Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Broadcast (1)
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Sniff... sniff.
I scratched my nose and opened my eyes. The early morning air was chilly, leaving my nose stuffy. I moistened my dry mouth with some water and glanced at Sister.
She was sleeping with her head pillowed on my arm, looking utterly adorable. She had this big smile on her face, like she was having the sweetest dream. And here I was, planning to ignore all that cuteness and focus solely on cooking.
"What a total lunatic I was."
I toyed with her soft cheek for a moment before gently slipping my arm free.
Luckily, she didn't wake up. She mumbled a bit but settled back into sleep. Once I confirmed that, I stepped out of the tent.
A cool autumn breeze greeted me.
"The kettle should be around here somewhere... Ah, there it is."
I pulled the kettle from under the shelf and set it to boil. I prepared two cups and added coffee grounds.
I liked my coffee strong and black, while Sister preferred hers sweet and milky, like a latte.
"Do they sell milk up front?"
I could make a latte with instant coffee mix, but it wouldn't taste quite right.
I grabbed my wallet and headed to the campsite convenience store right nearby. Thankfully, there was milk in the fridge. I bought a carton and made the coffee.
"The milk ratio is everything in a latte."
I mixed the grounds with water and slowly poured in the milk. To really bring out the milk's nutty flavor, you'd want to steam it, but that's not happening on a camping trip, so this would have to do.
The deep brown lightened up, and I finished it off with a sugar cube.
Plop.
"Perfect. That should do it."
I put a lid on it so it wouldn't cool, then roughly mixed grounds and water in the remaining cup for my black coffee.
Slurp.
It was bitter. Just plain bitter, with no flavor to speak of.
I'd have to buy a coffee machine once I started making some money.
I sat there in the chair, zoning out as time passed.
Kids heading to the stream first thing in the morning, couples playing badminton, even folks who came camping but still squeezed in a workout— all sorts of people wandered by.
Before I knew it, it was 9 a.m.
My alarm went off, followed by a groan from inside the tent.
"Ughhh."
"If you're tired, sleep more. I'll grab you a blanket if you're cold."
"I'm not tired, just a bit stiff in my back."
Sister shot me a glare as she said it. I gave her an awkward smile and handed over the coffee.
"Oh, it's gone cold. Hold on, I'll heat it up in the microwave."
"Nah, lukewarm is fine."
Sister sat down next to me and sipped her coffee. She looked a little chilly, so I draped the blanket over us both.
We zoned out like that again. It had been ages since we'd gone on a trip, and we'd played so hard that we were wiped out. Especially splashing around in the stream—it took more out of me than I'd expected.
"Oh, right. I'm gonna head over to that tent up front real quick. Gotta let them know about the broadcast appearance."
"Okay. Guess I should get moving too."
"What're you up to?"
"Dishes."
Sister gathered up the leftover utensils, plates, and grill from last night's dinner. We were supposed to wash them then, but we'd been too exhausted and just crashed.
"Let's do it together later."
"It's fine. Not much to clean anyway. I'll handle it."
I gave her a quick kiss, then headed to the sinks next to the cooking area. After a rough rinse, I made my way to the tent up front.
Crunch. Crunch.
Even outside the tent, I could hear him muttering to himself. I checked his phone—no, he wasn't live. So who was he talking to?
I tapped on the tent pole a few times.
"Excuse me. Park Su-han? You in there?"
Park Su-han poked his head out through the tent flap.
"Whoa? Tent neighbor?"
"Got a minute? If you're on a call, I can come back later."
"Nah, it's fine. Just brainstorming broadcast ideas. Come on in."
Park Su-han offered me an empty chair. His eyes sparkled as he looked at me, urging me to spill whatever was on my mind.
"About that broadcast offer you made yesterday. I'll do it."
"Whoa, thank you! Honestly, I was worried it'd be a bother when I brought it up."
"Not a bother at all. I got that great meat yesterday, and you apologized plenty."
"How was the meat? I really put my all into grilling it."
I recalled the pork tenderloin Park Su-han had given me yesterday.
He'd used pork tenderloin, roughly. He'd tried hard to get some smoky flavor with a torch, but the taste was a disaster. It was tough as leather, like chewing chicken breast, and there was this burnt smell wafting up midway. Honestly, I spat out the first bite.
Still, it was the thought that counted...
"It was delicious."
"I worked so hard on it, but it must've fallen short, huh."
Park Su-han let out a sigh of disappointment. My sour expression must've given it away. When it came to cooking, I had zero tolerance for compromise—that's how the mishap happened.
"What do I need to do on the broadcast?"
"Just help out a bit while I cook today. Watch what I do and give advice, that kind of thing."
"Should I be super nice about it? I'm not great at empty compliments."
"No, that's fine. Actually, go ahead and be critical."
