How the Rank 0 Chef Survives Episode 54: "Shall We Give It a Try?"
Thump thump.
My heart pounded. I scanned the cooking equipment spread out before me. The wide rectangular tteokbokki griddle. The fish cake cooker steaming with the savory aroma of broth. Divided compartments, each skewered with different types of fish cakes. The spotless deep fryer. The blood sausage station, plump sausages wrapped in plastic.
Thump thump.
This feeling always hit at the start of something new. Half excitement, half nerves. But the nerves were faint. I'd dreamed of this moment forever. Every time, I'd gripped my knife with desperate longing, lit the fire with hunger. I'd thirsted for opportunity. Starved for it.
And now, here it was—the chance I'd craved so badly, opening wide. My ravenous dream jaws had finally met fresh, wriggling fish, ready to devour it whole. How could I not be thrilled? How could my heart not race?
I answered with gusto.
"Yes! I'll give it a shot!"
"The seasonings are here. Other ingredients are all below. Ask if anything's unclear."
"Got it, Boss."
"We'll talk details after you make some."
"Understood."
I swept my eyes over my new workplace.
"Hoo—"
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Tap—the boss lady placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"First time in a restaurant, right?"
"Yes, Boss."
"Don't stress too much. It's not that hard. Customers haven't arrived yet, so treat it like practice. Relax."
She smiled warmly, trying to ease my tension.
But.
Pfft—a chuckle slipped out.
"Tension?"
"Pardon?"
"Boss, where's the time for tension? Great restaurant, top-notch gear, amazing boss. I'm too busy learning."
"Hohoho, is that so? Let's see if your cooking matches that silver tongue."
"Yup!"
Easy to say, but my hands shook a little. The rectangular tteokbokki griddle looked bigger than expected. It hadn't seemed this huge as a kid.
Don't shake. Just think of it as a big frying pan.
No, comparing it to a frying pan was an insult. This was purpose-built for tteokbokki.
But no time for nerves. The test had already begun.
Splash—I boldly poured water onto the griddle and, with the boss's help, fired it up.
Confidence overflowed. While locked out of the game for 24 hours after dying to Cheon-gong, I'd practiced cooking nonstop, day and night. Sis had tasted it and said it was delicious.
...Though later she grumbled about gaining weight because of me.
Carefully measuring sugar, chili powder, gochujang, soy sauce, and more into the water, I mixed the tteokbokki sauce. The clear liquid turned a vivid red.
I stirred well to blend, then added rice cakes—not too many, just enough to taste. A test, after all.
The boss watched quietly from behind.
Once the cakes softened, in went the fish cakes. Simmer slowly. Stir steadily to avoid sticking.
Nearly done—I chopped green onions fine and tossed them in.
Tteokbokki complete.
"Mmm, smells good. Shall we try it?"
"Sure."
I scooped some for her and some for myself.
Chewy.
"Mm."
Perfect. Just like my home practice.
The boss chewed thoughtfully, then nodded.
"Mm~ Delicious."
"Really?"
"Yes. Seasoning's spot-on, cakes are perfectly chewy. Sauce soaked in nicely. Made with basics, but so tasty."
"Thank you."
"No wonder Dahyun recommended you."
She beamed contentedly.
"But we can't sell this batch."
"...Pardon?"
"Save it for our lunch."
She transferred my tteokbokki to a bowl, washed the griddle clean, and reset it.
"Watch me this time."
"Yes."
The boss whipped it up fast and simple. No hesitation, no fumbling. Bold strokes, infused with certainty she'd nail it.
Ah, this pro's fearless~! Some voice echoed in my head.
Blindfolded, she could do it. That's what they meant.
She poured pre-made sauce, added cakes and fish cakes, boiled vigorously. Finished with pre-chopped green onions.
Done. In a flash.
"Try it."
I took a bite of her scoop.
"...!"
Eyes flew wide. Twice as good as mine. Seemed slapped together, yet every finicky detail I'd measured and timed perfectly fused in.
This was a true master. I had a long way to go.
"How is it?"
"...Delicious."
A senior in the food world, indeed. I'd been a frog in a well, cocky from a game class, clueless after little real training.
"Yours is plenty good, but flavor shifts could confuse customers. Stick to my recipe first."
"Got it!"
