Cough! Cough!
As the sun rose and morning broke, S-man jolted awake with a violent coughing fit. Slumped over in the pickup truck's driver's seat, he waved his hand blindly, eyes still shut, like his throat was on fire and he was groping for something to drink. I handed him a bottle of water, and he chugged it down greedily.
"You really guzzle water like it's going out of style."
"Guzzle-guzzle?"
Still half-asleep, huh? I slapped his cheek, and only then did S-man snap to attention with a startled look.
"Wha—what...? What happened?"
"What happened? You don't remember the fireworks show yesterday and all the fun we had?"
"Uh... yeah, I think I do."
"Right. And as a bonus, we took out one of those unicorn water ghosts."
"Is that... so?"
"Now that you're awake, start the damn car. I'm starving—let's head to your big family house and mooch some food."
The third-generation heir shows up, and they'll roll out a feast fit for a king. I leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes closed, relaxed. S-man hesitated mid-key-turn and asked cautiously,
"But yesterday... didn't our tire blow out?"
"The truck was barreling along when the tire popped—how do you think we stopped without crashing? It was just your imagination."
S-man gave me a weird look but didn't bother getting out to check. He seemed to figure if I said it, it must be true. Only after firing up the engine and confirming the tires rolled smooth did the tension ease from his face.
We sped toward his family estate on roads miraculously free of traffic. S-man kept opening and closing his mouth like a dog desperate for a shit. Finally, steeling himself, he spoke up hesitantly.
"Actually, I had this nightmare last night."
"Ooh, dream talk—love it. Fortune-tellers obsess over birth charts and face-reading, but dream interpretation's my jam too. No charge, spill it."
"Well... it was an incredible dream in every way. On the frozen lake from my memories, that girl from my past was playing with me. We slid around on sleds and skates on the ice, or gathered snowballs from the sky and pelted each other. Then suddenly, a blinding flash shot down from the heavens, and this brown-haired, tanned muscle dude—like his skin was baked in the desert—appeared, grabbed the girl, and flew up into the sky. I chased after her desperately, but I couldn't reach."
"And?"
"The worst, saddest part... The girl who'd been happily playing with me just moments before went up into that brown-haired tanned guy's arms with this blissful smile, like I didn't even exist."
"Felt like watching your first love get stolen right in front of you, huh."
"Terrifying. As bad as if she'd fucked a trans man."
"I get it. But that's how guys grow up. First loves you never even banged getting snatched by another dude? Way more common than you think."
Considering "first love never works out" is universal wisdom, it had solid backing.
"Well, if that girl can be happy, I guess it's a relief."
"Yeah, yeah—your first-love sob story's more boring than a third-rate romance novel now, so hurry up and get us to your mansion. I'm hungry."
"We'll be there soon. But showing up unannounced like this—the elders might not like the boss tagging along. You okay with that?"
"Koreans are suckers for food. They might spit on a smiling face, but not on someone begging for a meal."
My relatives who took me in always treated me like yesterday's leftovers, so I could never eat properly. Back in school, I ended up freeloading at my friends' houses a lot. Luckily, they all had great parents who didn't mind sharing a meal with a poor orphan—and that's how Han Daeri exists today.
We rolled into a village marked with an unfamiliar name, breezing past a sign: "Private property of the XX family from here on—trespassers prohibited." Just like S-man said, this clan had gobbled up so much land they built a massive, whale-backed tiled mansion with walls taller than a man, stretching on forever. Around it sprawled rice paddies, orchards for self-sufficiency, and separate pens for livestock. Every inch of this bus-less village served one family alone.
And now, no longer a frozen wasteland but a serene lake teeming with life came into view.
"This lake's been frozen year-round since way before I was born, so they couldn't use it for irrigation and had to pipe in groundwater. Now we can draw from here easy."
"Come spring, birds'll nest around it, fish'll swarm. Could even turn it into a tourist spot."
