Chapter 205
Chapter 205
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 205
Chapter Title: Reunion at the Burger Joint
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I walked down the street, lost in thought.
‘There aren’t many people around here.’
A massive apartment complex is what usually drives spending power in an area, but this was an alley lined with modest villas.
Everyone must’ve headed to work, since there were hardly any pedestrians. It was tough to even gauge who the main customer base might be in this alley.
‘The bare minimum commercial spots. A small mart, convenience store, gas station...’
It was clearly a place for workers commuting to the nearby industrial complex to grab a quick rest.
It’d be dead during the day, so not ideal for lunch business.
‘Looks like evening sales need to be the focus here too.’
As these thoughts swirled, I arrived in front of the first shop for the solution session.
‘Handmade burger joint, right?’
It looked unremarkable on the outside. Nothing standout, nothing terrible—just average.
‘Though the menu’s iffy for evening crowds.’
If I had to nitpick, the menu choice was a slight misstep. They should’ve gone for a spot closer to the industrial complex and locked down lunch sales instead.
People could make it here if they tried, but during precious lunch hours, not many would bother trekking this far.
‘Main commercial strip by the factories is probably pricey, though.’
Key money was the real issue in the end.
With that in mind, I flung open the door.
“Hello.”
“Yes, welcome! This is One Bite Handmade Burgers... Huh?”
The voice greeting me sounded familiar. As I lifted my head, wondering where I’d heard it before—
What?
‘...Why are you here?’
Just minutes ago, I’d figured nothing could surprise me. Now here I was, eyes wide in shock.
Someone way outside my expectations had popped up.
“...Choi Min-hyuk?”
“Uh-huh.”
The guy gave an awkward smile in response to my question. None other than Choi Min-hyuk, whom I’d met at the class reunion.
Memories came flooding back.
—I’m Choi Min-hyuk. You probably don’t remember me. We weren’t close.
—I do.
—You do?
—Yeah. You were always at the library.
A face I often saw at the library, where I’d escape the noisy kids my age. We’d never properly introduced ourselves, but I knew his name from his name tag.
His boyhood face hadn’t changed much, so I recognized him right away.
I’d stood there, arms crossed, waiting to see what he wanted as he suddenly chased after me.
But Choi Min-hyuk had said something unexpected.
—About you shutting down An Si-hyeon. Felt good even for me.
—...
—Anyway, that’s what I wanted to say. Thanks, and sorry.
Those words had been such a relief.
I couldn’t help but smile. He’d never guess how much that clumsy comfort had bolstered me.
But why was this guy here?
I stared at Choi Min-hyuk for a moment, then turned to the camera and said,
“Mind if we chat for a bit? It’s an old classmate I haven’t seen in ages.”
The cameraman replied as if he’d been waiting.
“We’ll just film you two talking from afar. Audio stays as is.”
Guess they planned to air the whole classmate reveal on the show. For PD Kim Hee-sung, this was prime material.
How dramatic.
Two kids from the same school, same age—one a mentor, the other a mentee—crossing paths again.
I could already picture how they’d milk it for the teaser.
But what could I do? We were mid-filming for Alley Secrets, and Choi Min-hyuk and I weren’t close enough for it to be an issue.
“Sure. Got it.”
I nodded, and we sat facing each other in one corner of the shop.
Sipping the mixed coffee the owner had brought out, I jumped straight to my burning question.
“You were in the army, right? How’re you here?”
He’d shown up to the reunion with a buzz cut. Was that his last year? Even so, why was a perfectly fine college kid suddenly waitering here? Part-timer?
As confusion filled my head, Choi Min-hyuk scratched his cheek and explained.
“Yeah, but I got medically discharged. Messed up my knee.”
“Ah.”
“They said it was a torn ACL. I’ve been doing steady rehab, so it’s okay now...”
I instantly grasped why he hadn’t gone back to college.
“Not enough for sports anymore.”
“...”
The reason Choi Min-hyuk always crashed out sleeping at the library. The reason he crossed paths with me so often, practically living there.
It was because he was on the track team, up at dawn for morning practice.
‘Track and field, I think.’
I hadn’t paid close attention, but I vaguely knew since he skipped classes all the time for competitions.
A knee injury, though.