"Use the pre-made sauce below. We'll tweak later if ideas come. Okay?"
"That means..."
She smiled brightly.
"Yes. Looking forward to working with you."
"Me too! I'll give it my all, bones and body."
"Haha! Tongue like a con artist's. No sales worries. Come sign the contract first."
"Yes!"
"Huff—huff—"
On a wide boulevard beside a park, where sidewalks sprawled broad, a woman ran, sweat pouring. Her hair, gathered tight in a ponytail, poked through the baseball cap's back hole, swaying silkily with each stride.
"Huff—huff—"
After a long run, she slumped onto a bench in tree shade, gasping. She yanked off her sweat-soaked cap, unbound her hair.
Swish—thick locks fanned out like a shampoo ad.
She gulped water.
"Haa... alive."
Brushing hair back, her flushed cheeks bloomed like flowers on white canvas, soft-brushed.
Ji-hyun bit her hair tie, regathered and rebound the strands. Hard workout's reward—precious sweat trailed her pale neck.
Resumed exercise. Daily grind. No easy days. Throat burned, lungs burst. Dizzy spells sometimes.
But fulfillment surged. Unlike aimless room-bound days. Every day felt full. Drawing closer to him, bit by bit.
Molrangkau, Seo Ji-hyun. At the big mart where she'd lost Hura, she'd vowed—and kept it. Ran daily without fail.
Reasons: Wait ready for the Hura-like man. Build stamina to chase and catch if spotted. Two birds, one stone.
Good motive made it stick.
One change: No more mask. Breathing in one felt suffocating.
Even wrong road leads to Seoul. She'd conquered the mask; cap next.
Slow but sure. Improving.
"Phew—stamina's way up."
Ji-hyun's endurance soared dramatically. Daily leaps.
Not miracle—stubborn grit challenging limits, plus innate talent.
Always athletic prodigy. All-rounder, envy magnet in studies and sports.
Post-incident seclusion tanked it. Restart shocked her at the drop.
Bit of rivalry too. Couldn't catch up last time. Vowed next time.
"...Next time, I'll catch you, Hura."
She'd already pegged the lookalike as Hura.
"Break over."
Cap on, light jog resumed. Ponytail like a horse's tail swaying, she awaited reunion.
"......"
Her eyes blazed—longing? Rivalry? Hope? Grudge? Even she didn't know.
As lunch neared, first customers arrived. Elementary kids trio from nearby school. Crumpled bills out.
"Three tteokbokki, please!"
"Coming right up~"
Customer service? Cakewalk. Part-time vet.
Even restaurant gig once—serving only.
Scooping orders into cups, innocent faces gawked like baby birds awaiting feed.
One piped up.
"Where's Auntie? Why uncle?"
Twitch—temple vein popped, but smile held.
"Not uncle, big bro."
"Where's Auntie, uncle?"
...This brat.
"...Boss is inside, sir."
"You alba?"
Another chimed.
"Yes. Mere employee hired by boss."
...I hear you punks.
Whispering "quietly," but crystal clear.
"Here you go. Tteokbokki served."
Packed cups to the brats.
"...Thanks."
They took reluctantly, exchanged glances. Leader spoke—first talker.
"No refunds?"
...You little.
I eyed the bold demander.
"Why, sir?"
"Huh?"
"Haven't tasted yet. No refunds for buyer's remorse."
"......"
Tossed tough words; face blanked, emergency huddle.
Getting cocky, huh.
"Kids."
"Yes?"
Six eyes blinked up.
"Eat first—er, taste and then complain."
"No refund after eating."
Silent one's turn. Hair guy. Trio's brain.
Sigh—I leaned in, peering down.
"Hey."
"Y-yes?"
Dropped tone, casual—faces flustered.
"Here's the deal, you runts."
Eyes wobbled anxious.
"One bite each."
"...And if?" Hesitant.
"One bite. Can't stomach the rest? Full refund, my dime."
How's that, punks. Generous.
Huddle again.
"......"
Sigh, facepalm.
"Full refund, you twerps!"
They flinched, whispers tiny.
Brain proud.
...Fine. Seoul's Seoul.
Mumbling ended, heads up. Leader bold.
"Okay, uncle. Deal."
"One more."
I added condition.
"Finish it all, call me bro. You runts."