"Haha, if I inherit the family, I'll seriously consider it."
As the third-gen heir, S-man could crush the collaterals and swallow the ancestors' legacy whole. But right now, my stomach's future mattered more than his. No dinner last night—my gut was rumbling nonstop, and if I didn't feed it soon, it'd digest itself with acid.
Approaching the palace-like mansion's grand gate, I told S-man I had something I really wanted to try and pounded on it instead.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
"Get over here!"
Sure enough, someone inside slid back the bolt, welcoming us. From a Joseon-era perspective, a servant; modern eyes, a butler. Neat hairstyle, precise movements ingrained in his body, suit impeccable—he stepped out from the traditional tiled house. A modern butler emerging from old Korea. Felt like this place alone was out of sync with the outside world and time.
"Welcome, young master Lee Seongjin. And young master's guest."
Now I knew S-man's real name: Lee Seongjin.
"Nice place. Air's fresh too. Someone with a terminal illness could recover in a year here, good as new."
Not the best thing to say in a house where countless Lee men had died young, but I strode in bold as a fox with a tiger on its back.
Walking marble tiles hand-carved one by one, we passed a stunning garden, a small spring, and fountains crafted to feel utterly natural. Rare national treasure mandarin ducks swam in the spring. One corner had a huge earth-mound greenhouse, probably for growing precious herbs like ginseng.
Everything screamed insane money—judging it with normal economics was pointless. So I kicked off my shoes and hopped right onto the vast wooden porch without a second thought.
The house was ridiculously huge: corridors wide enough for races, rooms clustered like honeycomb—too many to count.
S-man followed, bitter smile on his face.
"A bit big, right? When the family's together—direct lines, collaterals—they all gather, so they had to build big."
"And you're the third-gen heir among the direct descendants."
"Yeah. Most family matters got handled by elders or collaterals, so I've only visited a handful of times since childhood. Still not used to it."
"Nonsense, young master. You'll inherit this place soon—don't say that."
An uncle-age guy bowed deeply, and S-man's smile soured further. Ignoring it, I marched into the biggest room, plaque reading "Main Conference Hall."
A massive rectangular table with cushions for a crowd.
"Always wanted to eat at a table this huge."
"This is where elders hold important meetings, but for a meal? Should be fine. Right, uncle?"
"...If the young master wishes, of course."
"Then ask the kitchen aunts to bring food. We skipped dinner last night—starving."
"Heavens! How could the young master go hungry?! I'll prepare a meal right now!"
More shocked by S-man's hunger than turning the hall into a dining room, the butler bolted down the corridor in a panic.
"As you've heard, our family's always short on hands generation after generation, so they obsess over direct male heirs' health. Meals, herbal tonics, supplements—from childhood, no skipping."
"Makes sense."
With unicorn water ghosts sucking the life out of the men, of course they'd treasure a healthy mid-20s third-gen heir more than the One Ring.
I rummaged a drawer, pulled out a folding fan, plopped in the head seat, and snapped it open with a crack!, fanning lazily.
"Listen up, S-man. Out of pity, I personally sent that water ghost chained to your house for centuries straight to heaven. Your descendants owe me eternal gratitude. Specifically, gift me BBQ Golden Olive Chicken once a month."
"No question. I follow the boss blindly."
Sweet—free Golden Olive Chicken monthly. Fanning away, soon platters of insane delicacies flooded the table. Kitchen aunts fully mobilized—dishes I'd never even heard of. I took one bite of that famous tarakjuk and shoved it aside. A guy enjoying rice porridge that much? Gay vibes.
Before digging in, S-man and I clinked cool dongdongju cups, toasting the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office's prosperity.
Just as I lifted some obscenely tender, slutty-looking braised ribs for a huge bite—
Voices and footsteps poured in from outside.
The frail old man at the front of the mob flung open the sliding doors.
"You bastardsssssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
These braised short ribs are fucking delicious.