Her Generosity

What she drew from her arms like a treasure hoard was the finest Korean beef tenderloin.

Wherever she had gotten it, the marbling was a work of art.

"Is that chateaubriand?"

"What!?"

Among cuts of Korean beef tenderloin, chateaubriand is the softest of all — the prime steak cut right from the very center of the tenderloin.

And she brought a whole mountain of it?

I had already heard the rumors that she never skimped on food. This, though, was beyond anything I could have imagined.

"You brought all this for a single meal?"

"Of course?"

"Wow……"

She spent what she earned. Straight into her own mouth.

"I want to put you to the test today."

"A test?"

That word caught me off guard — until I looked closer and realized it was nothing of the sort. Mischief was written all over her face.

"You know grilling is one of the fundamentals of cooking, right?"

"Ahh. So you want me to grill it for you?"

"Hehe. Is that a problem?"

"I'll do it. But I'm not making steak."

"Excuse me?"

Now it was her turn to be surprised. Of course she was — if you take chateaubriand and refuse to make steak, what else could you possibly do with it? Especially when you are still going to grill it.

There was one dish that fit the bill.

"You said grilling is a fundamental of cooking, didn't you?"

"Don't tell me……"

"I'll show you two methods today. Direct-flame grilling and charcoal grilling."

"……Ha."

Her mouth fell open. Direct flame and charcoal grilling — with this precious chateaubriand. A method she would never have considered.

I understood. There was a reason grilling sat among the fundamentals of cooking, just as she said.

Because if you try to do it properly, the difficulty is extreme.

And among all grilling techniques, direct flame and charcoal were infamous for how unforgiving they could be. One wrong move and the meat burned, or never cooked through at all. No wonder she was stunned.

"If you ruin even a single piece of this, I will hate you."

"That's a shame. I don't see any reason for you to hate me."

Whoosh—!

The instant her words left her mouth, I cranked the heat. Beside it, I lit a charcoal fire at once. Preparations to handle both methods in a single stretch.

Then I laid the first piece of chateaubriand over the roaring flames. Salt and pepper, nothing else — the only prep I had given the meat while we talked — and it settled onto the fire.

This was where it counted.

Heat control.

I had to govern the flames with the skill — but I could not lean on the skill alone.

One mistake and it would burn in an instant.

Not burnt, not underdone. I had to catch that fleeting moment when the juices sealed themselves inside.

Now!

The fire embraced the meat as if it were dancing, then died down in an instant at my will. Crisp on the outside, a rosy blush still holding its blood within.

It was the exact same sensation I had refined countless times in my past life, grilling monster meat over open flame.

"It's ready."

"Thanks for the meal!"

She lifted her fork. No broadcast-ready reaction. Nothing but pure eating.

Her cheeks puffed out round as dumplings. Every time the juices burst, the corners of her eyes curved into crescents.

"Wow……! I'm so happy."

She mumbled around a mouthful. It was no empty line. A fullness that went past mere satiety rolled off her in waves.

One plate. Two plates. The moment each piece left the grill, she polished it off. Twenty chunks of chateaubriand vanished in a blink.

All but one.

"That was amazing! I feel like a person again!"

"There's still one piece left."

"Our chef has to eat too! On the house!"

"Wow. Never thought I'd get free service in my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own shop."

"Hehe."

Looking thoroughly satisfied, she patted her stomach and rose from her seat. The shamelessness she had worn on her way in was nowhere to be found. She bowed with a shy little smile, like a bashful girl.

"I'll be back tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow I am not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠taking any ingredients you bring."

Honestly, if it had not been something as interesting as chateaubriand, today might have been a stretch too.

"Tch. Fine. I'll just wait in line!"

She left the shop with a light step. The door jingled shut, and silence settled in. But a warm glow still lingered inside the restaurant.

She really can eat.

I finished the last piece she had left me with genuine pleasure.

Not long after Hayoon vanished with that bright face, the day finally wound down.

It had been a long one. But I did not mind. No — I felt pretty good. Customers who ate with real appetite kept growing, and the other owners working alongside me wore their pleasure plain on their faces. Ha-rang's knife work improved by the day, and the range of what she could handle kept expanding.

All of it was good.

This is what I cook for.

I pulled down the shutter and locked the door. Click.

Complete stillness settled over the Factory Restaurant. With a clean, clear mind, I turned my back and walked away.

Kim Sunwu finished closing the shop and headed out. Eyes were watching him.

Across the street from the restaurant, in a pocket of darkness the streetlamps never reached — inside a parked black van.

Whirr—

A window cracked open a fraction. Through the gap, a camera lens glinted.

"So that's the place I need to dig into."