I could imagine how devastating that must’ve been for him. As my expression darkened, he rubbed the back of his neck and continued.
“I’d already bombed the national team trials, and my times were dropping. I was wondering if I could keep going anyway.”
I didn’t know much about it, but everyone knew pure track wasn’t a viable career.
“Figured I’d cool off in the army. Turned out for the best, I guess. Lets me quit clean, no regrets.”
His wry smile carried a tangle of emotions—relief, bitterness, regret, and a hint of resentment.
Dedicating your life to sports, only to suddenly scramble for a new path. Couldn’t have been easy.
That explained his complicated look: relief mixed with sourness, lingering what-ifs, and conflicted feelings.
“So you’re part-timing here?”
“Oh, the owner’s my brother.”
That’s why they looked alike.
“Helping out at my bro’s shop.”
If the burger joint did well, he could probably snag a vice president title or something.
At this fly-blown moment, though, not sure if they could even pay minimum wage properly.
“Sorry. When I applied here, I thought name-dropping you as my classmate might get me in. Didn’t expect it to actually work.”
He seemed embarrassed, thinking he’d leveraged my name.
‘After the first episode aired, applications flooded in. Out of all those, this alley got picked... probably thanks to Choi Min-hyuk.’
No need to chew him out for it, though. Win-win for PD and him.
“It’s fine. We’re classmates—that’s no lie. No need to sweat it.”
Once you’re famous, tons of people cash in on your name. I waved it off casually.
“More importantly, waitering’s gotta strain the knee. You sure you’re okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
He blinked, surprised by my concern, then answered.
“I was always sturdy. Rested up during rehab, so I’m good now.”
“Good to hear.”
I’d been thrown at first by the surprise face, but it wasn’t An Si-hyeon, and Choi Min-hyuk had never left a bad impression, so no big deal.
“But no special treatment just ‘cause we’re classmates. I’ll judge the food extra strict.”
“Of course! I’m confident. My brother’s handmade burgers are killer.”
“Big talk. Let’s see.”
I naturally picked up the menu beside me.
‘Around now was when handmade burgers started trending here. Still pretty novel to most folks.’
That explained the user-friendly menu. It listed ingredients for each item in detail.
Options: basic handmade burger, cheese version, double patty, and so on.
Not stopping there—probably chasing lunch crowds—they had random meal sets too. Pork cutlet sets, hamburger steak sets.
‘How many’s that?’
Cover all these from that tiny kitchen? Impossible once crowds hit.
“Uh, some customers don’t like handmade burgers.”
Sensing my sharp look, Choi Min-hyuk scrambled excuses. Must’ve added them one by one out of desperation as sales tanked.
I got the sentiment. And a big menu isn’t inherently bad.
‘The problem’s you can’t nail every single one.’
If they could make a ton of tasty dishes, I’d applaud.
“Hamburger steak—made in-house?”
“...No.”
“Photo shows miso soup with it. That miso soup? Store-bought?”
“...”
His silence confirmed it. No need to try the steak set.
“Pork cutlet? You pound the meat and bread it here?”
“No...”
Not a cutlet specialist, so no shock they used pre-made.
Everything but the burgers seemed frozen. And padding the menu like that was a surefire way to disappoint real customers.
‘Who’d come back after chowing down on a pre-made steak set?’
That had to be tanking sales big time.
So, how about the star item?
“Just one bun type for the handmade burgers?”
“Oh, it says in the back. Brioche, sesame, or rye—you pick.”
Felt like they put real effort into the burgers. I nodded and ordered.
“Alright. Basic handmade burger, one. Brioche bun.”
“Got it. One sec!”
Choi Min-hyuk bolted to the kitchen. The owner—similar to him but softer features—nodded at the order.
Name tag read ‘Choi Jun-hyuk.’
‘Not a huge age gap.’
Young owner had me doubting how good his burgers could be.
‘Lots of folks underestimate handmade burgers. But patty quality doesn’t lie.’
A patty from mixed beef cuts falls apart if the fat-to-lean ratio’s off even slightly. Too dry or greasy.
It demands serious skill, and experience shows in the results.
Sizzle sizzle.
The patty hit the grill, and soon my order was plated perfectly.
“Whoa!”
I was stunned the moment I saw the handmade burger.
“No way, this is...!”