Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Mother
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‘Quiet Conversation House’.
A high-end Korean set meal restaurant created by remodeling a hanok at the end of a serene alley in Seoul’s Bukchon.
Known only to those in the know, it was Seoul’s finest upscale hanjeongsik spot.
And its owner was none other than Kim Ji-hoon’s mother, Madam Choi Mi-hee.
When Ji-hoon had gotten married, the family meeting had taken place in a separate annex of this very Quiet Conversation House.
Back then, Ji-su’s parents had praised the luxurious spread—something they were tasting for the first time in their lives—until their mouths went dry.
The atmosphere had been perfectly warm and cordial.
But today,
in the same place, the same annex, the mood was a complete 180.
The once cozy warmth was gone, replaced by an icy chill blowing fiercely through the room.
Ji-su’s parents sat across from Madam Choi, unable to even lift their heads properly.
Madam Choi had listened silently to their prolonged complaints for quite some time.
Dressed elegantly in a modernized hanbok, she lifted her warm teacup to savor its aroma.
After taking a sip, she quietly opened her mouth.
Her voice was like a still lake, undisturbed by even a single ripple.
"......So. To sum it up, you’re asking us, the parents, to fulfill the property division payment that our son is supposed to make?"
At Madam Choi’s icy question, Ji-su’s father struggled to speak.
".....We know it’s an impudent request."
He nodded and continued.
"But... hasn’t the court ordered it? Fleeing to America in defiance of a legal order is clearly breaking the law, as you well know."
At those words, Madam Choi seemed to ponder deeply.
She quietly set down her teacup and spoke.
"You make a good point about the law. Shall we examine it legally, then? There’s no law requiring parents to pay off an adult child’s debts. Strictly speaking, it would be treated as a gift, meaning we’d owe even more in taxes. Why on earth should we do that?"
Countering their invocation of the law with the law itself left Ji-su’s parents speechless.
Ji-su’s mother hurriedly interjected.
"......Madam, 200 million won isn’t such a large sum for your family... What if your son never returns to Korea because of that money..."
At that, one of Madam Choi’s eyebrows twitched slightly.
It was a sign she was angry.
"Indeed. Thanks to your daughter, I’ve had to send my second son—precious enough to hurt my eyes just looking at him—off to a distant foreign land. I can’t fathom what gall brings you here. I intend to respect my son’s wishes."
She murmured lowly, as if to herself.
"......This is exactly why I opposed that marriage. When the bottom shows, the true colors come out. We should never have gotten entangled with a family lacking roots..."
Those words stabbed into Ji-su’s parents’ hearts like daggers.
Since everything had stemmed from their daughter’s faults, they could say nothing.
Ji-su’s father rose weakly from his seat.
"......Yes. I understand perfectly. Though it’s late... we’re truly sorry. We’ll take our leave now."
Madam Choi didn’t acknowledge their apology, merely gazing out the window into the distance.
"We won’t go far."
At that cold remark, Ji-su’s parents quietly exited the annex.
As they passed through Quiet Conversation House’s main gate, Ji-su’s father said,
"......We shouldn’t have come."
Ji-su’s mother followed silently behind her husband, head bowed, offering no reply.
Weighed down by guilt over their daughter’s failed upbringing, their steps felt as heavy as lead.
In the annex, now emptied of the former in-laws,
Madam Choi Mi-hee sat alone, sipping her now-cold tea.
She recalled the words her son Ji-hoon had spoken before leaving for America.
Back then, he’d said it as if foreseeing this very day.
"Mom, in a year, Ji-su or her parents will definitely come looking for you. No matter what they say or what excuses they make, absolutely do not give them any money."
Thinking back, Madam Choi let out another sigh.
She’d always known her son had an unusual streak since childhood, but she hadn’t expected him to be this resolute.
"No, son. Why go all the way to America? Just give them the 200 million won. Your whole family is here in Korea... Can’t you reconsider?"
At her pleading, Ji-hoon had shaken his head firmly.
"Mom, it’s not about the money. It’s about pride. Why should I have to pay it? The responsibility for the marriage’s breakdown is clearly theirs. The thought of them living it up on my money makes my stomach turn—I wouldn’t last long. So please, listen to me. Okay?"
"Aigoo... What is all this... That’s why I opposed your marriage so strongly! You have to marry into a family of equal standing to avoid all this trouble!"
At Madam Choi’s scolding, Ji-hoon had nothing to say.
After all, it was he who had stubbornly pushed forward with a marriage the family opposed.
"Agh, Mom, why bring that up again!"
As Ji-hoon grumbled, Madam Choi’s anger erupted.
"How could I not? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t married her in the first place!"
Ji-hoon yelped "Hot, hot!" at his mother’s tirade and bolted from his seat.
He knew well that vanishing from sight was the key to longevity when she was mad.
