I Was No Longer His Personal Chef

The Cooking Research Club's first official meeting.

When I opened the door to the cooking practice room after school, Hong Jihye—wearing an apron—flung both arms wide to greet me.

"Welcome, one and all! Thank you for making the long journey here today!"

"…What?"

…What's with the act all of a sudden? This girl, honestly… she's so hard to keep up with.

"Why do you keep being so stiff and boring, huh? …And drop the honorifics. We're the same age. You're always drawing these subtle little lines between us, and… I don't like it. Got it?"

Hong Jihye poked me in the chest with her pinky as she spoke.

…Then again, keeping the formal speech up had been getting awkward anyway.

"…So, what are we making today?"

Hong Jihye, as if she'd been waiting for exactly that, flipped open a notebook.

On the cover, in wobbly handwriting, was the title: Cooking Research Club Revival Operation.

She spread the notebook open, and there it was—the menu.

"Ta-da! Today's menu is… soufflé pancakes!"

"I saw them on Insta and… I want them so bad… So make them and feed them to me!"

…Isn't that way too advanced? Beginners have things meant for beginners, you know.

I raised the obvious question.

"…If you mess up the oven temperature, the whole thing collapses flat… Can you even make those?"

"Of course I can't! That's why you're here!"

Shameless. Completely and utterly shameless.

I had nothing to say to that.

"…Let's start by seeing what's in the fridge."

Checking the ingredients she claimed to have bought with the club budget…

Pork shoulder, onions, gochujang, scallions. No matter how I looked at it, that was not a soufflé pancake lineup.

…Unless the definition of "pancake" had changed overnight.

"…I can't make soufflé pancakes out of this."

"Oh no…"

Did this girl seriously not think this through at all?

For all I knew, she figured I'd just wave a magic wand and produce pancakes.

"If you're fine with anything… how about spicy stir-fried pork?"

"Yes, yes! Spicy pork! That sounds amazing too!"

Apparently our club president… doesn't have any convictions about the menu whatsoever.

First, I let the meat marinate. Gochujang, soy sauce, sugar, minced garlic… and pepper last.

Hong Jihye watched from beside me with sparkly eyes, occasionally muttering things that genuinely frightened me.

"What if we used corn syrup instead of sugar? Aren't you curious? All corn syrup…"

"…Do not touch anything."

…Under no circumstances was I ever letting that girl anywhere near the cooking.

The practice room in May was too warm for standing over a stove, so we'd left the windows all the way open.

The moment the meat hit the sizzling hot pan—fssshh!—the smell of the gochujang marinade caramelizing filled the air.

"Whoa… whoa, what is that smell. Insane…"

Hong Jihye drifted toward the pan, nostrils flaring. …Her drool ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is about to hit the floor.

That was when it happened. With a grating screech, the practice room door slid open, and an all-too-familiar icy voice rang out.

"Hey! Hong Jihye… what are you up to this time…"

It was Ms. Park Seung-ah—the math teacher.

I remembered she was supposedly the faculty advisor for this club… So she had an interest in food, apparently.

Mid-sentence, the math teacher went quiet…

and began staring blankly down at the spicy pork sizzling in the pan.

Then she looked at me.

"…You made this?"

Before I could answer, Hong Jihye burst in.

"Advisor! I told you, remember? That I'd bring in someone incredible! You didn't believe me, but…"

"You told me straight to my face, 'How are you going to recruit anyone new? Wake up and smell reality.' And thanks to my prayers, day after day… I got my hands on this amazing new member… Ah… thank you… Lord…"

…So God really heard her prayers and delivered me here.

After listening to Hong Jihye's explanation, the math teacher frowned, as if finally placing who I was.

"…You're the one who's always late… Class 4."

"…Nice to see you, ma'am."

…So I've been registered in her mind as The Late Kid.

I couldn't argue with an accurate assessment.

Hong Jihye clapped me on the back, thump thump, grinning all the while.

"What's this? Our new member… is actually way more of a delinquent than he looks? I love it. Absolutely love it…"

"That is not what this is."

Whether she did or not, the teacher stared down at the pan for a good long while… then cleared her throat.

"Well. Someone has to verify whether the food students make is actually any good. As faculty advisor, I mean."

