Chapter 28
Chapter 28
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: I Didn't Expect It to Boom Like This
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I didn't expect things to go this well.
A problem that employees inevitably face erupted between the staff, but fortunately, it wrapped up smoothly.
Amy was the first to apologize to the front-of-house crew, quickly easing the awkward tension.
I let out a sigh of relief watching it all.
Nothing gives a boss more headache than drama between employees.
I took a moment to call my maternal uncle.
"Yeah, Uncle. Did you submit the appeal?"
"Yep. Right after we hung up. Don't get your hopes up, though. The chances of overturning the ruling are slim to none. No new evidence to flip it, and courts—especially family courts—tend to uphold first-instance decisions unless there's a damn good reason."
Ah.
Fuck, seriously.
Even when the ruling flies in the face of the actual laws, the judiciary props it up just because it's "one of their own."
It pissed me off to no end.
I mean, come on!!
If she'd been a proper wife and hadn't cheated, I wouldn't feel this gutted about it!
Now that she's a total stranger, it's not even about the money anymore—it's the thought of her living it up on my dime that makes my blood boil.
"Yeah, well... got it, Uncle. Thanks. If they file a civil suit... think they'll hire a lawyer here in the States?"
I sounded resigned, and my uncle added,
"Hmm... Beats me. They might just sit on the judgment and wait for you to set foot in Korea to collect, or they could push straight into a U.S. suit. Property division claims don't have a statute of limitations anyway. No clue how they'll play it. But if they come at you in America with that ruling, talk to a local lawyer and fight it smart."
"Got it, Uncle."
"Oh, and your sister was worried sick since you haven't called. Hit her up more often, yeah?"
"Ah... yeah, sure."
Truth was, I had my reasons for ghosting.
I wanted to hit a real milestone before calling with my head held high.
Business was booming now, but it still wasn't enough.
Plus, life in America wasn't exactly packed with thrilling updates.
'Maybe in a couple years, when Dad cuts off the supply line?'
Nothing major seemed on the horizon till then.
I had no idea.
That within two years, something wildly special would drop.
"Boss... just kill me already..."
In the sweltering heat of the kitchen, Amy threw in the towel.
Ah.
We're screwed.
Every restaurateur has those days.
The kind where you wonder,
'Is this for real?'
With customers pouring in like mad.
Today was that day.
Business isn't like athletes inching up records step by step.
It hits a tipping point and shoots straight up.
That's the game.
Especially when word spreads you're a "hot spot"—curiosity alone drags people in.
Ramp up the hype, and you get lines like Korea's Seongsimdang bakery at open.
Babsang was living it today.
At 11 a.m. sharp, the floodgates opened.
Even Lucas and his lunch crew balked at the line snaking down the block and turned tail.
What the hell caused this?
Aaah... I asked for promo, not this much!
The culprit? My regular, Michael.
Football rivals basketball as America's top sport.
Pro leagues are huge, but college ball? Insane popularity.
Fans love scouting future stars and repping local teams.
The trigger: Michael's post-MVP interview a few days back.
"Michael! You're on fire every game—what's the secret?"
"Think it's my stamina."
"Whoa! Stamina doesn't just appear. Special workout routine?"
"There's a Korean spot near campus called Babsang. Since I started eating there, my energy holds up in training—even the intense stuff. Performance shot up."
"Wow, really? Korean food must be stamina gold!"
"The food's killer, and the owner's a gem."
Classic blond jock, Michael.
That last line was a bit off, but the interview exploded.
Viewers hit us up out of curiosity.
Saw the line? Instant validation: "This place is legit!"
Photos of queues and plates flooded socials.
Non-visitors thought, "How good is it to line up like that?"
Curiosity bred more, lines grew longer.
Michael's influencer glow-up.
Bandwagon effect—jumping viral trends.
Social proof: Everyone's picking this spot, so it must slap.
Boom—restaurant overload.
We, the staff, and regulars took the hit.
That lunch rush, regulars gawked at the madness.
Endless line out front.
They eyed each other, wordless: "What the fuck?"
Just days ago, it wasn't this nuts.
Busy, sure—but not street-lines busy.
Like clockwork, they swarmed Babsang.
Some chuckled in disbelief, others rubbed their eyes.
A flicker of annoyance—like their cozy spot got stolen.
Now wait in that to eat?
Dazed regulars trudged to the line's end.
Ingredients sold out.
First time since opening.
Some might say: Be grateful for the crowds!
So many spots echo with emptiness.
I'd flip 'em the bird.
Crowds need to be manageable—overwhelm like this, and loyalists bail.
Hung the "Sold Out" sign, closed dinner early.
Kitchen crew was zoned out.
Front-of-house too.
Happy for me, sure—but nonstop like this? Burnout apocalypse.
Needed a game-changer.
"Alright...! You all killed it today—great work! Front-of-house, finish cleaning and head home~"
Aftermath hit hard.
Adrenaline crash—staff moved like rusty robots.
Muscle fatigue from the sudden grind.
Kitchen? Wreckage.
Aunts and Amy sweat-drenched, uniforms soaked.
Oof...
Sour kitchen funk wafting in a hygiene zone.
"Boss... tomorrow scares me."
Amy shuddered for real.
"......I'll figure something out, Amy. Hang in there a bit longer. I'll help max out."
One slip, and I'd be kitchen-bound full-time.
"Whew... gotta prep tomorrow's ingredients first."
Faces darkened at Amy's words.
Late night incoming.
We chopped for over two hours. Onions first—mountainous.
'Prepped ingredients would be easy... but prices up. Cut menu? Or hire more?'
All meant more cash out.
Hiring? Risky.
Boom today, ghost town tomorrow—newbies become dead weight.
For now, slight price hike or yank labor-heavy dishes.
"Ow, my eyes... tears..."
Onions? Or my pitiful life? Tears streamed.
Days later, chaos unchanged.
Worse—crowds swelled.
Staff drained, me too.
This wasn't living.
Time to pick a fix.
Post-reopen average: 500 daily.
Post-Michael: Double-plus.
Over 1,000 a day.
Current setup? Toast.
Our system wasn't bad: Prep bulk menu items pre-open, quick finish on order.
Food flew out.
But now? Still swamped—hell mode.
My fix: Split kitchens. "Finishing kitchen" here, "prep kitchen" elsewhere for chopping/mass cooking.
Factory style.
Main kitchen: Pure assembly line out the door.
Brainstormed flow:
Long pass-through for plating/serving.
Wall: Four 9-burner commercial ranges in a row—36 pans/pots at once.
Behind: Wide double-tier stainless work shelf.
Bottom: Prepped bowls.
Top: Plate straight from range.
Opposite (to dining): Clear for seamless serve.
Corner: Big fridge for sikhe/spices/sauces, three dishwashers to slay sink hell...
Way smoother.
My "finishing kitchen" blueprint.
Prep (chop/manage/mass-cook) in rented nearby spot—big kitchen only.
Barrel it over.
Full factory.
Pitched it—Amy and aunts all-in.
Without this hope, they'd have bolted.
It fueled their grind.
"Sniff... more money down the drain."
Scaling hurts.
Hunted "prep kitchen" space.
Near Babsang, low-key back alley—cheap lease, half of half Babsang's.
Location irrelevant.
No dining—like a delivery hub, locked door, kitchen only.
Simple ops:
I call demand from main, they mass-cook into barrels.
I haul over.
Cheap rent, but 700 sq ft gut-job to kitchen: gear costs stacked.
No fancy interiors.
Demo inside, waterproof floor—done.
Still, startup stung.