Chapter 22

What exactly defines the class of people called "commoners"?

To begin with, Ye Sa-ra is absolutely not a commoner. In fact, not just Ye Sa-ra—most of the kids attending schools under the Hwayeong Academy Foundation were not commoners ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠either.

The problem is there's no clear economic standard for defining this word "commoner." If there were, not everyone would look at themselves and insist they're commoners. Some think it includes everyone above the middle class except the privileged. Others say it means the bottom fifty percent by economic rank.

In Chinese characters, it's written with "various (庶)" and "people (民)." In English it's "commoner." So whether you write it in Chinese characters or English, it means "the majority of people with nothing particularly special." But because the word is so vague, people who are clearly not commoners by any standard will still insist they are.

As I said earlier, except for the people of the Yujin Group household, who are clearly in no way commoners, everyone else looks at those above them, those with more money, and considers themselves common. I've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠met a few people in my life who seriously claim, "I am absolutely not rich, there are countless people living far better than me, so I am a commoner."

Of course, there are some genuinely ambiguous cases. Among the people classified as middle class, plenty really do just live ordinary lives without any special privileges. For starters, wealth rankings are often based on reported taxes, so someone living in a villa with one car can have a higher reported income than a person with some money who evades taxes like crazy. If we just look at the definition of "ordinary people," you might say Shin So-hee falls somewhere on the blurry line between middle class and commoner.

But aside from all the statistical considerations, Shin So-hee clearly considered herself firmly a commoner.

"Look... it's fine now. Everything we tried today was good, so..."

Shin So-hee had been enthusiastically dragging me around to all kinds of places. I didn't so much as blink at the sandwich franchises, the street toast, the seasonally appropriate bungeo-ppang (fish-shaped pastry) and hotteok (sweet filled pancake).

"No, it's not over yet."

Even after hearing my words, she responded with an expression of badly wounded pride.

There's a saying: "Money isn't everything."

It means having a lot of money doesn't guarantee happiness, and not having money doesn't mean you're doomed to misery.

Well, I was never rich in my original world, so I can't say for sure whether the truly wealthy really do drag out unhappy lives despite all their money. But at least in this world, what I've experienced from Ye Sa-ra's position fits that saying perfectly. The Ye Sa-ra before I entered her might have envied these little acts of rebellion enormously. She might have been genuinely shocked when she first tried street food.

But my inner self is a commoner! And on top of that, I wasn't even a high school girl; I was an ordinary adult man who'd finished his military service. Honestly, if you put dwaeji-gukbap (pork rice soup) or sundae-gukbap (blood-sausage rice soup) in front of me, I'd be perfectly ready to drink it down without a second thought. Although, considering my stomach size, I probably wouldn't finish it.

Honestly, the food we're eating on the street now is good. I do feel grateful to Shin So-hee for buying me all this food thinking of me. But the foods that would strike me as wondrous are naturally the dishes packed with high-end ingredients that I eat at the mansion. And that steak from the hotel, how delicious was that? Delicious enough that I didn't lose my appetite even with Yoon Da-ho sitting right in front of me.

Still, set aside Ye Sa-ra, who is probably number one on some list of the richest teenagers in the world. Look at Yu Ha-neul, who is a commoner to the bone and only being misunderstood by Shin So-hee's assumptions. Her eyes are still wavering. The eyes of someone who knows she should say something but has completely missed her timing. And what about me, with no way to clear things up?

The one saving grace was that out of the three of us, one person let out little exclamations of wonder every time Shin So-hee introduced new food.

Lee Su-a, the child of a family well-off to the bone, was that person.

Though she did seem to know at least a few street foods. I guess walking to school, she'd tried some of them a few times before. But she liked eating so much that she didn't look particularly disappointed to be eating something she already knew.

Even so, those reactions didn't seem to satisfy Shin So-hee. That was only natural—her target had been me from the start.

Whenever I didn't look surprised, Shin So-hee would snatch away whatever I was eating. Because if I ate too much, I wouldn't be able to eat the next thing. Honestly, I couldn't help thinking, "Is this really necessary?" But every time I saw Shin So-hee's expression at those moments, I couldn't bring myself to say it.

...Was that meal really such a shock to her?

"...Alright."

Shin So-hee, who had been walking determinedly, stopped in front of a shabby little shop and spoke as if making a declaration.

"This is the real last one. If this doesn't satisfy you, I'll admit defeat cleanly."

Look, I told you I was satisfied already. And wasn't the original premise, "You treated me, so I'll treat you"? Since when did this become a competition?

...In the end, we'd walked and walked and basically cut all the way across the shopping district. It felt like we'd been walking for about an hour by now. Honestly, on top of all the earlier exercise, my stamina was slowly reaching its limit, and my stomach was nearly full, so I was truly grateful to hear Shin So-hee say that.

"I was saving this, treasuring it up for the finale... but since things have come to this, it can't be helped."

On Shin So-hee's face, which looked like she was pulling out a hidden trump card, there was firm resolve.

No, seriously, does this really need to escalate to a showdown?

As I'd just said, the place where Shin So-hee had stopped was a shabby little shop. There wasn't even a light on the sign, and the only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thing attached as a store name was just "Bunsik."

"This is a place I used to come to a lot with my friends in middle school. It was easy to drop by on the way home."

Shin So-hee explained.

