Chicken and Tteokbokki, An Unexpected Set
“Yeah. People don’t usually eat just chicken or just tteokbokki, right? Especially at an event like this, it’s even more true.”
The remark was realistic. And for some strange reason, that very realism made Kang Chi-yeol feel even more conflicted.
What if the two of them stood side by side and customers naturally started saying things like, “Give me one chicken and one tteokbokki,” bundling them together without a second thought? Business-wise, it could be an opportunity. But at the same time, it might mark the beginning of other people seeing him and Lee Do-hee as a single set.
“You’re overthinking again.”
Jo A-ra took one look at his face and called it out immediately.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Extremely.”
Kang Chi-yeol let out a sigh. Honestly, there was nothing he could hide in front of this woman.
Around dusk, Kang Chi-yeol ran a solo simulation of the event menu. He wondered if it made sense to worry about event items before the official opening, but since he had already agreed to participate, he couldn’t just sit idle.
The formal menu served inside the shop and the instant items handed out at an outdoor event were completely different. They had to come out quickly while still carrying aroma, deliver an immediate reaction after one bite, be easy to package, and convenient for customers to eat while standing.
He tried placing two or three pieces of chicken in small cups, then in paper trays. He debated whether to glaze them with sauce or serve them as plain fried. Then, suddenly, he glanced at the neighboring shop.
Lee Do-hee seemed to be wrestling with similar concerns. She had lined up several small paper cups and was adjusting the amount of tteokbokki broth in each.
The two of them stood inside their separate stores in nearly identical postures, pondering the same worries over completely different foods.
When Kang Chi-yeol saw the scene, a laugh escaped him. It was a slightly strange sight. Different shops, different foods, different personalities. Yet the way they worried looked exactly the same—picking up a cup, setting it down, tilting their heads, tapping on calculators.
At that moment, Lee Do-hee looked up. Their eyes met. This time, neither looked away first.
She lifted one of the paper cups toward him. He reflexively raised his tray a little in return. Without a single word, it felt like a conversation was passing between them: Struggling with the event menu too?
Then Do-hee mouthed, very briefly, “Hard?”
Kang Chi-yeol burst into a helpless laugh. The question was so clear even without sound. He mouthed back, “A bit.”
When she saw that, Do-hee smiled more clearly this time. A very short, silent laugh exchanged across a single glass door.
The moment he saw it, Kang Chi-yeol felt a ticklish flutter deep inside his chest.
This is the problem. Even though no words were spoken, one single scene could change an entire day.
Right before closing that night, Lee Do-hee entered Chiyeolhan Chicken for the first time. It wasn’t entirely without warning. She cracked open the glass door, peeked inside, and asked, “Got a moment?”
At the sound of her voice, Kang Chi-yeol answered reflexively, “Yes.”
She held out the event guide sheet she’d been carrying. “The community center manager just dropped this off. The layout changed.”
Kang Chi-yeol took the paper. The positions of the tents had indeed been adjusted slightly. At the same time, their spots had been placed closer together.
“We’re even more stuck together now,” he muttered.
Looking down at the sheet with him, Do-hee replied, “We are.”
“Anyone would think we’re a set at this point.”
The words had barely left his mouth before Kang Chi-yeol realized what he had just said. A set. It sounded far too direct.
But Do-hee remained surprisingly calm. She studied the paper for a moment, then said in a perfectly neutral tone, “That’s how everyone usually eats it anyway.”
There it was again. Chicken and tteokbokki. The classic combination.
Kang Chi-yeol let out a helpless chuckle. “Customers will like it even more during the event.”
“That’s good, then.”
After speaking, Do-hee took a slow look around the shop this time—the lighting inside, the counter, the work station, the menu board on the wall. Her gaze no longer felt unfamiliar. Now it truly seemed like the eyes of the neighboring owner, and perhaps even those of someone who had grown a little accustomed to the place.
“You’re almost ready,” she said.
Kang Chi-yeol folded and unfolded the guide sheet in his hands as he answered, “Almost. But I keep finding more things that need fixing.”
“That’s how it always is,” Do-hee said with a short laugh. “Until you actually open, the shop always looks like it’s missing something.”
At those words, Kang Chi-yeol lifted his head. She was exactly right. People were always most anxious right before the start. Once you opened, you had no choice but to collide with reality and keep going, but before that, you kept wanting everything to be perfect—even though you knew true perfection didn’t exist.
“Is it the same for you, Ms. Lee?” he asked.
She gave a very brief “Yes.” “That’s why I end up staying late too.”
A short silence followed her answer.
Kang Chi-yeol suddenly wanted to ask why she tried to shoulder everything alone. Why she always looked like she had to organize every part of her own life. Why she felt so uncomfortable owing anyone anything.
But he couldn’t ask yet. It was still too soon. And Lee Do-hee was clearly the type of person who disliked questions that came too early.
So he said something entirely different instead. “During the event… if you’re busy, should I check the electrical lines on your side first?”
Only after the words left his mouth did Kang Chi-yeol realize this was another small act of kindness.
Do-hee looked at him for a moment. Then, very slowly but clearly, she nodded. “That would be nice.”
That would be nice.
Just those three words made Kang Chi-yeol’s mood shift again. He felt almost embarrassingly simple.
Before leaving, Do-hee paused at the door.
“Mr. Kang.”
“Yes?”
“For someone who claims to dislike events, you’re preparing pretty diligently.”
Kang Chi-yeol gave a small snort of laughter. “Disliking something and not doing it are two different things.”
At that, Do-hee let out a very brief laugh. “You’re right about that.”
Then, after looking at him for just a heartbeat longer, she added, “That part of you isn’t bad at all.”
The remark clearly continued from yesterday. His odd answers, his love of organizing, the way he said he hated something yet ended up working hard anyway. Lee Do-hee kept reading Kang Chi-yeol’s patterns little by little and accepting them without making it feel excessive.
Watching her, Kang Chi-yeol suddenly thought, Ah, this is really dangerous.
Because he had already moved past simply finding her pretty.
The way she looks at me. The parts of me she reads. The way she tells me those parts aren’t bad. His heart was reacting to all of it.
After Do-hee left, Kang Chi-yeol stared at the event layout for a long time. The tiny letters marking the positions of their two shops on the paper looked strangely vivid.
Chiyeolhan Chicken and right beside it, Do-hee-ne Ppalgan Mat.
The signs weren’t even fully installed yet, but seeing their names written side by side felt a little awkward, a little funny, and a little thrilling.
Jo A-ra sidled up from behind, peered at the paper, and said, “Whoa.”
These days, Kang Chi-yeol felt annoyed the moment he heard that single syllable.
“What now?”
“It really is one alley, two bosses.”
Kang Chi-yeol couldn’t deny it. Because that picture was truly taking shape now. And inside that picture, his own heart was slowly becoming tied up with it too—something he could no longer completely pretend not to notice.