The man muttered as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he tracked Kim Sunwu's retreating figure through the viewfinder.

A real restaurant? Give me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a break.

The corner of his mouth twisted into a thin smile. He picked up the notepad from the passenger seat. A sensational title was scrawled across the page: Project: Exposing the Truth Behind the Factory Restaurant.

"Nobody comes out clean under a real scrub. Heh. I only need one thing. Just one."

The polished packaging the world raved about — stripping it off and hunting for the stench underneath was his specialty.

"Let's see where that so-called incredible food actually comes from."

The man hit the record button and began circling the Factory Restaurant.

The next day, lunch service was in full swing. Inside the Factory Restaurant, it was pure battlefield. Cooking calls and order shouts tangled together until no one could think straight.

"Table three, two lasagna kimbap!"

"Table seven, extra jjamppong!"

Jin-woo wove through the floor. I boiled noodles and poured broth without a single pause. Beside me, Ha-rang worked her knife like she was possessed.

Time flew. The rush finally broke, and break time was almost upon us — when the door opened and a single customer caught my eye.

Oh boy.

His walk was unsteady. His face was the color of dirt, and cold sweat beaded along his forehead.

One of two things.

Either a bad case of food stuck in his gut, or a catastrophic hangover. From where I stood, hangover looked more likely.

"Welcome! How many?"

"……Just one."

The man barely made it into a seat before collapsing face-first onto the table. He did not even have the strength to look at a menu.

"Jin-woo, we should get that man some ramen."

"He hasn't ordered yet."

"You can tell just by looking. His stomach is wrecked. He is going to want hangover ramen, no question."

"Ah!"

"Hold on."

Jin-woo started toward the table to take the order, but I raised a hand and stopped him. The root of the Factory Restaurant was Ramenkase. At times like this, the customer was not the one who decided the menu. I was.

Been a while since I really put some power into it.

A first-time customer — but a customer who had found his way to my restaurant all the same. Regular or newcomer, every guest was equal to me.

For settling a stomach, these two are the best.

Without hesitation I pulled dried pollack and bean sprouts from the fridge. The usual fiery ramen would be poison for a man in his state. What he needed was something to soothe his insides and flush the toxins out.

I maximized the detoxifying compounds in the bean sprouts and drew out the dried pollack's ability to purge toxins.

Whoosh!

I stir-fried the dried pollack over high heat and steeped a milky broth, then finely sliced a single Cheongyang chili and dropped it in.

Can't skip that edge of heat just shy of truly spicy.

The dish came together in a single breath.

The effects were exactly what I wanted!

"Order up."

"……Huh? I haven't ordered yet."

I carried the tray out myself and set it down in front of him. The man lifted his head with effort. Seeing milky broth instead of the usual red, he looked puzzled — then his expression shifted as if something had tugged at him.

"I, uh…… I didn't order this. Though I was going to order ramen."

"Haha. Figured as much."

"But…… this doesn't look like regular ramen."

"The concept here is that the owner decides. Haha. I serve whatever I feel like."

"Ah……!"

"Give it a try. Your stomach will clear right up!"

"Thank you!"

The man huffed a small laugh, as if the whole situation amused him. Then, energy flagging, he lifted a trembling spoon.

Slurp. The moment the hot broth slid down his throat—

"……!"

His pupils blew wide the instant the noodles went down. That locked, clogged feeling under his sternum cracked open. The pain that had been crushing his stomach melted away like a lie.

"Uwaaah……!"

A deep, involuntary groan of relief burst from him. Then he picked up speed. Slurp, slurp!

His spoon moved so fast it was hard to believe this was the same man who had looked half-dead moments before. His pores opened, and color returned to a face that had been corpse-pale.

"Haa…… I'm alive."

In just a few minutes he had emptied the bowl. He drew a long breath, pulled out his wallet as he came up to the counter, and bowed again and again.

"Boss, thank you so much. I thought I was going to die. Wow — how does a single bowl of ramen……"

"Glad to hear it. Come again next time."

The customer left with a light step. Watching his back, I allowed myself a small smile. That rush when a dish you chose freely landed exactly right for the person in front of you.

I never get tired of this, no matter how many times it happens.

Still warm with satisfaction, I shook out a dishcloth and turned around. This was usually when the next act started.

Jin-woo.

I expected him to hop around with something like, Whoa, hyung-nim! That was insane! That's my hyung!

But today he was oddly quiet.

"……"

Jin-woo said nothing. Tray still in his hands, he looked from the door the customer had just left through to me and back again. The usual playful expression was gone without a trace.

Why?

Jin-woo's eyes were trembling hard.

"Jin-woo?"

"……."