Struck by Lightning and Turned into a Woman
The two-in-command chef called out sharply, his voice cutting through the chaotic kitchen like a blade.
“Second fryer! Switch the thermometer! Check the oil temperature right now!”
His cold tone made the already hot air in the kitchen freeze instantly.
“...Huh?”
“Did you not hear me? Switch the thermometer!”
“Y-Yes, yes sir!”
The young fryer flinched and bolted away.
I should have scolded him instead of staying silent.
But Chef Sue’s words made the fryer run as if his feet were on fire.
“I’ll replace the thermometer!”
The fryer hurried over and swapped the device.
While I washed dishes, I kept sneaking glances at the fryer section.
If my guess was right, the real oil temperature had to be lower than 190 degrees.
After the thermometer was replaced, the new one flashed a reading of 175.
Fifteen degrees below the ideal 190.
“W-What... why is this...”
The fryer’s voice began to crack.
Then Chef Sue’s thunderous shout rang out.
“The old thermometer must have malfunctioned! You checked the equipment properly!”
“I-I’m sorry!”
The fryer trembled like a man facing execution.
It turned out the thermometer had been broken all along.
Broken thermometers... that could happen.
But a skilled chef should be able to judge oil temperature by eye alone.
Thermometers were only assistants.
The fryer should have sensed something was wrong by looking at the food long before checking the gauge.
“Where is the fryer section leader?”
“T-The section leader is on leave today. So I...”
It seemed the fryer leader hadn’t shown up at all.
That was why the highest-ranking fryer among the line had taken over.
His skill must have been lacking.
Having relied only on the thermometer, he had no idea what was happening.
“How many years have you been here?”
“Four years.”
“A four-year veteran can’t even check the oil temperature? Are you telling me the thermometer is cooking the food?”
“...I’m sorry.”
Chef Sue’s words echoed my own thoughts.
The fryer had been scolded for not sensing oil temperature even after four years.
“Everyone, what are you staring at! Lunch is still in progress!”
Chef Sue’s shout echoed across the entire kitchen, snapping everyone out of their daze.
Other chefs quickly returned to their stations.
A four-year fryer who couldn’t read oil temperature or notice a broken thermometer... he deserved to be punished.
But Chef Sue didn’t scold him further.
Lunch service was still going on.
Orders were pouring in from the guests.
“Today I’ll observe the fryer section myself. You go and knead dough.”
“Y-Yes, understood.”
The four-year-old fryer was chased into a corner of the fryer area.
Chef Sue finally wrapped up his attention on the fryer section.
The kitchen came back to life.
“Haa...”
I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.
I hadn’t wanted the fryer to be scolded, but I’d only worried that the customers would end up eating bad fried food.
Of course, interfering in a dishwasher’s job was way over the top, but I felt strangely good knowing the customers would have a better meal.
After that, the hellish dishwasher routine continued once more.
*
“Thank you for your hard work. You can go eat lunch now.”
“Thank you...”
Lunch service ended, and break time began.
The endless wave of dishes finally stopped.
When I glanced at my watch, it was already 2:50 p.m.
I had stood there for six straight hours, washing dishes without a single break.
The dishwasher said we could eat at the hotel staff cafeteria at this time.
“Hey. Dishwasher.”
As I was about to take off my apron and leave the kitchen.
A cold, heavy voice stopped me in my tracks.
I turned around and found Chef Sue staring at me.
“Y-Yes, yes!”
I answered tightly wound with tension.
Chef Sue took slow, deliberate steps toward me.
“Earlier, when you spotted the issue with the fryer, did you notice it first?”
“Y-Yes.”
Just as I had feared.
Was he watching the fryer from the very beginning?
A strange flutter stirred in my chest.
I had been the first to notice the anomaly.
Perhaps that was why Chef Sue had taken a liking to me.
Countless wild thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant.
“—Focus on washing dishes.”
But Chef Sue’s next words shattered every one of them.
His voice was icy as he warned me not to overstep.
“In the kitchen, everyone has their place. Frying is frying. Stir-frying is stir-frying. Washing dishes is washing dishes. Commanding is commanding. Your job is not to gather the customers’ leftovers and file complaints. That is my duty as hall staff or mine as the head chef. Your role is washing dishes.”
“...Yes.”
I lowered my head and pressed my lips together tightly.
Everything he said was correct.
I knew it myself.
In the kitchen, you had to stay in your assigned spot. That was what made a good kitchen.
Moreover, I was just a lowly dishwasher, not even a real chef.
“If you’re washing dishes, then focus on washing dishes.”
The words pierced my heart.
They reminded me of my place once more.
An orphan who had never properly learned to cook, a bottom-of-the-barrel dishwasher.
It was the familiar treatment I had always received.
I forced my voice higher and answered.
“Y-Yes! Understood!”
It had to start that way.
Still, I felt a strange surge of pride.
Then I turned to go eat.
Chef Sue added something in a small voice.
“...You’ve clearly handled a lot of frying before. Even knowing the oil temperature with half-frozen oil is quite impressive.”
“Eh?”
I asked back, confused.
But Chef Sue was already walking away.
What had he just said?
Gurgle...
As I watched Chef Sue leave in a daze, my stomach rumbled loudly.
Once the tension released, hunger hit me hard.
I had stood still for six hours, washing dishes the whole time.
I shoved my worries aside and ran to the staff cafeteria.
I immediately forgot everything that had happened and stuffed food into my mouth.
***
“Haa... I made it through the day safely.”
A single day had flown by in an instant.
There had been countless small things, but in the end, I had only washed dishes and gone home.
“Ugh...”
As soon as I reached the rooftop terrace, I collapsed onto the bench.
