Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Campsite (1)
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VRRRUM.
An old used car pulled into the campsite.
Our assigned spot was number 7. We passed playing kids and other tents before arriving at our site.
"Get out and watch while I park."
"Got it."
I got out of the car to guide Sister's parking. She'd only gotten her license recently, so her driving skills were still a bit rough.
"A little to the side. Now back up just like that. Okay. Stop."
Sister opened the door and stepped out, looking around. Then her eyes widened in surprise.
"This spot's nicer than I expected."
"Right? Looks like it wasn't unsold, but canceled."
This was a pretty popular campsite, so you usually had to book at least a week in advance. We'd reserved just two days ago and figured we'd be stuck with a lousy spot, but no.
Behind the site was a path down to the stream, with trees to block the sun. It was wide open around us, perfect for pitching a tent.
"Let's set up the tent first. Heave-ho."
Sister pulled the tent out of the trunk and got right to work pitching it.
Sister had always loved camping, so she was a pro at this.
I didn't want to get in her way by "helping," so I unpacked and organized the trunk instead.
We each handled our tasks smoothly, and things progressed quickly.
"Haneul, check if the tent's level."
"Hold on."
I hurried over to inspect it. Luckily, it was straight everywhere. Sister hammered the poles in place to secure it.
Tent setup complete.
"Haa. This is always such a workout."
"Next time, I'll help. I'll study up."
"Really? What's gotten into you? The chef who said hands were too important to risk?"
"I told you, I've changed. Call me Haneul 2.0 starting today."
I wiped the sweat from Sister's brow with some tissue, then pointed up ahead. The campsite building had restrooms, showers, and all sorts of amenities—including a convenience store.
"Let's grab something cold. Bet they have coffee too."
"Sounds good. It's brutally hot. Is fall supposed to be this warm?"
"Tell me about it. No wonder polar bears are suffering."
"Don't polar bear cubs like it warm? I saw a video somewhere of them lying on the grass sleeping."
Sister rummaged through her phone, saying she had to show me. I leaned in, curious about polar bears napping on grass.
That's when a weird voice stopped us in our tracks.
"It's been a while since my last outdoor stream, right? Thanks for the 1,000 won donation. Yeah, I'm pitching a tent right now. Another tent challenge? Mission to finish in 10 minutes? Ha, I've never failed one in my life. Let's go. Challenge accepted!"
A guy at the tent right next to ours was muttering into his phone screen. Broadcasting gear was scattered around, along with subscriber and like cushions.
Obvious streamer.
"Famous guy?"
"Dunno. If you don't know him, he can't be that big."
"I only follow gaming streamers. Not really into talk show types."
Sister loved internet broadcasting. That's why she majored in it in college, and now she freelanced as an editor.
If I hadn't gone abroad to study, she probably would've chased her dreams and lived the life she wanted.
Even now, with modest success, right before I left for my studies, her work got scouted by multiple places after I showed it around.
"Found him."
"Who?"
Sister held out her phone to show me the screen.
Honey Eater—100K subscribers (Live)
"That's the guy."
His content was mostly new product reviews, games, small talk. Basically an all-purpose channel. Seemed like his first outdoor stream in a while.
"Hope he keeps it quiet so we can enjoy ourselves."
I had a negative view of streamers.
That came from meeting tons of them back when I was a famous chef.
Popular ones acted like they owned the world and spouted nonsense. When I earned my third Michelin star, some guy with 10 million subscribers showed up begging for free food.
On the flip side, struggling streamers pushed outrageous content to blow up—like spreading weird rumors about my wife or claiming our restaurant violated health codes.
We handled it all, but after dealing with that crap nonstop, I got it drilled into my head that streamers were all clueless pests.
So yeah, bad vibes.
"Tell me about it."
Sister knew there were plenty of weirdos in the scene, so she agreed.
"Pretty crowded, huh?"
"Yeah. Must be the heat."
We found the stream at the back of the campsite.
Even in fall, with the lingering warmth, lots of people were splashing around. We claimed a nearby bench.
"Not going in?"
"Not today. Maybe tomorrow. You?"
"Same. Long drive wiped me out."
Sister rubbed her shoulders. I told her to turn around and massaged the knots. I wanted to take over driving midway, but I didn't have a license.
First thing when we get back: get my license.
"Ooh, that feels good."
"What, sounding like a grandma? You're still mid-20s."
"Shut up. Your fault. You grabbed too hard last night."
Come to think of it, after regressing, it felt like my body might fly apart.
This wasn't the frail body wheezing from metastasized lung cancer. Army training had built up my muscles and stamina. Arguably the peak physical condition of my life.