…You didn't have to be that obvious about it, ma'am. I was going to offer you a plate anyway.

As it happened, the pork had just finished cooking to perfection.

I scooped some onto a plate, and she picked up a piece with her chopsticks.

And then… for a moment, her eyebrows twitched.

"…Hm. …Well. It's edible."

Even as she said it, her chopsticks were already reaching for the second piece. Then the third.

…Phew. So it's good, then.

"Ah! Ms. Park! Why are you eating it all yourself!"

Not about to be outdone, Hong Jihye was hard at work demolishing the pork still left in the pan.

A short while later,

the teacher polished off her plate completely, left a single word at the door, and vanished.

"…Watch the fire. Clean everything up before you leave."

The moment the door closed, Hong Jihye grabbed my sleeve and whispered.

"Did you see that…? Oh my god, oh my god… she cleaned her whole plate… The upperclassmen's stuff last year, she took one bite and put it down…"

…I feel kind of bad for those upperclassmen, though. That's just cruel.

The next morning.

As I walked into the classroom, the conversation the kids up front were having carried to my ears.

"Hey, did you hear? Somebody made spicy pork at the annex yesterday…"

"That was the Cooking Research Club. Everyone thought they were dead, but apparently they came back."

"The president's Hong Jihye from Class 1, right? Isn't she famous for being a terrible cook, though…?"

"They got a new member, and word is that guy's really good."

…Wow, rumors really travel fast.

When I took my seat, Min Sihyeon beside me glanced my way.

Her lips parted, like she was about to say something… but in the end, she said nothing.

…I didn't say anything either.

That was when Cha Eunha came straight over to my desk.

Deliberately lowering her voice… she whispered right into my ear.

"Hey…! Kang Suho! It's you, isn't it!"

"…What is."

"The Cooking Research Club's new member! That's you! Someone said they saw you walking out of the annex yesterday!"

…There were even witnesses? Really?

"If it is… so what."

"What do you mean, 'so what'! Why were you hiding the fact that you can cook! Hey, can I come hang out on club days? Huh? Just to taste-test! Only taste-testing, I swear!"

"…Do whatever you want."

While answering her, my eyes… drifted over to the seat beside mine before I could stop them.

Min Sihyeon was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fiddling with her pencil case, desperately pretending she couldn't hear a word of our conversation.

…Whispering or not, some of it was definitely carrying. At this distance.

Whatever. …Doesn't matter. Not anymore.

Two days later. The second club meeting.

…Once again today, I slipped out of the classroom before Min Sihyeon could come find me.

Today's menu was kimchi fried rice and rolled omelet.

Hong Jihye had declared that "Phase 2 of the Revival Operation is cementing the rumor," and insisted we pick a menu with a smell that would carry.

…The menu selection criteria was aroma, not taste, apparently.

Well, fine. An order's an order. What can you do.

As I sautéed the finely chopped kimchi in oil until it was sweetly caramelized, a tangy, savory fragrance flooded the practice room. Then I beat the eggs, poured them in a thin layer, and rolled them up, stacking the omelet layer by layer.

…Honestly, this was the menu most familiar to me.

Because it was the favorite dinner of some girl… who lived down the street.

Just as Hong Jihye shoved her nose toward the pan—

a murmur drifted in from the hallway.

Peering through the crack in the door,

I saw five or six kids loitering outside the practice room.

"That's the smell from here, right?"

"God, I'm starving…"

"Hey, you think they do tastings or anything?"

"Excuse me! Tastings are members only!"

When Hong Jihye cracked the door open and shouted, the kids groaned in disappointment.

…Pretty sure that "members only" rule was invented just now.

Then, someone pushed through the crowd and bounded forward.

"Coming through! Cha Eunha, second-year Class 4! Here to observe!"

…She actually came. Well, I figured she would.

"Observe, my foot. You smelled it and came running."

"Oh please, Kang Suho. It's called observing. …Wait, isn't that a rolled omelet? Just one. Come on. Just one…"

Hong Jihye looked back and forth between Eunha and me, then grudgingly spoke up.

"W-well, tastings are for members only…"

"Then I'll join! Done! Problem solved, right?"

Hong Jihye looked vaguely dissatisfied, but… eventually gave in with a fine-then expression.

…Does she not like Eunha or something?

