The Kimchi Showdown
The kimchi arrived earlier than expected. Seong Jiyeong’s kimchi was delivered by a middle-aged man, while Yu Hana’s came via the chauffeur who had driven me home the night before. Both men carried themselves with an oddly solemn air, as if they had been briefed on the gravity of the occasion. The two kimchi owners themselves looked no less serious. Yet their confidence was unmistakable—they seemed certain of victory. If this were ever broadcast, I could already picture the subtitle: “Prideful Kimchi Maniacs Face Off.”
Honestly, I couldn’t understand why they were taking it so seriously, but their sincerity made it awkward to intervene. The other members, swept up in the atmosphere, gradually grew serious as well. Before we knew it, we had become the judges. It was ridiculous, yet once I realized this could make decent content, I felt a little better. At least it wasn’t completely pointless. Since things had come to this, I decided to give both kimchis a proper tasting and an honest evaluation. That way the footage would turn out more entertaining.
“First, the kimchi I brought. I’m sure you’ll be able to taste the difference in quality.”
Seong Jiyeong went first. The neatly arranged whole-cabbage kimchi on the plate made me crave a bowl of rice. The match would be decided solely with po-gi kimchi, the classic representative of all kimchi. As self-proclaimed kimchi enthusiasts, both of them had plenty of varieties they could have offered, but dragging things out with comparisons would only waste time. Since po-gi kimchi was the foundation and the pinnacle, they both readily agreed to a single decisive round.
Time to start tasting.
“This is actually really impressive.”
Seong Jiyeong’s kimchi exceeded expectations. I had assumed it would be decent—after all, someone who was almost certainly a gold-spoon heiress wouldn’t recommend it lightly—but this was on another level. Its greatest strengths were its extreme cleanliness and refinement. It was never aggressive, yet it had a sharp, refreshing kick. Even I found that part surprising. Kimchi is a fermented food; if it lacks enough salt, it often spoils or develops off-flavors before proper fermentation. Yet this batch achieved the authentic kimchi taste while minimizing salt. If you care about health, reducing sodium intake is ideal even when eating the same food. In that sense, this kimchi caught two rabbits at once—flavor and health. Given that it was Seong Jiyeong’s kimchi, the ingredients were obviously top-tier, and achieving such perfect balance could only mean it wasn’t made by an ordinary master. This was true gold kimchi.
“Clean and sharp. Delicious.”
“Fresh. It’s different from any kimchi I’ve had before. The world of taste is truly mysterious.”
While the other two judges offered their praise, Yu Hana also sampled Seong Jiyeong’s kimchi.
“Whoa, this really is something~ As expected of Jjeng-jjeng.”
“Hmph, of course. Would you like to admit defeat now?”
“No way. I’m not giving up without a fight. I believe in my kimchi.”
Honestly, I couldn’t imagine any kimchi surpassing this one, yet Yu Hana remained completely confident. Had she really brought something even better? That seemed unlikely.
“Alright, now it’s time to try mine.”
Now it was Yu Hana’s turn.
“Let’s see. This one’s not bad either, but…”
Yu Hana’s kimchi was more ordinary than I expected. It was properly salty and stimulating, with a strangely familiar umami that suggested a touch of MSG. The skill was decent enough, so it tasted fine, but I couldn’t picture it beating Seong Jiyeong’s. If I had to compare them, Seong Jiyeong’s was like premium single-origin coffee while Yu Hana’s was instant mix coffee. Comparing two things from completely different categories might be meaningless, but if forced to choose, most people would pick the premium coffee. Anyone with a tongue would notice the vast gap between them.
“Come on, Jjeng-jjeng, try mine too.”
“Hmm…”
“Hey, don’t be like that. There’s nothing weird in our kimchi. Especially no oysters, so you can eat it without worry.”
“…Fine, whatever.”
While the others tasted the kimchi, Yu Hana kept pushing her own batch on Seong Jiyeong. Seong Jiyeong initially refused with clear reluctance, but eventually gave in and picked up a piece.
