The Reason the Gallery's Atmosphere Changed
Why had the gallery's vibe shifted?
When do humans feel the most joy?
It varies from person to person, and from era to era.
As kids, dopamine surges from running around outside, sweating it out in active play. In old age, it's the serene pleasure of leisurely days in a quiet spot.
Some draw energy from relationships with others, while some find fulfillment in solitary silence.
Before I knew it, Lily and I had hit our second wedding anniversary.
Four years since I'd come to America.
I was twenty-eight.
Lily was still a fresh twenty-three.
She'd met me at twenty-one, fallen head over heels, and rushed into marriage. Pretty fast, huh?
Last year, we'd visited her father and mother's gravesites. This was our second time.
Felt like yesterday when we'd first paid our respects, but time flies like an arrow.
Life can't be one big event every day.
If every day were an event, they'd lose their specialness.
But life with Lily was different.
Sitting across from each other for a simple meal, lounging on the sofa watching TV, drifting off to sleep together—every one of those moments was an exciting event for me.
"Mmm... I miss Mom."
Lily mumbled suddenly, rolling around on the sofa.
Work had kept us too slammed to visit Korea in ages.
She must've been really missing my mom back home.
"We talk on the phone all the time, though?"
"How's that the same as seeing her face in person!"
Lily puffed out her cheeks in protest at my words.
She looked just like a squirrel with an acorn in its mouth.
Haha, is cuteness hereditary?
I mentally thanked her late mother in heaven once more.
As Lily said, the past year had been nonstop chaos.
Hansang had undergone massive changes.
The farmers and technicians from Korea had settled successfully into the Bakerville farm complex.
With a stable ingredient supply chain locked in, Bapsang's company-owned stores exploded in growth like wild horses off the leash.
We'd started with five stores opening simultaneously. But as produce started pouring in, we'd scaled to a whopping fifty.
Tenfold growth in a short time.
Unheard of in the U.S. food industry.
Truth be told, Korean food still wasn't mainstream here.
At best, Korean BBQ or chicken under the "K-Food" label.
But we were different.
Korean home cooking—baekban.
I was probably the first to open fifty baekban spots across America.
When Americans think "Asian food," it's sushi from Japan or Chinese takeout.
Expand to Southeast Asia, and you've got Vietnamese pho, Thai pad thai, or pu pad pong curry dominating.
Now, Korean home cooking had boldly joined that elite lineup.
Not with spicy sauces or deep-fried overloads, but a healthy spread of rice, soup, and banchan in perfect harmony.
Of course, the school lunch business wasn't exploding like the stores.
It was slowly but surely taking root in California.
Tastes don't change overnight, after all.
To kids raised on greasy, salty American pizza and burgers, mild Korean fare might still feel foreign.
But I wasn't rushing it.
The growth charts kept trending steadily upward.
Good taste and nutrition always win out in the end.
"Ah~"
Lost in thought, I noticed Lily, head in my lap, opening her mouth wide.
I speared a perfectly ripe strawberry with a fork and popped it in.
"Nom~"
She chewed away, cheeks bulging like a hamster's.
Just watching her savor it filled my own belly and lifted my spirits.
I stroked her hair with a contented smile.
This is why I grind for money.
Feeding my woman well, dressing her nicely, letting her rest easy.
As the head of the household, this primal, overflowing happiness had to be it.
"Buy time with money."
One of Mark Chairman's pieces of advice to Ji-hoon.
Ji-hoon had followed it to the letter.
Even as stores ballooned, the food industry's chronic labor shortage never hit Hansang.
Staffing was perfectly squared away before openings.
Koreans filled management, kitchen cores.
Front-of-house servers and assistants? Local hires.
The restaurant biz created insane job ripples.
Farm production crews for ingredients.
Logistics drivers hauling fresh goods to branches.
Head office admins.
And frontline kitchen and service staff serving customers.
America, like Korea, loves companies pumping out quality jobs.
Fatter wallets mean higher approval ratings.
In that sense, Ji-hoon's comet-like food empire Hansang was a godsend to the California state government.
It rooted deep in communities, sprouting full- and part-time gigs like mushrooms after rain.
Sacramento—the state capital—reacted hottest.
California Governor Christopher showed up at the new Bapsang downtown, with just a few aides.
