This Taste...!
This... this taste…!
…………… Four weeks and two days. Thirty days. A full month. That’s how long it had been since the naked dodgeball incident until today. It was also how long I’d been living in this world as Han Minseo.
In that time, my life had changed in so many ways. The most tangible shift was in my hellish company life. To be honest, the new routine was utopia itself. No other word fit. The new office looked like a glass prison at first glance, but it was actually paradise. A private room with floor-to-ceiling glass, top-of-the-line ergonomic chair and standing desk. Best of all, I had zero interaction with other team members. Sure, the occasional glance from coworkers floated through the glass, but that was it.
My salary had jumped 50%. The work? Easy enough for a newbie. Organizing project reports, market research, basic data analysis. I could wrap it all up by noon with my skills. Overtime? That word had vanished from my dictionary. At 6 p.m., Choi Seori would knock on my door herself and tell me to head out.
“How about Italian for lunch today?”
Every lunch break, she’d drop by my office like that. I’d never turned her down.
Reports went only to her. Basically, she was the only person I talked to at work anymore.
Not bad at all. Not bad.
To be frank, it wasn’t just “not bad”—it was amazing. If I were the pro reader from my old world, I couldn’t have dreamed this up in my wildest fantasies.
And after work, she came to my tiny one-room almost every day. Always with a shopping bag from the department store’s food hall. She’d cook in the cramped kitchen, do the dishes, tidy the messy room. The CEO of a spotlight unicorn IT firm folding my socks? Utterly surreal.
At first, her devotion overwhelmed me, and I tried refusing. But only once or twice. Hesitating and watching her keep helping? It got hard to keep saying no. In the end, I grew accustomed to having her around.
Maybe... this is Seori sunbae’s real self.
The fragile college senior who’d collapsed from overwork. She was just awkward with people. The vicious behavior toward Han Minseo after I joined? Probably just stress from the workload sharpening her nerves.
Yeah. The current Choi Seori wasn’t that crazy power-tripping boss. Just a bit lonely, incredibly devoted... a good person.
Today, I clocked out right on time, as usual. Took the subway, got off at my station, climbed the stairs to the multi-household building. Finally, pulled out my key and unlocked the front door.
“Welcome home, Minseo.”
As expected, Choi Seori was there. Apron on, ladle in hand.
……………
I slipped off my shoes and scanned the place. The living room and kitchen were way cleaner than when I’d left that morning. No scattered clothes on the floor, no pile of cups in the sink.
One person messes it up, another cleans it. Makes me feel guilty even using the furniture. And it’s my place.
“Almost ready. Go wash up.”
She turned to me with a faint smile. Like she’d owned the place forever.
Yeah. It was my home, but lately, I felt like the guest.
When did it become so normal for her to show up first?
At the start, she’d walk me from the station and enter together. Then she waited at the door. Before I knew it... she said it saved time, so she’d come ahead and prep dinner. Now she even did the chores and waited.
If she’s doing all this, why not leave together? Let me ride in that luxury foreign car for once.
...I’d thought that a few times, but never said it. She probably had her own personal boundaries to keep.
And that’d feel too much like... a date. We’re not even dating.
Anyway, her changes were too drastic. Like some magical housewife. But seeing the steam rising from the table she’d set, the spotless home she’d tidied... I couldn’t find a reason to refuse.
“Got it. Thanks as always.”
In the end, that’s what I said as I headed to the bathroom. From behind, I heard her humming.
……………
Washed up and sat at the table. Menu: brown rice, miso soup, rolled omelet, kimchi. Classic Korean spread.
“Let’s eat well, Seori sunbae.”
With her watching from across the table, I scooped up some miso soup and took a bite. And that moment, my spoon froze midair.
“Ooh... ooooooh...!”
This... this taste!?
The flavor hit my tongue and yanked a buried memory to the surface. This wasn’t just good miso soup. It was from college, that rundown diner by the back gate... business wasn’t great, eventually closed. A hidden gem lost to the fast-changing world, but the taste was legit.
Place was called “Rice Rice Rice,” I think. Old Han Minseo loved it—went twice a week. His fave was the miso soup, with the owner lady’s secret seasoning for that umami punch. Still etched in his memory.
And now, Choi Seori’s miso soup matched it perfectly.
“S-sunbae. This miso soup... how...?”
She answered casually. “You liked it. Back in college. It’s gone now, but I tracked down the owner’s recipe. Took a while.”
Tracked down a defunct diner’s recipe? Wait... how did she even know? That I loved that place’s miso?
I racked Han Minseo’s memories—no shared meals with Choi Seori there. Ever said it out loud? Probably not.
A chill crept up my spine. How? Stalked me? Asked around?
No, no, overthinking it.
Why would she? Logical explanation: I mentioned it once and forgot. Or we ate there together and I blanked.
Yeah. Memories are unreliable. Gotta play it cool.
She went through effort to get and make it—if I acted shocked like I forgot our meal, that’d be rude.
I scooped more soup. Nostalgic flavor filled my mouth, even if it wasn’t mine. She watched with that faint smile.
“Um... Seori sunbae.”
“Yeah?”
“So, what’s the secret to that recipe? This miso soup.”
“A big spoonful of MSG and Dashida.”
“……”
……………
The uncomfortable truth of MSG’s power dawned, but dinner was still delicious.
Hmm, been a while... shall I? That thing.
“That thing” meant exactly that. Bitter, cold buddy. Bad in excess, perfect in moderation. Its identity? Don’t freak out—canned beer. 500ml. Bought yesterday, so perfectly chilled by now.
Opened the fridge door eagerly, but...
“Wh-what the hell...?”
In half a day, my fridge had transformed into something alien. My four prized beer cans? Gone. Stocked colas, cheap bulk ice cream from the freezer? Vanished.
Replaced by organic veggies, premium fruits I’d never buy, all in clear containers. Small mercy: zero-cal cola instead of regular.
“Seori sunbae.”
Fridge door open, I turned to the living room.
“Do you know what happened to my beer, cola, and ice cream... by any chance?”
She sat on the sofa, reading. Answered without looking up.
“Oh, I tidied that up. Booze is bad for you. Filled it with fruits and veggies instead. Soda’s okay in zero-cal form, so swapped to that.”
“No, but... why touch my booze...?”
Now she closed the book and looked at me. Genuine worry on her face.
“Minseo. You’re too skinny, and your complexion’s off. That beer, cola, ice cream you love? Perfect for diabetes. I figured I should manage it for you.”
Manage? Am I a pet now?
Irritation bubbled up. Sure, whatever, but this crossed a line. It’s my house, my fridge—she breaks in while I’m gone and reorganizes?