Like most snack shops in front of schools, this one seemed to sell Tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes) aimed at passing students. There was some eomuk (fish cake) next to it as if it went without saying, but it wasn't as large as the Tteokbokki griddle. The little that remained of the Tteokbokki on the griddle was sending up puffs of steam. Between the griddle and the eomuk container, slightly soggy-looking fried foods were piled up.

"Ah."

Did places like this still exist even now?

All the snack shops in front of my old school had gone out of business. And the color of the Tteokbokki wasn't the vivid red that was trendy these days; it was a gentle orange. Small, thin wheat-flour rice cakes and thin slices of eomuk lay sprawled across the griddle, mixed into the sauce. The sight of whole peeled boiled eggs tucked here and there among them—

Oh, this is going to be absolutely delicious.

That was what came to mind.

"Well? You've never tried anything like this, right?"

Of course Ye Sa-ra hasn't.

But I have. When I was young.

"Come on, come on, let's go in. If we're too late, they'll run out of ingredients and we won't be able to eat."

Seeing my slightly dazed expression, Shin So-hee looked pleased and nudged me lightly on the back as we went inside.

"Grandma! Four servings of Tteokbokki here! Oh, and put ramyeon (instant noodles) in too!"

Ramyeon? They have ramyeon?

You might think, what's the big deal about putting ramyeon into Tteokbokki and boiling it? But the Tteokbokki with ramyeon from a school-front snack shop has a flavor all its own. Yes, Tteokbokki needs a ramyeon noodle addition.

I barely managed to hold back from nodding my head without thinking.

There were only two tables inside the shop. We took one and sat a little squeezed together.

"So, what do you think? You don't know what kind of food this is, right? Or maybe you've seen it online or something?"

No, I know what it is. I know it too well, that's the problem.

I let Shin So-hee's words go in one ear and out the other while I followed the shop owner, an old woman, with my eyes as she moved unhurriedly.

She took spatulas in both hands and gathered the Tteokbokki to the center of the griddle. Then she stirred it a few times on the hot griddle so it would heat through properly, and in the middle of that pool of thick broth, she placed two ramyeon noodle blocks, split in half.

The thick broth doesn't soak into the ramyeon easily. Unlike when you drop them into boiling water, the noodles cook slowly, unraveling from the outside as if splitting apart. When you pour the broth into those cracks over and over, the heat forces the half-cooked noodles to stretch and unfurl.

Then she lifted those unfurled noodles with tongs. They'd come apart, but the still-half-raw noodles didn't break and came up all in one piece. As if showing off their springiness, they quivered on the tray for a while after being lifted, as if convulsing.

Beside them, she evenly placed the slightly bloated rice cakes, clearly made from wheat flour, and the thin eomuk pieces, and then put in boiled eggs equal to our number. That was it. Preparation complete.

The old woman came over wordlessly and set the food on our table with a slightly curt manner. Cups and water were strictly self-service. Chopsticks, forks, and spoons were already in the containers on the table.

Everything was as vivid as if I'd already experienced it firsthand.

...Of course, not because I had actually eaten here before.

As I stared intently at the Tteokbokki, a fork was suddenly thrust in front of my eyes.

"Here, try it. It's really good, okay?"

I nodded and took the fork Shin So-hee offered.

And without hesitation, I stabbed it right into the middle of the ramyeon noodles, still steaming heavily.

Then I twirled the fork, and the fried noodles, still not having completely lost their stiffness, wound around it without breaking.

I lifted a suitable amount and put it straight into my mouth.

Ah, it's still a little undercooked.

But that's fine. Better, actually. Rabokki noodles are meant to be eaten when they're still nice and chewy to get that characteristic taste.

Unlike the Tteokbokki of today, which keeps getting spicier, the sauce, sweet and only slightly spicy, with corn syrup poured in generously, gently cloaked the wheat noodles that had just broken apart in my mouth. The slightly al dente texture and the sweet but mildly spicy Tteokbokki sauce were, in that moment, a perfect pairing.

After swallowing the noodles, next was the boiled egg.

I moved an egg close to me so it was easier to eat, then split it with my fork. The egg, cooked through until the yolk was hard, still hadn't lost its inner heat, probably from sitting on the hot griddle.

As it split in half, the slightly crumbled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yolk mixed with the sauce, lightening the already orange Tteokbokki sauce even more.

I rolled the egg with my fork and rubbed the cut surface into the sauce. The white cross-section turned the color of the Tteokbokki, and even the dense yolk, coated in the sauce, became a little softer.

I stabbed the cut half with my fork and put the whole thing into my mouth.

The springy white, the dense yolk, and the Tteokbokki sauce broke apart and clumped together inside my mouth. They perfectly compensated for each other's weaknesses.

It was delicious. This was a flavor that couldn't help but be delicious.

The exact taste from my childhood, eating with friends on the way home from school.

If I'd found a shop like this in my original world, I would've called up those friends I'd kept in touch with since those days and bragged, "I found a place that's exactly like the old days."

...Those friends I might never see again, the ones I shared joy and sorrow with throughout my life.

"...It's good."

"Right!?"

When I murmured that, Shin So-hee was overjoyed. Without needing many words, it seemed my expression alone had conveyed my true feelings.

Though it was, admittedly, a little different from what Shin So-hee had been aiming for—

Well, okay. One objective, "moving me," was clearly achieved, so I had no choice but to concede.

I just nodded back at the delighted Shin So-hee.