Watching her son’s retreating back, Madam Choi could only sigh deeply in the end.
Finishing her reminiscence, she quietly set down her cold teacup.
He was an odd son, but he was her son nonetheless.
She resolved once more to honor his wishes.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Madam Choi murmured worriedly.
"I wonder... how that boy’s doing. How can he be so thoughtless as to not even call once."
Her concern for her son only deepened with each passing day.
And there were others enduring a different kind of ‘waiting’ from Madam Choi’s worries.
Ji-su’s family, rejected even by Ji-hoon’s parents.
They had no choice but to turn to the law.
Basing it on the judgment from the Korean court, they filed a civil lawsuit against Ji-hoon in America.
But the biggest hurdle was ‘service of process.’
How to deliver the Korean court documents to the defendant residing in the U.S.
The principle was the ‘direct service method’ under the ‘Hague Service Convention.’
This involved a complex procedure of formally transmitting documents through foreign judicial authorities per the convention and international law.
However, for the U.S., there was a simpler option.
The ‘consular service’ indirect method.
This bypassed other foreign public institutions, with a Republic of Korea consul stationed locally delivering the lawsuit documents directly to the defendant.
The U.S. government had declared no objection to foreign consular officers serving documents within its borders, as long as it didn’t involve coercion.
In other words, the Korean consul in the U.S. could legally serve the documents to Ji-hoon.
Ji-su’s lawyer chose this ‘consular service’ method.
And finally, a single document from the Korean court set off,
crossing the Pacific toward Ji-hoon.
Lunchtime at ‘Babsang’ was no different from a battlefield.
I dashed between the kitchen and dining area, handling the flood of orders.
Ding-a-ling—
With the chime of the wind bell on the door, a new customer entered.
A middle-aged gentleman in a neat suit.
Thinking he was a customer, I hurried over with a friendly greeting.
"Welcome! This is Babsang!"
But the man didn’t sit, instead looking around the shop curiously.
I approached and asked,
"Sir, table for how many?"
Only then did he look at me and smile.
"Ah, I’m not here to eat. Is the owner of this place Mr. Kim Ji-hoon, by any chance?"
"That’s me. What can I do for you?"
The man pulled out an ID from his pocket and showed it.
"Hello. I’m Consul Choi Ik-hyun from the San Francisco Consulate General."
Consul?
My mind raced for a moment, but I forced a calm demeanor.
"Ah... yes, Consul. What brings you here..."
He looked around the shop again with wonder.
"Wow... I never imagined a place like this white-tablecloth joint existed here."
I gave an awkward laugh.
"Haha, doing my best."
"Preserving the taste of home in a foreign land like this—what a remarkable thing. I’ll definitely come eat soon."
After praising me at length, the consul suddenly remembered and got to the point.
"Ah, the reason I’m here."
He took a document envelope from his bag.
It bore the clear seal of the Republic of Korea court.
"Service documents for Mr. Kim Ji-hoon. Please verify your identity and sign."
I took them, thinking, So it’s finally here.
Faster than expected, but not surprising.
While I checked and signed the papers, the consul kept eyeing the menu board curiously.
"Wow... they even have whole chicken soup. Next week’s team dinner has to be here."
His genuine admiration made me chuckle involuntarily.
Having received the documents, I asked the consul, still glued to the menu,
"Consul, have you eaten lunch yet?"
He smiled sheepishly.
"...Not yet, but..."
I jumped in as if I’d been waiting.
"Then have a meal before you go. It’s been ages since I met a fellow Korean—I’ll set a proper hot rice table for you."
"Haha, no can do. A public servant eating free food would be a scandal."
The consul waved it off, but his eyes were fixed on the menu.
"Mmm... the smell is incredible. If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll have a meal here today."
I guided the consul to a quiet seat inside.
Once seated, he watched the young foreigners filling the shop with interest.
Sweating profusely yet shoveling rice without pause.
A pleased smile spread across the consul’s face.
Heh heh, even foreigners eat home-cooked meals well.
Soon after, a colorful floral tray arrived bearing an appetizing spread.
Fiery red pork stir-fry and hearty soybean paste stew bubbling in an earthen pot.
The consul, mouth watering at the sight, tied on an apron and dug in heartily.
He marveled nonstop at the deep-flavored soybean paste stew made with my father’s miso and the spicy-sweet pork that perfectly whetted the appetite.
Before he knew it, lost in his spoon, the bowls were spotless.
"Whew..."
As he patted his belly with a satisfied sigh, I approached with a glass of my homemade sikhye.
"Enjoy the meal?"
To my question, the consul replied with genuine awe.
"Ha... It’s been so long since I ate this well. Just like back in Korea. Especially this soybean paste stew... it’s art. Pure art."
His lavish praise brought an involuntary proud smile to my face.
In this distant foreign land, my food providing even a small comfort to someone.
That alone made me plenty happy.