Siege Effect
The fence operation he had prepared with such ambition had failed.
Worse than failed — it had handed the other side a pair of wings called special-booth marketing.
The report had soured his mood so thoroughly that he canceled his patrol of the festival grounds and was on his way home.
"Sir, traffic's a little heavy."
"At this hour? The festival's the other way."
"I don't know. People are suddenly pouring in."
At his driver's words, Jang On-gyu frowned and looked out the window.
The scene beyond the glass was unfamiliar.
By everything he knew, this place should have been dead.
The old food-truck zone, cut off from the festival's main street and slated for redevelopment — currently a night-market lot.
A place where even a few streetlamps had gone out, grim enough to feel haunted.
"…What the hell is that?"
It was a city that never slept.
The night market that should have been sunk in darkness blazed as bright as noon.
Music thumped through the air. Laughter spilled in a riot of voices. And above all, the mouthwatering smell that crept even into the car.
Jang On-gyu's eyes went wide.
"Wasn't that place supposed to be finished?"
"It was, but… there are a lot of people out there."
"I can see that."
As the car crawled forward, Jang On-gyu saw it clearly.
Three food trucks standing at the heart of the crowd.
And on top of one of them, putting on a fire show and commanding the whole throng — a single man.
Kim Sunwu.
"Ha…!"
Him again.
A hollow laugh burst from Jang On-gyu's mouth.
He'd blocked the way, and the man had forced it open.
And this time, opening it wasn't enough — he was swapping out the whole board.
Land Jang On-gyu had discarded. Commerce he had killed.
And there the man went, performing CPR on it in plain sight.
"Crazy bastard."
"Sir?"
"Nothing."
The curse had slipped out, but he couldn't look away.
Was it only an illusion that this shabby, rough-edged night market seemed more alive than the main festival grounds he had poured hundreds of millions into?
No. It wasn't an illusion.
People were having fun — faces that said they were enjoying a real festival.
"Talented, too. Infuriatingly talented."
Jang On-gyu rolled up the window.
Watch any longer and his stomach would turn.
But the image of Kim Sunwu would not leave his mind.
Block him with a fence and he used the fence. Drive him out and he made himself king of the place he was driven to.
Weed of a bastard.
The harder you stomped him, the tougher he came back.
Jang On-gyu sank deep into the seatback.
For some reason, he did not think he would sleep tonight.
The black sedan vanished into the dark.
At the very moment Jang On-gyu left, a man came staggering past the night-market entrance.
It was Ga PD, the variety division's star producer.
"Ugh, I'm drunk. So drunk."
"Haha. At least you got all the cuts, right?"
"Heh. That's why I drank myself into the mud!"
Several days of event shooting had finally wrapped.
The footage came out ridiculously good. Say what you want about President Jang — the man knows how to frame a shot. He'd have made a fine broadcaster. No — if he had, I'd be out of a job. Heh heh.
They were heading back to the lodging after the wrap party.
Something was off, though.
"Huh? Why's it so loud over here?"
"Yeah, what's going on?"
The night market that by rights should have been drowned in darkness was lit up like midday, and with the thumping music came a rolling wave of delicious smells.
Drawn in as if under a spell, he pushed through the crowd and somehow ended up with a skewer in his hand.
"On the house!"
What? Did this night market just hand out free skewers?
Had someone from TV shown up? If it was for the cameras, he could understand that much.
Crunch.
The moment he bit in without much expectation—
"…!!!"
Ga PD's eyes flew open.
The taste sobered him cold.
Juices bursting through a crisp shell. Sauce wrapping the tongue, and no sooner had it faded than the mouth filled with fire-kissed smoke.
He had already eaten, and still his mouth flooded with saliva; his nostrils flared.
What the hell!
This was not street-food level.
Who made this?
He snapped his head up.
The skewer truck. A man spinning a wok and shooting a brilliant pillar of flame into the sky filled Ga PD's vision.
In that instant the whole space unfurled inside Ga PD's head.
Kim Sunwu conducting a vast crowd with nothing but cooking — and the people being pulled into that force like a current — all of it painted itself clearly.
"…Whoa."
A gasp escaped Ga PD.
The taste was one thing, but the picture worked.
This is the real deal. With a little shaping… no, maybe it doesn't even need shaping.
His producer's instincts screamed like a siren.
It works. It works on camera.
Skewer still in hand, Ga PD's eyes lit up like a predator that had just found its quarry.
"If this goes well… this could be fun."
A new idea was detonating in his head.
Sunday that followed was pure war as well.
They still haven't taken the fence down. Last scrap of pride, huh?
Lunch sold out. Dinner ingredients exhausted. At night we moved to the night market for a second front.
