Wanna Fight?
The narrow elevator doors slid shut behind us, and I immediately sat down at the perfect height for Luke, tilting my baby’s chin up with my thumb to stroke his cheek while I spoke.
I remembered what the old daycare teacher had once warned me: entering an unfamiliar, cramped space could trigger anxiety in the baby.
“Our little Luke, you’re beautiful again today?”
“Uhn······.”
Surrounding adults laughed softly, calling him cute, but the way the child clung so tightly—arms squeezing the neck of his stuffed bear, shoulders hunched—I felt a sharp ache in my chest.
I gently rubbed his arms and shoulders as if soothing a bear being hugged too hard.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be tense.”
“Eee······.”
Still, he now answered with the occasional “eh” even outside, so maybe he really was improving bit by bit.
Ding!
Thankfully, the third floor came quickly. Waiting staff greeted us at the elevator and led us into the spacious conference room.
On the table sat a temporary nameplate with my name already attached. I slipped it around my neck.
In these closed spaces, the occasional stares I’d caught—usually from others spotting a foreigner with a white baby—had grown more frequent. When people’s eyes locked on each other, everything focused.
Still, I’d learned to pay extra attention to appearances and, in other words, to “look presentable.” It definitely reduced the judgmental glances. And on days like today, when my identity was crystal clear, it was even more effective.
People’s prejudices ran so shallow.
Anyway. Today’s venue was especially inviting for readers who would be bound together by one book, so I wanted to leave a good impression. That much was obvious.
So I focused on holding Luke comfortably while we waited for the presentation to begin.
Simple finger foods and water were served. Small talk continued around me—the situation I hated most······.
Instead, I directed my full attention to Luke, assuming my discomfort would transfer to him if I let it.
While people chatted in low murmurs, I tickled the soles of his feet, making him giggle. I played the game of guessing whether he would laugh aloud or not, when a bright female voice cut through from beside us.
“How old is the baby?”
A woman with pale blue eyes and pale blonde hair stood there, her expression slightly cool. She wore a soft-blue semi-formal suit that looked overly formal for a recipe-book presentation.
“He’s······ seven months old now.”
“I see. Has he received all his vaccinations?”
“······Yes, of course.”
I’d even gotten the flu shot myself—an adult who’d never received one—out of pure concern for the baby. Of course I was keeping up with his shots.
“I see. Judging by your appearance, you seem to be a single dad. I ask out of motherly concern. It’s often helpful to remind single parents.”
“Ah, yes.”
I tried to keep my face neutral, but she smiled and extended her hand.
“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s a job hazard for me······. My name is Ivy Taylor. I work at the Saint Mary Church–affiliated kindergarten.”
The words “Saint Mary Church” halted my thoughts for a second.
It was the place the real-estate agent had mentioned the day we first viewed the villa. ······The very spot where neighborhood children would graduate from kindergarten and walk straight into the elementary school attached to it!
This woman could very well become Luke’s future teacher······!
I quickly collected my thoughts and returned her smile with a warm handshake.
“Ah, hello. I’m Jun.”
After exchanging brief introductions, we traded stories about why we were here. Ivy Taylor confirmed that Evan had personally recommended her.
She and her husband had visited the kindergarten to learn about the educational environment for their yet-to-be-born child. They had been captivated by her baking skills during the bake sale she hosted.
“I was so happy when Evan handed me his card. What brought you here, Mr. Jun?”
“Ah, I’m working at Mr. James’s cafe······.”
I had slipped into small talk without realizing it, then felt a little embarrassed when I caught Cassandra’s proud expression.
Fortunately, a few staff members—including Evan—entered the room and the presentation began.
“Have you all exchanged greetings? Working on a new book with such wonderful people makes my heart race.”
The comment felt awkward, yet smiles and excitement lit up every face.
“······.”
Beyond the man Evan Brown, he possessed undeniable charisma. When he spoke about the publisher’s founding ideals and philosophy while flipping through the opening slides, intelligence and impeccable social manners shone through.
The positive energy, pride in his craft, relaxed posture, and genuine smile—anyone who had met him on our first day would question whether they had actually spoken to the same person.