"Ho ho..."
He adjusted his glasses at the sight of the long line snaking from the entrance.
Vibrant energy, mouthwatering kitchen aromas, bursts of laughter.
In this sluggish economy, such a lively restaurant felt like a relic.
Seated, Christopher eyed the menu curiously.
"Hm. So this is the famous 'Korean food'?"
Not big on spice, he took staff recs and ordered jeyuk bokkeum with soy sauce, not gochujang.
Moments later.
A sizzling hot iron plate hit his table.
"The smell is killer."
Glazed pork in brown sheen, translucent onions, heaps of sliced garlic atop the scorching plate.
Christopher grabbed unfamiliar metal chopsticks.
Clink. Clink.
After a few air swings, he coolly switched to a fork.
Speared pork, grilled onion, garlic in one go.
"Mm..."
A deep aroma bloomed instantly in his mouth.
His eyes widened a bit.
The flavor's incredible. Soy sauce?
Soy sauce—ganjang.
But not the salty store-bought stuff he knew.
Clear soup soy for broths.
Clean brew for salads or sashimi dips.
And the heavy hitter—dark soy—for stir-fries and stews, bursting with umami sweetness when heated.
Ji-hoon's traditionally fermented dark soy exploded in savory glory over the flames.
The pork, soaked in that salty-sweet sauce, melted tenderly.
Paired with white rice? Perfection.
Not America's dry long-grain.
Sticky, subtly sweet Korean short-grain that grew chewier with every bite.
And the garlic, onions he'd worried about.
Won't it be too pungent?
Nope.
Quick high-heat stir-fry chased off the bite, leaving sweet veggie essence to cut the meat's richness cleanly.
Westerners once sneered at "garlic breath" Asians, but cooked like this, garlic was no spice—it was cuisine.
"Excellent."
Christopher nodded.
His Korean food experience? Fried chicken or smoky samgyeopsal BBQ.
Tasty, but greasy for daily eats.
This homey baekban? Different.
Light. Comforting.
As a Dutch immigrant descendant favoring simple, mild fare, it nailed his palate.
Perfect meat-veggie-carb balance.
"So this is real Korean flavor."
He polished his plate.
A rare, bloat-free fullness.
Wiping his mouth, he vowed silently: he'd be back often.
In a year, the stock gallery's air had totally flipped.
Rumors of Ji-hoon lurking drew hordes of guys, but the old flames of trolling and misogyny had cooled to ice.
Simple reason.
The core gallery dwellers—screaming misogyny, praising national marriage—had all bolted to America.
From Korea's suffocating job hell, scratching bellies in basements, they'd morphed into overseas workers.
People wondered.
"Why skip legit job sites for that shithole?"
But Ji-hoon saw different.
They'd been his fiercest defenders during the brutal divorce saga.
Plus, they had clear needs.
Desperate to escape Korea's inferno.
Open to international marriage after Korean women fatigue.
Perfect fit for Ji-hoon's vision of Hansang City's demographics.
Results? Stunning.
Those hate-spewing core guys? All sharp, clean-cut youths.
Great education, quick minds.
Dumbasses don't critique society.
No thoughts? You don't feel the pain.
But they did.
Smart enough to see Korea's female-biased policies and grim future, they raged without cease.
The world branded them misogynists, but Ji-hoon saw intellect, guts to leave.
Prime talent ebbed away like tide, reshaping the gallery.
Who remained?
No-drive losers, content in mediocrity, dopamine from shitposting.
Useless in Korea or America.
Whiners, over-sensitive weaklings.
Ji-hoon sifted gold from dirt flawlessly; gallery left with posers.
Main content? No more hate.
Ex-gallery folks flexing happy U.S. lives.
With things like this, women from femcel sites—who saw the stock gallery as enemy #1—were thrown off.
"You men are why you fail!"
No matter how they raged and mocked in comments, zero response.
Old days? "Raghead scum, GTFO"—mud fights galore.
Now? Gallery ignored them like roadside rocks or air.
"What? No reactions?"
Trolling needs a bite to be fun.
Invisible treatment pissed off the women more.
Eventually, they sulked(?) and wondered.
Where'd all the Korean guys go?
America? Paying that much?
They dug into the bizarre phenomenon.
And found Kim Ji-hoon and Hansang at the end.