Only after the relentless storm had passed could we finally draw a rough breath.
"Everyone head home. I'll finish the cleanup and leave."
"No, hyung! We'll do it together!"
"It's fine. Go. See you tomorrow."
I forced Jin-woo out.
The kid looked so exhausted it was painful to watch.
It can't be easy for him either. He looks like this and he's still juggling school.
By the time I finished the rest of the cleanup, the dawn air was cold.
My body felt as heavy as waterlogged cotton, but my mind was strangely clear.
The high of having survived the middle of a battlefield.
We had flipped the board Jang On-gyu laid down, and then we had eaten the whole thing.
A perfect victory.
Once the cleanup was done, only the debris of the festival drifted through the streets.
The dazzling lights were out; the throng had ebbed away like a tide.
A quiet street.
Footsteps broke the silence.
"Boss?"
It was Ha-rang. I had thought she already left, but she was standing under a streetlamp.
"You haven't gone home?"
"Well… I just didn't want to leave yet."
"You worked just as hard today. You must be exhausted."
"I'm too hungry to sleep, I think."
She smiled shyly.
Fair enough. We had fought a whole day of war-like service without a single proper meal among us.
"Want to walk a bit, then? Grab something to hold us over."
We walked side by side through streets the festival had already swept through.
A few stalls were still open here and there — chicken skewers, takoyaki, tornado potatoes.
"One of these, please."
"And that, too."
We bought the leftover festival food one by one.
Cold chicken skewers. Soggy fries.
By rights the taste should have been wretched.
But something was strange.
"It's good."
"Right? It's not good, but it's good."
Ha-rang laughed with sauce at the corner of her mouth.
I thought of the hard scraps of bread I used to share with someone in the apocalypse.
Back then, what mattered was not the taste but the fact of eating together — and it felt a little like that now.
We walked in silence, savoring the last afterglow of the festival.
By the time we looked up, we were at Ha-rang's door.
"Tomorrow's a day off, so I'll see you Monday."
"Yes!"
"Get some real rest."
"Of course!"
I watched her go all the way in, then turned with a small smile.
Now it was my turn to go home.
For some reason my nose felt itchy.
I'll see her Tuesday, then.
And the next day — Monday.
The restaurant's regular day off.
It would have been a perfect chance to sleep in, but my eyes opened on their own.
The moment I woke, I headed for the shop.
This is why habits are terrifying.
Even on a day off, if I didn't check the ingredients, I got restless.
An empty Factory Restaurant.
From a kitchen that should have held nothing but silence came a steady, rhythmic sound.
"Huh?"
Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak.
The sound of a knife on a cutting board. Who…?
Jin-woo should have been dead to the world by now.
I quieted my steps and approached the kitchen.
Through the open crack of the door, a familiar back came into view.
Ha-rang?
The woman I had expected to see tomorrow, on Tuesday.
Even on her day off she had come in and was slicing something.
Her hands working a white radish into fine shreds looked serious. More than serious — almost grimly determined.
What kind of stance is that…
I leaned against the doorframe and watched in silence.
The grip on the knife, the angle of the shoulders, the way her eyes tracked the blade.
It was closer to a swordsman handling a sword than a cook working a knife. A memory from my past life flickered past.
The one who had stood at my side and carved monsters apart with a single blade.
In the line of her back, that person's shadow seemed to overlap.
Born a warrior after all, huh?
Cooking might be the ideal, but maybe the real gift was for cutting things down.
"Haa…"
After a long stretch of focus, Ha-rang let out a short breath and set the knife down.
The way she wiped the sweat from her brow was both endearing and a little heartbreaking.
"Practicing on your day off?"
"Kyaa!"
At my voice, Ha-rang startled violently and spun around.
Caught, maybe — her face went red as a radish.
"B-Boss! When did you get here?"
"Just now. The knife work sounded so cheerful I wandered over like I was under a spell."
"Ah! I—I'm sorry. Using the kitchen without asking…"
"Nothing to apologize for. You work here. It's not some free-for-all kitchen like the old days, so don't worry. Haha."
"I know, but still…"
"Don't give it a second thought. The harder you practice and the better you get, the happier I am."
I walked over smiling and looked at what lay on the board.
Shredded radish.
Good choice. For knife practice, nothing beats this.
I studied the cut radish. Even thickness, clean surfaces.
Talent, no question.
Whether it was talent for cooking or talent for the blade, I couldn't say.
The more she cuts, the more she probably gets into it.
It had been that way before. Odds were high it still was.
"Do you like working with a knife?"
"Huh? Ah—yes. I like the feeling when the blade meets the ingredients."
"Then want to learn it properly?"
At my offer, Ha-rang's eyes went round.