Major Accident
People living abroad tend to instinctively band together with those of the same race or cultural background. Just look at Koreatown in Korea—full of ethnic Koreans from China—or Itaewon, teeming with foreigners. America’s no different. Koreatown, Chinatown, and the so-called slums packed with Black neighborhoods.
In a foreign land, that "us" bubble is like a survival instinct.
But here in Bacaville—especially at Ji-hoon’s farm—an intriguing scene was unfolding. Ji-hoon never filtered hires by race. Diligence, stamina, and grit were all that mattered.
The result? His farm and factory buzzed with a mix of whites, Blacks, Hispanics, and Koreans working side by side.
The funny part was how Korean culture—the kind from the "land of Eastern etiquette"—was subtly seeping into the group.
3 p.m. Escaping California’s scorching sun, workers clustered in the shade for a break.
"Hey, Marcus. Say 'hyungnim,' big bro. Hyungnim."
Korean worker Choi Sung-chul was drilling manners into Marcus, a Black guy a full head taller than him.
"Hyungnim? Don’t know that one, Sung-chul."
Marcus shook his head, his Korean clumsy but clear.
America’s more about friendship than age. Even if the guy’s grandpa-age, you call him by name if you’re tight.
But Sung-chul, with Korean blood pumping through his veins, couldn’t stand this five-years-younger kid calling him "Sung-chul!" flat out.
"Agh... I’m itching for a switch."
Sung-chul thumped his chest in frustration.
"Dude! You can speak Korean! Why not 'hyungnim'?"
Marcus grinned and fired back with perfect pronunciation.
"Sung-chul, you’re such a boomer."
"Arrrgh!!"
Sung-chul clutched his neck.
"You know 'boomer' but not 'hyungnim'?!"
The other Korean workers and American colleagues burst out laughing.
"We’re in America—quit the boomer act. Just use names."
Amid the teasing, Sung-chul yelled back, indignant.
"No, this guy’s hilarious! Calls me 'Sung-chul' all day, but when it’s chow time, suddenly 'hyungnim' bullshit."
"What? Pffft-hahaha!"
Roars of laughter erupted.
In Korea, there’s this unspoken rule: older folks buy the meal. Sharp-eyed Marcus had nailed it.
Free-meal mode: polite Confucian boy. Work mode: free-spirited American boy.
Marcus whistled innocently, eyes saying I know nothing.
Sweating it out together daily forged a borderless bromance.
Sung-chul grumbled but twisted open an ion drink for Marcus anyway.
"So why not call me 'hyung' normally? Spill it."
Marcus chugged the drink, wiped his mouth, and got serious.
"I remember, Sung-chul."
"Remember what?"
"First time we met. You called me 'black bro.'"
"……"
Sung-chul was speechless.
Marcus laid out his logic deadpan.
"You called me 'hyung' first. So I’m the hyung."
"Ah."
Sung-chul had nothing.
What’s a "Confucian girl"?
It’s a neologism for conservative women who shy from heavy makeup or promiscuity.
Though I’ve never met a real one among those Korean girls who proudly declare, "I’m a Confucian girl~."
Yet ironically, right here on American soil, true Confucian girls existed.
Rossi, the blonde with blue eyes. And Lily, with her white hair and red eyes.
These exotic beauties were the stars.
Rossi and Dong-hyun had been together over a year now.
Since Ji-hoon and Dong-hyun were inseparable bros, Rossi and Lily had grown close too.
Weekends meant the four of them grabbing meals or hanging out—routine.
In international relationships, women often absorb the man’s culture.
America’s patriarchal in ways: wives take hubby’s name, men breadwin, women homemake.
Maybe that’s why Lily, two years into Korean, spoke it fluently. Rossi’s Korean had improved too.
Their first meeting? Comedy gold.
Dong-hyun introducing his girlfriend Rossi.
Rossi was exactly one year younger than Lily.
That punk was a legend thief.
Lily had learned Korean culture in Korea; Rossi knew zilch.
First words from calm Lily: "I’m the unnie."
Age confirmed, hierarchy set.
Rossi blinked, baffled. "What’s that mean, Lily?"
"I’m older. So I’m the adult."
"Where’s that a rule? We’re just one year apart!"
To American-raised Rossi, it was absurd.
Rossi wanted equals; Lily, Korean-influenced, wanted clear ranks.
Ji-hoon and Dong-hyun choked on their food eavesdropping.
Lily smiled slyly. "Rossi, you’re from Utah, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Still a virgin then?"
"......!"
Rossi froze like paused video.
Utah: Mormon central. Pre-marital purity big there.
