Chapter 54: Chuseok Holiday (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 54: Chuseok Holiday (1)
What is a holiday break to an office worker?
It is an oasis in the desert, a lighthouse in the sea.
It is like a fresh box of Zero Coke suddenly appearing in an empty office pantry.
It is an absolute power that grants one the strength to endure the first and second halves of the year, while simultaneously forging the shackles that make it impossible to quit.
There was a time when I, too, viewed the holidays that way.
At the start of every year, I would count how many public holidays there were and fret over how to sandwich my vacation days between them to maximize the break.
Even if I had to work overtime until the very eve of the holiday, the thought that I could 'rest for several days while still getting paid' made me happy.
'And to think, just a little while ago, I was straining my eyes making a 7th-anniversary banner for those brats just so I could tack some leave onto the Chuseok break.'
I suddenly felt dizzy.
To think I’ve been living this miserable trainee life for eight months already. It’s enough to bring me to tears.
"Come to think of it... are you guys going home for the holidays?"
"We all go to our family homes for Seollal and Chuseok! We'll be back after two sleeps!"
Lee Cheong-hyeon held up two fingers in a V-sign.
Family homes, huh? Very holiday-appropriate.
...Wait.
Does that mean I have to vacate the dorm?
This was an unexpected crisis.
Trying to book a room for the holidays now would mean either no vacancies or astronomical prices.
The 15 million won my sister left me... no.
I couldn't waste the remaining 14.2 million won—after spending 800,000—on something so futile.
Oblivious to my panicked state, Lee Cheong-hyeon stuck close to my side and asked, "Where is your family home, Hyung? Mine's in Seoul!"
"Me?"
I don't know. All the elders in my family fled in the middle of the night.
"I... want to stay at the dorm."
"You should be able to stay if you get the manager's permission. But why? Are you going to practice?"
"No, just... to get some rest."
What a relief that I can stay. If not, I would have spent all night scouring booking apps for a vacant room.
Then, Lee Cheong-hyeon looked around and whispered, "Ju-woo Hyung might stay behind, too. He didn't go home for Seollal either."
"Ju-woo?"
"Yeah. He has his reasons, so please don't ask him about it first...!"
After adding the cautious explanation, Lee Cheong-hyeon scanned the area again, as if confirming Park Ju-woo wasn't around.
"Got it. I won't bring it up."
"Thanks. Hah, if you guys are staying, maybe I should stay this time too?"
"You said you only get two vacations a year. You want to practice then, too?"
"I'll be off then, Hyung!"
With that, Lee Cheong-hyeon bolted.
I have no interest in Park Ju-woo's personal life. Even less so in his family history.
That’s why I assumed I would never have a reason to talk to him about such things.
I never dreamed that in the near future, I would be harmoniously frying skewered pancakes right alongside him.
When the holidays approached, the younger employees used to talk about what they would do during their time off.
The older or married staff talked more about ancestral rites and memorial services.
'Preparing the ritual table for the holidays is such a chore. I'm already stressed.'
'Does your family perform the rites, Team Leader?'
'We do both the holiday rites and the regular memorial services. It’s absolutely exhausting.'
Whenever I was asked, 'What are you doing for the holidays, Assistant Manager Kim?' I usually replied, 'I'm meeting my sister for a bit and resting at home for the rest of the time.'
Until my sister died.
On the eve of the first Chuseok after her death, I lay still in bed and searched for 'how to set a ritual table.'
Sleep wouldn't come even after I turned off my phone.
So, I stayed awake until the supermarket opened and went there the moment the doors slid back. Then, I bought a mountain of ingredients I’d seen in the search results.
I hadn't realized that ritual food required so much labor.
I hadn't cooked much, and it was before my sister's first death anniversary had even arrived.
For someone like me, seasoning vegetables and making skewered pancakes was a high-difficulty task.
The vegetables lost all their color, and the skewered pancakes kept falling apart; no matter how much egg wash I applied, the egg just spread out to the sides.
By the time I was frying the meat and vegetable patties, the smell of oil had permeated the entire house.
After wrestling with that pile of ingredients all day, I was finally able to set a late ritual table after the sun had gone down.
Since I didn't have proper ritual vessels, I brought out every plate in the house to set the table and even poured a drink from a 1.8L bottle of rice wine.
"Noona, this is the first time you've seen a ritual table set in our house, right?"
Laughter bubbled up naturally. Looking at the mangled pancakes made me laugh twice as hard.
A ritual table without a spirit tablet, piled high with macarons and financiers. How could I not laugh?
"A lot of the dessert shops in our neighborhood are closed for the holidays. I'll have to buy the macarons in advance next time."
I spent a long time peeling the plastic off the individually wrapped desserts.
"I bought these because I thought you'd be disappointed if you came to eat something delicious and there was nothing here. If your favorite flavor isn't here, blame the lineup at the local macaron shop. I bought every kind they had, so I'm innocent."