I'd have to hold back for a while. I kicked off my shoes.
"Hand over your shoes."
I set our slippers aside and dipped my feet in.
"Oh. Perfectly cool."
"Right? Feels great."
A gentle breeze rustled through. Sunlight filtered between the trees, cool water flowed over my feet. Just warm enough to make me drowsy.
I could've stayed like this all day.
"Haneul. Let's play rock-paper-scissors."
"Huh? Out of nowhere?"
I was leaning against Sister's back with my eyes closed when she suggested it. Her round eyes sparkled with mischief.
Unlike my lazy haze, she was hyped from the water.
Didn't seem like plain RPS.
"Loser jumps in?"
"Call?"
"You're on."
The playfulness hit me. My drowsiness vanished, dopamine surged.
I'd usually let her win, but post-regression, teasing Sister had become addictive.
She used to feel like a mature older sis. Now it was like dating someone younger.
"Rock, paper, scissors!"
I won, naturally.
Why? Sister always started with rock. I'd figured out her patterns over countless games abroad, even after marriage.
Until she caught on, RPS was mine.
"Lost, so in you go?"
"Wait. Hold on. Eek!"
I scooped her up princess-style and waded into the stream. Shorts meant no wet clothes worry.
"Haneul, wait. It's me, your sister. You're really dunking me?"
I ignored her and scanned for a spot.
Too deep, she might panic. Too shallow, hurt. Somewhere just right?
Found it.
"For real, no. Haneul, mercy!"
"Hmm. Move my heart then. Call me baby, or do some aegyo..."
"Ugh."
Sister bit her lip, pondering. Forcing aegyo with her little bro watching was tough, even for her.
"Tossing you."
"Wait! Eek!"
I hurled her without hesitation. Her expressions flashed in slow-mo: regret, pathos, desperation, resentment. It cracked me up.
Splash.
"Ugh. Better than nothing."
"How's the temp?"
"Good. Refreshing."
Sister's hair hung like seaweed. She bit a hair tie, gathered it back into a ponytail. Picture-perfect.
Even as my girl, she was too pretty.
"One more. Rock-paper-scissors."
"If I lose, I dunk. If I win?"
"You win... uh, I'll dunk again."
Round two.
And as I said, I knew all her patterns.
"Bye, Sister."
Splash.
Splash.
Splash.
Three in a row.
Poison glinted in her eyes. Started laughing it off, but now competitive fire burned.
Next pattern was usually paper, but winning here might sulk her out. Time to lose on purpose.
"Rock, paper, scissors!"
"Argh!"
"What?"
I won anyway. Expected paper, threw rock—but she switched. Patterns weren't ironclad, and post-regression timing had variance from abroad habits.
Sister drooped and trudged to the stream alone.
No hug needed now; self-dunking.
"Hold up."
"How do I lose five straight? Sigh."
I grabbed her as she lunged again. Plenty of distance, good timing.
But the wet rock was slick.
I slipped while grabbing her shoulder.
"Argh!"
We both plunged in together.
Dry clothes soaked instantly. Stream water stung eyes, hair flopped like seaweed.
"Pfft. Hahaha!!!"
"Kuh. Hahaha!!"
A bit miffed, but hilarious. We laughed forever at our drowned-cat selves.
Splashed, swam, played hard—time flew.
Groooowl.
"Time to head out. Go shower. I'll start dinner."
"You not washing?"
"I can quick-rinse. Take your time."
We split to the showers. I scrubbed head and body fast, toweled my hair on the way out.
Tonight: scallops and jeoneo. Hot day—shellfish and fish best fresh. Even ice-packed, unfrozen freshness fades.
"Scallions, radish, chili powder—they're provided, so no need."
Grabbed essentials and headed to the communal kitchen.
Since yesterday, en route here, I'd pondered making jeoneo tasty for Sister.
One reason she skipped fish:
The fishy smell.
I'd tried everything early on, hoping she'd love it. Truth: her aversion sparked my chef challenge.
Herbs, spices to mask the odor.
Last try: spice-packed "Cajun Blackened Fish."
All flops. Gave up her picky eating.
"Not anymore."
That was new head chef days. Now: Michelin three-star vet, battle-hardened.
Younger taste buds sharper, fingertip senses keen—peak form.
Confident.
Tonight's dish: simmered jeoneo.
Chosen for limited ingredients/tools.
"This the place?"
I opened the "Communal Kitchen" door. Spacious, few people.
"Oh? Someone else just came in, so I'll keep it down. Sorry about that."
Problem: the one guy there was our neighbor streamer.