Chapter 111
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: Homesickness
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Park Ji-hoon knew it in his head.
So-hyang wouldn't actually harm him in any way.
Even in his previous life, she was one of those rare people who hardly ever hurt civilians, and from what he'd seen of her in the Hanlim Academy newsletter, her personality seemed even milder than that.
Above all, she was a promising talent of the empire, protected by the transcendent Dean.
That... no, her? Anyway, that person had no reason to harm him, and even if she tried, the situation wasn't one where his safety was guaranteed.
Yet, he couldn't help being afraid.
The power of the martial artists he'd encountered in this life had surprised him, but at least he could understand it.
The supernatural energy called qi that responded to human will. Phenomena he could comprehend sparked curiosity more than fear.
Martial arts and martial artists were accepted pillars of society in this world, making adaptation easy.
But So-hyang from his previous life? She defied all understanding.
Bullets bouncing off her like rain, reinforced concrete slicing like tofu—no one could accept that.
When he'd seen her deflect a grenade's blast and shrapnel with wind pressure from her sword swings, he'd only laughed in disbelief.
Seriously comparing her to most martial artists here, she seemed stronger back then.
Physical force worked on most martial artists, except a tiny elite, and modern firearms from his past life were highly advanced physical weapons.
If guns reached that modern level here, the martial world might not collapse, but it wouldn't hold its current status.
Yet that being, even without qi, martial arts, sword qi, or protective arts, had sliced through guns and tanks like butter from the start.
So, what about now...?
He couldn't even imagine.
Incomprehensible, bizarre, an anomalous phenomenon—an urban legend come to life, a walking glitch.
A fear like seeing game bugs and glitches manifest in reality.
It was trauma etched into his psyche.
He seemed to have earned some favor with the Dean, but Park Ji-hoon had no desire to get close to So-hyang.
Ideally, keep physical distance and never see her face.
Let her live her life while he forgot her existence and stayed unconnected.
Though whether So-hyang herself would oblige... was doubtful.
"-Assistant, the White Lotus Sword was looking for you to continue that story from yesterday..."
"Hah, Dean, can't you cover for me...? Say I'm on a business trip or dispatch..."
"Hmm, do you really have to avoid her that much...? Fine, I'll say that for now."
The Dean didn't understand why he was trembling in fear but granted his request.
Only after hearing that So-hyang had left without protest did Park Ji-hoon, pale as a ghost, exhale in relief.
"Oh, she left something for you as a gift."
"...Pardon? What's that—"
"What was it? Hometown food?"
In the Dean's hand was a three-tiered lunchbox wrapped in cloth, carrying a familiar, nostalgic aroma that pierced Park Ji-hoon's nose.
Spicy, sweet-and-sour, with that distinctive umami asserting itself through the scent...
"K-Kimchi... smell?"
Park Ji-hoon's eyes shook violently.
-----
Park Ji-hoon's second life in the Central Plains was peaceful, without major upheavals.
His family was well-off and harmonious, and as not the eldest son, he had no duty to inherit the business.
Unlike the barbaric society of ancient China in original history, human rights and hygiene were well-established, and even the capital, Beijing, had sewers with flush toilets.
The food was exceptionally good.
The land blessed by the Yellow Dragon yielded harvests comparable to post-Fritz Haber in his previous life, and suspiciously efficient economy and logistics ensured abundant ingredients.
No suffering from crude food as he'd feared at reincarnation; every meal was bountiful.
Still, he occasionally craved his true homeland's food—the previous life's, one he could never return to.
Even trying to make it himself, he was a cooking illiterate, producing only waste.
Asking the family chef failed too; his explanations couldn't recreate the memory.
This world had the peninsula that was his homeland, but the era predated the Korean cuisine he knew, so no luck.
Not that getting food from current Goryeo made sense anyway, even before any famine.
Longing for previous life's connections whose faces he could barely recall, that subtle emptiness in every bite.
Park Ji-hoon was indeed suffering from homesickness.
Not severe enough to disrupt life—just occasional bitterness he could endure.
Craving vending machine coffee during research headaches, or hot fish-shaped buns in winter.
Greasy Central Plains food sometimes made him crave kimchi madly, but obsessing over the absent only hurt himself.
Time would fade it; he'd grow numb eventually. Missing food wouldn't ruin life.
...Thus he tried to forget the past, until a packed lunchbox arrived.
Perfectly timed for his empty stomach.
"Kimchi... kimchi stew..."
Perfectly fermented kimchi's flavor infused the bright red broth, enriched by generous pork fat.
Forgetting fear of So-hyang momentarily, Park Ji-hoon dazedly scooped the stew.
Trembling hands brought it to his mouth.
"W-Wow..."
The thickened broth burst with spicy, sweet, tangy umami clinging impossibly to his tongue.
