The Contract
People’s hearts are strange things. Once you voice an idea out loud to someone, it becomes surprisingly difficult to shove it back into the quiet realm of private thoughts. Kang Chi-yeol felt that truth with vivid clarity the very next morning.
The night before, after parting ways with Jo A-ra, he had returned home, scribbled a few lines in his notebook, taken a shower, and lain down in bed. His mind had been exhausted. Yet sleep refused to come easily. Every time he closed his eyes, A-ra’s expression as she sat by the café window floated up again.
“Someone who isn’t going to do it doesn’t even bother naming the shop.”
Those words lingered oddly in his ears. They hadn’t been a casual joke or light encouragement. It was as if someone had precisely pointed out the exact spot where his hesitant foot had already stepped forward without him realizing it.
Kang Chi-yeol had always lived one beat behind his own heart. Whether it was liking something, getting angry, or making up his mind, he was always a little slower than everyone else. That was simply his personality, and at the same time, it had served as a protective shield that kept him from ruining himself too badly.
But this time was different. He might have been late, but at least the direction already seemed set. Yesterday’s conversation with A-ra had been the moment he finally acknowledged it. So when he opened his eyes that morning, the first emotion he felt wasn’t helplessness but a strange tension. The kind of tension that comes with knowing there is something you must do.
It was different from the suffocating pressure he used to feel at the company when his inbox was overflowing. This was the sort of tension that no one else imposed on him; he had to choose it himself. It was frightening, yet at the same time, it made him feel strangely alive.
He folded his blanket, washed his face, and before even drinking coffee, sat down at the dining table and opened his notebook. At the very top of the first page, the neatly written characters were still there.
Chiyeolhan Chicken
Every time he saw it, it looked tacky. Every time he saw it, it somehow grew on him.
Chi-yeol rubbed his mouth once, then wrote today’s date below it. He rolled the pen between his fingers for a long moment before adding a short line.
Things to truly verify.
Whether he could handle the alley shop, the contract conditions, whether the numbers really added up, minimum equipment and renovation costs, how far he could manage alone if he started, whether his mind would still be unchanged today.
After writing the last sentence, he let out a small laugh at himself. Whether my mind would still be unchanged today. Was there anyone else in the world who would put something like that on a to-do list?
Yet for the current Kang Chi-yeol, that was the most important verification process of all. Was this an impulse? A frightened escape? Or a genuine resolve he could carry for a long time? A person’s heart could change direction several times in a single day, so he needed to keep checking himself, at least for a few days.
Outside the window, the sun had climbed quite high. The usual commuting hour had already passed, and the sounds of daily life were slowly spreading through the alley. The rumble of a cleaning truck, the distant whine of a construction drill, the rustle of plastic bags as someone sorted recyclables, and the electronic chime of a convenience store door opening.
Chi-yeol made himself coffee, took a sip, and picked up his phone. The business card he had received yesterday still lay on the table. He fiddled with it once between his fingers, then finally made the call.
“Ah, hello. This is the person who looked at the shop yesterday.”
The middle-aged man—who might have been the building owner or the manager; it was unclear—answered right away.
“Yes, I remember you.”
“Would it be all right if I asked for a few more details about the contract conditions today?”
“Are you coming to see it again?”
Chi-yeol glanced out the window before answering.
“Yes. I’d like to take another look in person.”
“Then how about two o’clock, after lunch?”
“That works for me.”
The call ended quickly. When he hung up, he noticed a strange sweat on his palms. All he had done was make one simple appointment to see the place again, yet why did it feel this nerve-wracking? In the past, setting up a meeting with a client had been nothing at all.
But when he thought about it, it made sense. A client meeting had ultimately been someone else’s business. Whether it succeeded or fell apart, he hadn’t had to shoulder the full responsibility alone. This was different.
The moment he went today and looked at the numbers and conditions again, this shop would stop being an empty space in his imagination and become a real possibility in his life.
Chi-yeol unconsciously glanced at the mirror. His hair was a bit messy. He tried to smooth it down, then gave up and ruffled it again. He pulled out a dress shirt, put it back, took out a knit sweater, then hesitated once more.
Dressing too formally would feel out of place. Dressing too casually would feel like he wasn’t taking himself seriously. This wasn’t a meeting to impress anyone, but at the very least, he didn’t want to treat his own heart lightly.
In the end, he put on a neat shirt and layered a dark cardigan over it. It was more comfortable than a jacket and looked more thoughtful than a sweatshirt. This would do.
Lunch was a simple kimchi fried rice thrown together from leftover ingredients in the fridge. It turned out better than expected. Even while eating, his thoughts kept drifting toward the two o’clock appointment. He recalled the numbers he had heard at the real estate office, looked at the photos he had taken yesterday, spread his notebook open on the table, and sketched out the layout again for no particular reason.
Entrance, hall, counter, kitchen, fryer, refrigerator. It looked less like a drawing and more like an elementary schooler’s floor plan, but it helped organize his thoughts.