Park Su-han showed me some reactions from the video he'd uploaded yesterday. He'd compiled specific comments while brainstorming ideas.
"Go for a savage critic vibe, like Gordon Ramsay. You roast me, I look all dejected while cooking. Viewers love my reactions anyway."
This setup actually sounded doable.
If it had been Sister or a close friend, I probably couldn't have mustered fake "good job, good job" praises.
"How savage we talking?"
"Uh... are there levels to savagery?"
"Three levels. Take yesterday's pork as an example..."
Even in my past life, I'd given tons of feedback. I'd judged cooking shows and competitions a few times, and with Michelin status came endless requests.
Level 1 was feedback for amateurs.
"First off, that pork was completely overcooked. Even visually, it looked dry on the outside, and chewing confirmed it—tough as nails. The part you torched for smoke tasted burnt, and the seasoning was off too. Way too much pepper overpowering the salt, killing the meaty flavor. End result? A peppery lump of charred coal that barely qualified as meat."
Park Su-han's jaw dropped. The sharpness caught him off guard.
"If that's level 1... hit me with level 2."
Level 2 was for working pros.
"You failed to bring out any of the tenderloin's qualities. It's a low-activity muscle, so fine fibers, minimal connective tissue—should be tender. Low fat means you need brining or marinating to retain moisture, or it dries out. Plus, with mild meat flavor, it's like a blank canvas that absorbs seasonings well. Sear it right and pair with sauces to build depth."
"..."
Park Su-han froze solid, eyes darting wildly like a glitchy robot. He could only sputter fragments: "Uh... um... ah... er..."
He took a deep breath to compose himself before speaking.
"If that's level 2... how deep does level 3 go?"
"Level 3 is for folks aiming higher—like texture breakdowns, flavor profiles, technique critiques, narrative flow in the dish. Want to hear it?"
Park Su-han shook his head vigorously.
"Level 1 is plenty. Level 2 already overwhelmed me—level 3 might make me cry."
Even I thought level 3 was brutal. It was for chefs chasing Michelin stars or more. Plenty had teared up hearing it.
Back then, obsessed as I was, I'd say stuff like, "Crying over tasteless slop? Unbelievable. The people eating your food have it worse."
Looking back, past-me was a total psycho.
"I'll give you 200,000 won plus half the superchat donations. Sound good?"
"Deal. When do we cook?"
"Around 7 p.m., probably."
I didn't know broadcasts well, but feedback for 200k? Solid deal.
I asked a few more questions, then headed out. Sister had just finished dishes and was coming back, so I helped carry the stuff.
At that point, I had no clue.
That one broadcast was about to change my life big time.
We played hard again while waiting for broadcast time.
I dipped my feet in the stream and read a book. Sister strummed her guitar—a hobby of hers—and I hummed along. Broadcast time crept closer.
"Why are you more nervous than me?"
Sister kept checking her phone. As 7 p.m. neared, her leg bounced with anxiety. An hour out, she was biting her nails while watching Park Su-han's live stream.
"Aren't you nervous? Average viewers are at 3,000 right now."
She stared at me like I was incomprehensible.
3,000. A decent crowd, sure, but my past broadcasts pulled tens of millions baseline. Standing in front of way bigger audiences prepped me—no jitters here.
I just shrugged instead of answering.
"Wanna come watch if you're that curious?"
"I do, but I'd just be in the way. I'll watch from here."
Sister crawled into the tent and burrowed under the blanket. Right then, Park Su-han's call came through.
On his stream, he was saying stuff like, [I've invited a cooking pro. Gonna take their feedback and cook my heart out!]
"Be back soon, Sister."
"Okay. Fighting!"
Her hug recharged me, and I headed to Park Su-han's tent.
There he was outside, sitting in a chair with a camera, mumbling to himself. Spotting me, he waved me in.
Decent setup.
Mic clipped to his shirt, tablet showing nothing but chat scrolling up.
"Alright, get hyped, everyone. The cooking master I've invited is none other than this guy!"
I stepped into frame on cue.
Bowed briefly to the phone lens.
"Hello. I'm Kim Haneul, from the tent next to Su-han's."
The chat, buzzing with curiosity about who I was, exploded upward.
Vibe check: welcoming.
Then a donation popped up.
"Thanks for the 10k. First donation—got a message?"
"Didn't expect donations this quick. Appreciate it. And I have a girlfriend."
-Girlfriend? Hot?
"Yep. Super hot. I'm here for cooking talk, so that's all on that topic."
I cut it off before things got weird. Letting that slide invites nonsense.
Park Su-han caught on quick, taking the baton and diving straight into cooking.
"No communal kitchen today—we're using my personal burner. Today's dish? Peanut butter kimchi fried rice!"
The chat flooded with question marks.