Not the numbing Sichuan heat, but subtle, lingering spiciness.
"...Rice, rice."
No delay. White rice to balance the intense aftertaste.
Eyes glazing, he devoured the glossy rice from another tier.
Then lost his mind.
"What rice is this...?"
Subtle sweetness growing with each chew, perfect sticky texture—not mushy or underdone.
Rice with such inner power you'd never tire of it plain.
Beyond emotion from rarity, better than limited-time haute cuisine costing hundreds of thousands per meal.
Topped with red kimchi stew, fermented kimchi-soaked pork, and tofu...
Was such demonic temptation allowed?
"Th-This is insane..."
And now, unstoppable.
"Wow, rolled omelet."
Thick, golden omelet with subtle salt and chopped green onions.
"Seaweed."
Crispy black semiconductor brushed with sesame oil and sprinkled with salt.
"...This kimchi is insane."
Koreans eat kimchi fried rice as staple, kimchi stew as soup, and more kimchi as side.
Of course, napa kimchi was included.
Perfectly ripened, just before over-fermenting—proper winter kimchi he rarely had even before.
Spinach, sweet pumpkin, bamboo shoots, perilla leaves, various namul filling the table.
He hadn't loved such greens before, but two decades in exile made even them welcome.
Especially tasty, well-seasoned without bitterness or heaviness.
In short, every dish in the three tiers was flawless.
Park Ji-hoon shoveled ravenously, fitting the phrase perfectly.
"-Huh."
Snapping back, the burdensome feast for one was cleanly emptied.
The Dean eyed him worriedly. Her assistant wasn't such a big eater...
"Assistant, are you crying?"
His face was drenched in tears that had flowed unnoticed.
"...Pardon? When did I—"
Questioning, he touched his face and froze.
Recreating past sensations revived memories vividly.
Morning sunlight through the window, clinking dishes waking him.
Shuffling out scratching his head, mother's swat urging table-setting help.
Sister mocking him, then getting scolded herself.
Father grabbing his shoulder amid thesis and defense rush, insisting on breakfast.
Leaving early anyway, only to die by truck that day.
The family faces he'd last seen.
Faces once forgotten resurfaced from buried memories.
Unlike So-hyang with millennia and few ties, Park Ji-hoon lost family, bonds, efforts, a lifetime.
Second chance or not, the loss remained.
Dulled by time? The grief wouldn't vanish.
"Ah, ahh, ahhhh...!"
Forget thesis or degree—should've eaten that kimchi stew.
Shouldn't have shoved off father's hand.
Spent more time, kinder words with family.
Regrets, resurfaced sorrow, buried longing.
Facing wounds he'd dodged, Park Ji-hoon sobbed like a bursting dam.
"As-Assistant? Why, what's wrong...!?"
Startled by his sudden breakdown, the Dean instinctively hugged and soothed him.
"It's okay, it's okay. Whatever happened, I'll help..."
Of course, not a helpable issue; she knew. The grief in his red eyes stemmed from loss.
Even mastering myriad spells, resurrection was near impossible.
So her help was just holding him.
And that sufficed.
Park Ji-hoon clung to the Dean and wailed.
-----
Between the man and woman avoiding eyes, cheeks flushed, an awkward yet oddly ticklish atmosphere lingered.
"-Ahem..."
"I-I don't know why you cried, but... okay now?"
"...Yes, thanks to you."
Facing forgotten sorrow and bursting into tears felt oddly relieving.
Catharsis cleared his chest, long-stifled heart now open.
Not avoidance, but proper remembrance, mourning, and release.
"Haa..."
Savoring pleasant emptiness, Park Ji-hoon spotted the note on the lunchbox lid.
'Not sure if you'll like it, but thought you might crave hometown food, so I prepared simply.'
Neat handwriting, thoughtful words warming his heart; he nodded slightly.
Gratitude was gratitude, and the meal masterful enough to briefly forget ingrained fear.
'If you visit my place next time, I'll treat you properly. How about coming to continue our chat?'
"This is insane."
But this changed things.
Grateful, yes—but terrifying still.
Avoid at all costs, not visit that monster's lair voluntarily... impossible.
"Me go? Only if I'm crazy..."
-----
"I must be crazy..."
Trembling hand knocking, a chubby-cheeked girl beamed at Park Ji-hoon.
"Hello! Are you the guest?"
"...Yes, Park Ji-hoon, assistant from the Academy."
"Ah, the one So-hyang mentioned! Nice to meet you! I'm Il-ho!"
"...Yes, Il-ho. Nice to meet you too."
Her puppy-like bright welcome, tail-wagging illusion, softened his stiff expression.
"Oh my, you came?"
"-Gasp."
So-hyang's appearance made him stiffen again.