
"Well…"
"Speak."
"…They're booming as well. No—to be honest, they've hit it big."
Secretary Park continued his report with an awkward look. "The festival crowds are flowing their way."
"Flowing?"
"Yes. They're enjoying a textbook trickle-down effect. The waiting line is said to reach outside the factory."
Clack. The sound of the teacup being set down rang unusually loud. Jang On-gyu's eyes narrowed.
They called it a city festival. This was a festival board he had built with enormous sums of his own money. Promo costs, booking fees, facility fees. On the table he'd laid with massive capital, people who hadn't paid a single won in sponsorship had planted their spoons. And they were even getting famous as a must-eat spot?
"Quite the talent. Filling their bellies at someone else's table."
Secretary Park watched his face carefully. He had expected a roar to drop any second. But the reaction was unexpected. Instead of anger, Jang On-gyu let out a soft chuckle.
"Leave them."
"Sir? But… if you need, I can bring in the head of PR."
"No. Tell them to laugh and enjoy themselves for now. Let them get a good taste of the money."
Jang On-gyu turned his gaze back to the window. Far in the distance, the abandoned factory district sank into darkness, barely visible. The ones who thought they could survive on pure luck, or pure skill. Greenhorns who still didn't know that the ecosystem of self-employment was never that gentle.
"The fall always hurts more when you drop from high up."