Even though I was muttering to myself, why did it feel so much like I was actually talking to her?
That day, I built a tower of macarons on our low dining table. It was quite a sight, all those bright colors.
And then, after finishing the entire bottle of rice wine, I fell asleep right there next to the ritual table.
After preparing memorial and holiday ritual tables three times a year, I became an expert at making ritual offerings.
Every holiday morning and every anniversary of my sister's death, I would wake up at dawn, shop without a list, and cook without a recipe.
'Right. It's good that I've gotten used to it.'
I thought to myself, feeling the weight of the bags in my hands.
'But why the hell am I still doing this now...!'
That’s right.
Having traveled nine years back in time, the moment I opened my eyes on Chuseok morning and realized what day it was, I had habitually gone to the nearby mart and swept up ingredients.
To set a ritual table for my sister, who is technically still alive at this point in time. What kind of impiety was this?
By the time I was fully awake, I had already paid for everything.
I considered getting a refund, but since there were perishables involved—and since Park Ju-woo was staying at the dorm, as Lee Cheong-hyeon had said—I brought the bags back, figuring we could at least get into the holiday spirit with some food.
Sorry, Noona.
Don't think of it as a ritual table; think of it as a traditional lesson so I don't forget our national identity.
"...What is all this?"
"...Supplies for a holiday cooking content special?"
"Cooking content...?"
At my words, Park Ju-woo peeked into one of the plastic bags. It contained meat patties, pollack, and flour.
Park Ju-woo looked back and forth between the bag and me with a peculiar expression.
I wasn't about to make another slip of the tongue like last time, saying I couldn't go to college because I had no money.
Let's play it cool.
"It's the holidays, so I thought we'd get into the spirit. I'll do the cooking, so you just rest, Ju-woo."
"No. Let's do it together."
"Well, I won't say no to that. Oh, if you hate the smell of oil, I won't fry the pancakes."
"Won't it be okay if we ventilate well...?"
"I suppose so."
Thanks to Park Ju-woo's consideration, I was able to fry the pollack pancakes as well. A smooth start.
While Park Ju-woo turned a whole carton of eggs into egg wash, I prepared the other ingredients.
Just as I was wondering if I could quit being an idol and get a job as an assistant at a side-dish shop with these skills, Park Ju-woo finished prepping the flour and called me over.
"I'll fry the pancakes, so could you coat them in flour and egg wash for me? Wear gloves, and make sure to wear a mask. A KF94."
"Why the gloves and mask...?"
"A singer shouldn't be inhaling smoke."
"...You're a vocal too, Hyung."
I'm a temporary vocal, and you're the main vocal.
I handed Park Ju-woo a mask I had bought just in case.
Because Park Ju-woo insisted on opening a mask for me as well, the two of us ended up frying pancakes indoors while wearing masks.
With experience comes skill; the skewered pancakes turned out so beautiful they could have been sold.
As Park Ju-woo watched me place a slice of red chili and green chili on each meat patty, he spoke up.
"Hyung, you're... really good at cooking."
"Not really. If you want one, go ahead. They're low-sodium."
"Is it okay to eat them before they're finished?"
"We made them to eat, so why not? The chilies are just for color; they aren't spicy."
I explained the harmlessness of my meat patties to Park Ju-woo, who preferred bland food.
Even though I’d mindlessly bought a mountain of ingredients this morning, I praised myself for remembering my duty as an idol and choosing healthy options.
I pulled out a small plate and placed a patty on it. Park Ju-woo waited until the steam stopped rising before taking a cautious bite. His eyes widened slightly.
"Is it okay?"
"Hyung, this is delicious...!"
"Have another. They're made with tofu, so they should be less fattening than meat ones."
Park Ju-woo's face brightened at my words. I thought that expression only came out when he was talking about rock bands.
Having tasted the meat patties, Park Ju-woo moved on to sampling the skewered and pollack pancakes.
The pollack pancakes, savory despite the lack of salt, and the bite-sized skewered pancakes also received passing marks.
"Do you usually like cooking, Hyung?"
Park Ju-woo asked as he watched me blanch spinach.
"Not at all. I'm not good at anything except ritual food. Well... I'm good at making ramen."
The former was a dish I’d mastered through focused practice; the latter was something I’d made so often it became a habit.
"How did you end up only learning these...?"
Park Ju-woo spoke carefully. He seemed curious, but since the subject involved food for memorial services, he appeared to be holding back.
"I just like them. And I heard you'd be at the dorm today, so I thought I'd make some."
"I see... Thank you."
"Don't mention it. I'm going to eat them too."
I was about to rinse the wilted spinach in cold water when Park Ju-woo called out to me.
"Hyung."
"Yeah?"
"Why... didn't you go to your family home?"