Then he suddenly surprised himself. It had only been a few days since he was laid off from the company, yet here he was, already acting like a shop owner doing a dry run.
“I really have lost it,” he muttered. This time, though, the words didn’t carry only a negative meaning. There was a mix of bewilderment and a touch of acknowledgment.
“Yeah… maybe I really am going to do this.”
When he arrived at the alley a little before two, the street was as quiet as it had been the day before. Since the lunch rush had passed, the shops seemed to be taking a brief breather. The dry cleaner’s owner was folding shirts out front. The Bunshikshop Ajumma was lifting the lid of a pot and stirring the broth. A potted plant sat in front of the small hair salon, and soft radio music drifted from inside the stationery store.
It wasn’t a particularly bustling area, but it wasn’t lifeless either. Chi-yeol slowly took in the scene. He had seen it yesterday, yet today it looked different. Yesterday it had been an unfamiliar space. Today it was a space where possibilities kept overlapping in his mind.
The man from yesterday was already standing in front of the shop. Arms folded in front of the shutter, he was looking at his phone. When he spotted Chi-yeol, he raised a hand.
“You’re here.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for making you show it twice.”
“Hey, it’s a big investment. Of course you should look at it multiple times.”
Those words felt good to hear. As the shutter rolled up with a metallic rattle, Chi-yeol stepped inside again. When the fluorescent lights came on, more details caught his eye than yesterday. Small stains in the corners of the walls, old marks on the ceiling edges, the position of the drain, the condition of the hood.
Now that he was seeing it again, the drawbacks stood out as clearly as the advantages. That was a good sign. If something looked too perfect, it was usually dangerous.
Chi-yeol took a small notebook from his pocket.
“May I ask a few questions?”
“Ask whatever you like.”
He went through them one by one. Whether the electrical capacity could be expanded, the condition of the gas lines, whether the ventilation fan needed replacing, the possibility of negotiating the premium, whether he could take over the previous tenant’s fixtures, the contract period.
The more questions he asked, the more the man’s expression changed. At first he had looked at Chi-yeol like any other prospective entrepreneur. Now his face clearly said, This guy is really meticulous.
“Do you normally know this much about these things?” the man asked.
Chi-yeol smiled awkwardly.
“No, I don’t really know much… I just tend to worry a lot.”
The man gave a small chuckle.
“People who worry a lot have their strengths. Just don’t get so scared that you miss the right timing.”
This time the words stung a little. The real estate boss, the building owner, and even Jo A-ra yesterday had all said something similar. Don’t drag it out too long. It was understandable to be afraid, but he shouldn’t let that fear choke off his decision.
Chi-yeol tucked the advice away in his heart and walked around the shop once more. The kitchen was better than he had expected. Since it had once housed a bunsik shop, the basic sink and shelving structure remained, and the floor wasn’t badly damaged. Of course, there was still plenty that needed work. The duct for removing frying oil would definitely need to be redone for a chicken shop, and the lighting could never stay as those yellowish fluorescent tubes.
Still, it would be far better than building everything from scratch. At this level, it seemed possible to renovate with the minimum cost.
When he came back out to the hall and stood there, the alley beyond the glass door looked like a picture frame. Two people walking past, a bicycle stopping for a moment, a student who had come out of the bunsik shop holding a takeout bag while waiting for a friend and checking her phone. Without realizing it, Chi-yeol began mentally placing tables in that scene. Two against the wall, one by the window. Too many would feel cramped, too few would feel empty. Near the entrance, perhaps a bench for customers waiting for takeout.
The image rose in his mind with surprising clarity.
“Does it look good to you?” the man asked.
Chi-yeol answered honestly.
“My heart is leaning toward it.”
“Having your heart lean toward a place is the most important thing. The numbers have to work too, of course.”
As expected, the core point came at the end. Chi-yeol nodded. The numbers had to work. In the end, he always had to come back to reality.
He stepped outside and looked at the shop once more from across the alley. The building’s exterior wall didn’t look particularly new, and the signboard space wasn’t very large. But its small size somehow made it feel like something worth polishing. For someone like him just starting out, this seemed more suitable than a perfectly polished space. There was an indescribable sense that overly impressive places simply didn’t suit him. His whole life had been like that. From the beginning, spaces that were too grand had always felt uncomfortable. He was drawn instead to places that were moderately worn, needed a little work, and carried the traces of having endured for a long time.
The man handed him another business card and said, “Once you make up your mind, please let me know quickly. I have a few other people scheduled to look at it next week, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is in a rush to take it right away.”
Chi-yeol accepted the card. It was reassuring to hear that no one was rushing, yet at the same time a corner of his heart grew impatient. People really were strange creatures. When there was plenty of time, they wanted to put things off forever, but the moment someone else showed interest, they suddenly felt as if it already belonged to them.
Even though it isn’t mine yet.