Was the earlier irritability, anxiety, and tension gone because his wife was pregnant? Or had he simply become so skilled at compartmentalizing private emotions during business that no one would notice?
“······.”
Actually, the shift in how he treated me had begun the moment I first approached him. “I’ll be seeing you around, so let’s keep things smooth.” That was his silent message.
I didn’t want to carry an awkward relationship with the neighbor I lived close to. And even if I had been alone, I had wanted to clear the air for my wife and the new child on the way.
I didn’t want awkwardness around me either—not for myself, but for Luke.
······If his wife was pregnant, had he stopped considering adoption?
The thought crossed my mind and I immediately shook my head. It was a tiny curiosity, but it had nothing to do with me. Honestly, I didn’t care much.
I set aside those random thoughts and private feelings and focused on the presentation that followed. The meat of it was coming.
“Honestly, nowadays almost no one buys recipe books when they need recipes. After all, you can find everything you want on YouTube or blogs in just a few minutes—often for free.”
That was true. Even after I gained the ability to cook anything, I still hadn’t bought a recipe book.
“The convenience is incomparable. Endless cooking tips, recipes, and even creators link the ingredients and tools you’ll need. People are already used to fast, easy, and convenient online searches.”
So Evan explained, you could only convince people to buy if the product’s value felt genuinely high.
He turned the next slide in his PPT.
An elegantly bound hardcover filled the screen.
The cover carried the unmistakable touch of a master’s hand, and the paper and ink quality were so premium that you could feel the care through the images.
“This year’s collection of classics from our publishing house. Before it even reached bookstore shelves, the advance orders sold out the entire first print run.”
Since the classics were now public domain, anyone could read the stories for free on the internet. Yet Evan was stressing that people had paid real money for this book.
“People always chase the trendy and new, but they can’t give up on the satisfaction classics bring—even if it means a showpiece price and higher cost.”
That was basically appealing to buyers’ vanity······?
“That’s why we chose the selling points for this recipe book to be the stability classics offer, plus the special touch your own unique stories can provide to the readers sitting here.”
“······.”
Something felt familiar yet intangible. Was I the only one who noticed? The eyes of the people around me sparkled.
“The most popular content on SNS is food stories. People today want even their daily meals to trend.”
······No, not at all.
Most people would probably ask, “What’s wrong with eating the same thing every day?” Honestly, simple, easy-to-make meals are the best, right?
I had always eaten the same dishes, but thanks to the Manito App lately I could upgrade them to the best recipes. Before the App, though, I’d just eaten the same thing daily.
······No, wait. Maybe the problem was just me? Do people really want every meal to be special nowadays?
“Exactly. They want their own one meal to look special to the world. And today’s lunch menu is one of the easiest ways to show you’re keeping up in this society.”
That made sense.
“But the truth is, ordinary people often find it hard even with that. Every day is busy, time is short, and food expenses add up. So following trends on SNS feels so stupid, exhausting, and pointless.”
That was fair.
“Yet they still stare at their SNS screens.”
That was the problem.
“Most people struggle to keep up with the flood of information and the rapidly changing trends. So we thought: what if we show them the lives of people who stick to their own uniqueness instead of chasing trends?”
The next slide in the PPT revealed the book’s title.
My Story, My Food
The title was so straightforward it was almost too on the nose. Polite applause rippled through the room. I clapped along out of social habit, even though I wasn’t sure why people were clapping.
Somehow, a title that captured the essence of “recipes that live your own story” felt perfect.
“The weight of trends that are hard to follow and hard to accept is light, but the truth of an individual is different. And that truth shines even brighter when etched on paper.”
“At Brown House Publishing, we still believe in the power of books even in this digital age.”
“We want to spotlight, refine, and edit those who have stories people can truly relate to.”
Stories that could have stayed private would now be reimagined, given time and resources, turned into physical books, and sold to the world.
Evan said he would handle plating for each person, menu planning, photographing with personal story elements, and conducting interviews.
“The journey won’t be easy, but I believe every single one of us here will find this one book deeply meaningful.”
With those words, the presentation ended. Amid the applause, Evan in particular held my gaze a moment longer than necessary and smiled.
······Why, I wonder.