Utah girls? Stereotyped conservative and chaste.
Ji-hoon glanced at Dong-hyun. Dude dropped his spoon, jaw on floor.
Hasn’t sealed the deal yet, huh.
To blushing, silent Rossi, Lily drove it home.
"Hubby and I make love every day."
Whoa, TMI, Lily.
"......"
"Experienced me’s the adult. Unnie. Got it?"
Rossi pouted but couldn’t argue. Nodded.
"Got it... unnie."
"Hehe, good girl."
Lily patted her head, piled on meat sides—like a proper elder.
After that, they bonded fast.
Visually, tall sleek blonde Rossi seemed unnie; petite pale Lily dongsaeng. But Lily owned the role.
"Unnie~ Check this~"
"Aww, perfect. Good job, our Rossi."
Look at her now. Rossi coquettishly Korean-speaking.
More Korean than Koreans. Ji-hoon chuckled.
"Our Rossi, 100%! Dictation flawless!"
"Really? No mistakes, unnie?"
"Yup! Spacing perfect too. You’ll win over Dong-hyun’s parents in Korea!"
"Kyaa~"
Lily circled Rossi’s notebook with red pencil, praise flowing.
Rossi studied for their upcoming group Korea trip—her first, meeting Dong-hyun’s folks.
No wonder the nerves; Lily’s crash course for "girlfriend parents love."
Watching them giggle through Korean class, Ji-hoon sipped coffee and nudged Dong-hyun.
"So, your parents’ reaction to the foreign girlfriend?"
"To what?"
"Any pushback? Some elders still conservative."
Dong-hyun waved it off, smirking. "Nah, they love it."
"Phew, good."
"Mom said finally she can toss all my room’s figures."
"Pfft!"
Ji-hoon nearly spat coffee.
Right, otaku vibes.
"They thought I’d die single clutching characters. Real girl? Thrilled."
Dong-hyun cackled.
Made sense given his weeb past. No tinted glasses on international marriage—blessing.
"And you’re crashing at Rossi’s a lot?"
"Yeah, dinner there post-work. Her mom’s cooking slays."
"Full son-in-law mode."
"She calls me 'son' on sight."
Dong-hyun shrugged.
Both first-timers, yet over a year drama-free. Meant to be.
Couldn’t wait for his parents’ faces seeing Rossi.
Lesson over, Lily scampered to Ji-hoon, linking arms.
"Hubby! I got a plan."
"Yeah? What?"
"Outfits for Rossi in Korea! My gift."
Lily’s eyes sparkled.
"Elders love prim. I’ll full-set her perfect!"
She buzzed with excitement.
Flashback: Mom doll-dressing bewildered Lily at department stores.
Now Lily’d unnie-fy Rossi.
"Sure, your taste rocks. Pick pretty."
"Hehe, fun!"
Confident Lily’s grin, clueless-blinking Rossi.
Lily, Dong-hyun, Rossi—growing up, bit by bit, in their spots.
Whole Foods Market. Amazon-owned chain of premium organic, health-food supermarkets. Famous for picky standards and steep prices.
They proposed supplying Hansang’s bento boxes.
"Whole Foods... our bentos?"
Ji-hoon propped his chin, pondering.
Flu pandemic etched "Korean food = healthy." Or Hansang’s hype. Either way, solid offer.
Brand-wise, ideal partner.
But volume and quality?
Big chain—could they handle the demand?
"John, specifics from Whole Foods?"
John checked his tablet.
"Test market: minimum 5,000 bentos daily."
"5,000... not bad?"
Surprising, given California’s store count.
"Yeah. Scaling up post-reaction. Probing."
"Hm... Factory capacity now? Room for 5k more?"
John shook his head, grim.
"No go, boss. Excluding new Factory 2 under construction, lines maxed. School lunches tight. Not 5k—even 500’s tough."
As expected.
Expansion for public school bento contracts—state deal. Lines ran 24/7.
Pouring cash and manpower into Factory 2 and 3, but time lagged.
Forcing 5k now? Cut corners on quality or burn out staff.
Against his philosophy.
Rush and flavor dips? Image crumbles.
"Regretful pass."
Decisive.
"Pushing now risks flop, kills cred. Post-stabilization, revisit. Tell ’em."
"Got it. Will do."
John agreed, wistful.
Big deals flooding in lately. Attention thrilling.
But "strike while iron hot" can capsize if too hasty.
Long game over quick bucks.
Then.
A week post-rejection.
A massive accident rocked America.
Watching TV news, cold sweat trickled down Ji-hoon’s spine.