Eunha, for her part, couldn't have cared less, her eyes locked hungrily onto my omelet.

And then, the moment she popped a piece into her mouth—

she froze solid.

…Is it bad? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Did I put in too much salt…?

"…What. What is this."

Her eyes went wide as she stared back and forth between me and the omelet.

"This is insane. What is this. It's so fluffy. Hey, Kang Suho. What are you? You could do this too?"

"…It's just an omelet."

After showering my omelet with praise for a good long while, Eunha sidled up next to me and asked,

"…Where'd you learn it. Cooking, I mean."

Should I answer honestly? While I was still deliberating—

"You don't have to if you don't want to. I'm just… curious. Guys aren't usually good at this stuff, you know."

…Fair enough. It's not a secret, and there's nothing to hide.

I told her everything. And as we talked, Hong Jihye quietly drifted over to my side and joined the audience.

"…And that's why you're this good."

…What's so entertaining about that story that you're both listening so intently?

The two of them simply listened in silence, and before long, asked nothing more.

In the quiet practice room,

all that could be heard was the clink-clink of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dishes knocking together, and the sound of water running over the washing-up.

…When Eunha asked earlier whether I wanted to come along to whatever the Cooking Research Club thing was, I didn't go.

Cooking… just the thought of cooking had Suho springing to mind for no reason, so I said I wasn't interested.

Eunha pulled a disappointed face, then dashed off to the annex all excited. Arin was in her own class, so I had nothing to do with her. And Suho… the second the bell rang, he vanished without so much as a glance back.

…I guess everyone has somewhere to be.

Heading down to the first floor with a knot in my chest, I caught a familiar smell drifting from the annex.

Why. Why would that smell be at school.

Why.

Before I knew it, I was walking toward the annex, as if something had cast a spell on me.

The rumor we'd been talking about this morning. The Cooking Research Club. And Kang Suho. And… that smell I knew far too well.

Three clues that had nothing to do with each other… yet the feeling that they were clicking into place hit me hard.

I'm not going in. I just… want to check, for a second, whether my guess is right.

At the end of the annex's first-floor hallway, right at the corner where the cooking practice room came into view, I stopped walking.

The door to the practice room was half open… and through the gap, I could see inside.

Kang Suho, wearing an apron, was flipping a frying pan with practiced ease.

A girl I'd never seen before was pressed right up beside him chattering away… and Eunha had her cheeks stuffed so full she looked about to burst, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

And then… Suho smiled.

At something the girl said, a small snort of a laugh. Like it was absurd. With a face that didn't look like he hated it at all.

…That face.

A face he hasn't… shown me even once, lately.

'Hey.' 'You're here.' …We sit right next to each other, and yet we barely exchange ten words a day. He can barely even meet my eyes anymore.

But over there, that's how he smiles.

The smell drifting all the way out to the hallway… reached the tip of my nose. Warm, savory… familiar.

The smell that used to tickle my nose every evening in our kitchen, from our kitchen.

…The door was open wide enough that it might as well have been inviting anyone in. I could have walked through it right that second.

That threshold Eunha had crossed without a second thought… I couldn't cross it.

…I don't know why.

Something in me felt like I shouldn't go in. Like a corner of my heart… was being stabbed, deep, by a needle sharp as glass.

I quietly turned away down the hallway—muffling my footsteps, fleeing the annex as if running for my life.

…On the way home, I stopped at a convenience store and bought a single tuna mayo triangle kimbap.

As I came out of the checkout… of all things, my eyes landed on that bench.

The bench where, once in a while… Suho and I would sit across from each other, just passing the time.

…The bench where, just a few days ago, when we were late together and laughing about it, we ate ice cream.

I sat down alone at the edge of the bench and peeled the plastic off the triangle kimbap.

Cold. Dry… and salty.

…Should've microwaved it before opening it, I guess.

Strange. I used to love triangle kimbap.

Was it always this bland? Tuna mayo is supposed to taste good even cold.

…Or maybe.

Maybe I've been given warm meals for so long… taken for granted for so long… that my tongue has simply stopped working.

When the wind blew, from somewhere far off, faintly…

it seemed like I could still smell our kitchen.

That smell, which had chased me all the way here, over the school fence—

today, more than ever, it was… delicious, and maddening… and it made me feel so very small.