The best part of the rooftop room.
I could use the bench whenever I wanted.
Lying on the bench, I could see the night sky clearly.
Because it was in the foothills, a few stars were visible.
Above me, the vast night sky.
Below me, the dazzling Seoul night view.
One of the most beautiful views in the city.
“I should drink something.”
I jumped up and pulled a bottle from my bag.
This was not a celebration of the hard day or a beer before bed.
It was simply the cold water I had taken from the hotel water cooler.
Buying water was money.
I had decided to carry the large bottle every day and refill it at the hotel dispenser.
“Haa... The hotel water tastes good.”
I gulped down the water instead of beer.
No alcohol, yet somehow I felt strangely emotional.
“Haah...”
Lying there under the Seoul night sky, I suddenly remembered what had happened in the kitchen earlier.
—Damn, what does a dishwasher know...
The fryer who had cursed at me when I mentioned frying.
Then Chef Sue had shown up and the oil temperature had been adjusted, but he had still told me not to overstep.
“It’s only natural.”
I felt strangely depressed.
I had made my point, but I had been openly ignored as a mere dishwasher.
I decided to let it go.
It was the right thing to do in the kitchen.
I just needed to focus on washing dishes.
Washing dishes was not a lowly job.
“When will I become a real chef?”
The real worry was something else.
My goal was to become a Chinese chef.
Could washing dishes in a hotel kitchen make me a Chinese chef?
Today’s experience suggested it would be difficult.
At the very least, I would need to start as a kitchen intern.
But there weren’t many kitchens willing to take in an orphan with no experience.
“No. No negative thoughts!”
I quickly slapped my own cheeks.
When I was down, I punched my cheeks.
A habit since childhood.
Orphans like me from the slums were quick to fall into negative emotions.
But thinking that way wouldn’t change reality.
I had to do something to chase the gloomy feeling away.
“Oh, this.”
As I wandered the rooftop and entered the room, a wooden box sitting in the corner caught my eye.
It was the high-end Chinese kitchen set my anonymous benefactor had given me.
I picked it up and sat on the bench again.
The night view of Seoul reflected on the Chinese knife.
Even now, it was a beautiful blade.
No brand name visible, but perhaps it was handmade by a master.
Anyway, it was truly a wonderful gift.
“When will I be able to use this knife to cook?”
I wanted to try it right away, but I had no kitchen tools yet.
Next month, when I received my salary, I would fix up the rooftop kitchen and buy some utensils.
I would practice cooking bit by bit at home.
I wasn’t going to complain about being just a dishwasher.
Once I got stronger, opportunities would come.
“Or maybe I’ll post cooking videos or recipes on social media later.”
That was when the thought struck me.
These days, social media was incredibly advanced.
Even ordinary people, not professional chefs, could become famous as cooking influencers by sharing their skills online.
From there, they could open restaurants or walk the chef path.
I didn’t have to stay gloomy just because I was washing dishes.
As the director always said, opportunities were made by creating them.
By cooking somehow and showing it to the world, the opportunities would come.
I felt lucky to have been born in this era.
With just this smartphone, I could show the world my cooking.
Next month, when I got my salary, I would begin seriously.
Tap-tap-tap-tap
At that moment.
Drops of water began to fall from the sky.
The sky had been clear just moments ago, but now it was covered in thick clouds.
“Suddenly?”
I hurriedly grabbed my bag, the knife, and my water bottle.
There had been no rain forecast.
Because it was in the foothills?
I had to get inside the room quickly.
Zap—
“Eh?”
Something strange happened.
Sparks flew from the knife I was holding.
In that short time, the rain had grown much heavier.
In just a few seconds, the rain turned into a downpour.
An ominous thought crossed my mind.
This was a high foothill rooftop room.
The rain was pouring down, and distant thunder rumbled.
And the Chinese knife was metal.
Insane as it sounded, if the knife acted as a lightning rod...
I might get struck by lightning.
“Hehe. What kind of fantasy is this?”
I laughed at myself while standing in the rain, imagining ridiculous things.
I had better get inside the room.
I could put the Chinese knife back in the box.
Then there would be no chance of being struck by lightning.
First, put it away, then go inside and dry the floor before rust started.
“Let’s go.”
I grabbed the box with the knife and my bag and ran toward the room.
Just before I entered.
Flash—
The most intense pain I had ever felt.
My vision turned completely white.
My whole body trembled as I collapsed.
I had been struck by lightning.
***
“U-Urgh...?”
I slowly sat up, my body stiff and sore.
My foggy mind gradually cleared.
The sensation on my skin was cold and hard.
Finally opening my eyes, I saw the unique green floor of the rooftop room.
I had become one with the rooftop floor.
“Ugh... What the hell just happened...”
I slowly pushed myself up.
Every joint in my body screamed in protest.
Clearly, I had tried to enter the room right after the heavy rain...
“Lightning?”
Lightning. Yes, I had been struck by lightning.
It still seemed unbelievable to me.
Yet I was awake and fine.
Reality felt absent.
Did I really get hit?
My body felt normal...
“U-Urghaaah! Why is my face like this! Kyaaah! My voice too!”
It wasn’t normal at all!
I looked down at the puddle on the floor and saw my reflection.
There was the face of a cute young girl.
Even my voice sounded different.
Soft, clear, the voice of a girl who had never breathed in a speck of dust...
“W-Waaaaaaaah!!”
Struck by lightning and become a girl.
Crash—
Not only that.
Surprised by the fact that I was a woman, I thrashed around and accidentally swung my arm at the nearby rooftop railing.
Crash— clatter—
But one punch from me had bent the iron railing, and metal shavings rained down.
I had become a girl and gained superhuman strength.