Oysters, huh… So that’s what it was. I thought I understood now. Even so, refusing to accept kimchi brought from elsewhere was still hard to comprehend.
“…It’s passable, I suppose.”
“See? Our family kimchi isn’t half bad either.”
Seong Jiyeong gave an ambiguous “passable” verdict after reluctantly trying it. Ambiguous, yet it was probably the most accurate assessment. Yu Hana, however, kept smiling brightly even at that lukewarm response.
Yu Hana’s kimchi wasn’t bad, but the difference in quality between the two was obvious. There was no way Yu Hana didn’t know that, so why was she still grinning like that? Was she aiming for something other than victory? If so… what exactly was she after?
“Ah, I see.”
She was probably after content. We had filmed the move-in scene today, but there hadn’t been any particularly funny episodes. The room assignment was the only thing that came close, and even that felt weak. So Yu Hana, deciding things were too bland, had deliberately provoked Seong Jiyeong to create a scene. In other words, she had never cared about winning or losing this match in the first place.
But once again, my prediction was completely off.
“Yu Hana’s.”
“I’d also like to choose Yu Hana’s.”
“Huh? Seriously?”
Both Ji Seoeun and Tasha chose Yu Hana’s kimchi. Yu Hana simply nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world, showing no surprise.
“Wait, why? How on earth—”
Seong Jiyeong’s protest was entirely justified. Even I thought something was off. Objectively speaking, Seong Jiyeong’s kimchi had been overwhelmingly superior.
“Yu Hana’s. Familiar taste. Tasty.”
“Isn’t kimchi supposed to be spicy and salty? Seong Jiyeong’s tasted kind of bland.”
Once I heard their reasoning, everything clicked. And I realized just how unfair and meaningless this entire competition had been from the start.
There’s a saying: you see as much as you know. Ji Seoeun, who spoke in clipped noun-ending slang, and Tasha, who wasn’t even Korean, both had zero interest in kimchi on a daily basis. That’s right—these two were complete kimchi ignoramuses. Asking them to judge kimchi flavor was absurd. With judges like that, a fair result was never possible. This match had been nonsense from the very beginning.
“Wow, so that’s how it turned out? I’m voting for Seong Jiyeong. Honestly, I’ve never had kimchi this good before. Yu Hana’s is tasty too, but if I have to pick one, it’s Seong Jiyeong’s.”
I had planned to stay quiet, but this was too unfair to let slide. I couldn’t just watch such an unreasonable situation pass.
“Really? Still, it’s two to one. So I win!”
Well, since we had agreed to decide by majority vote from the start, victory inevitably went to Yu Hana. It was a bleak moment that perfectly demonstrated the flaws of majority rule. That squinty-eyed girl had probably requested this match while calculating even this outcome. What an absurd person.
“Yahoo! Yahoo! Victory!”
And to make it worse, she looked genuinely delighted even after pulling such a dirty trick from the beginning. At this point, it wouldn’t be strange if Seong Jiyeong demanded a rematch with different rules…
“…Fine. I’ll accept it. From now on, I’ll give you half of the refrigerator.”
But here we witnessed Seong Jiyeong’s magnanimous side. Even though the match had been blatantly unfair, she accepted her defeat without further protest. Her face was full of dissatisfaction, of course, but it would have been stranger if she hadn’t felt that way. Simply acknowledging the loss in this situation was already impressive. As expected of the leader I had my eye on.
Ever since the team was formed, I had believed Seong Jiyeong was the only possible leader. Tasha was the oldest, but having a foreigner lead an idol group active in Korea seemed unrealistic. That left me, Yu Hana, and Seong Jiyeong. I had no leadership qualities myself (just thinking about it made me want to die), and Yu Hana was more threatening when scheming from behind, so only Seong Jiyeong remained. The fact that her organization, Dragon Blood, had collapsed due to betrayal was certainly a minus, but we didn’t need to consider that when choosing an idol group leader. The fact that she had run such an organization without issues for years already proved she had sufficient charisma.
Seong Jiyeong leading from the front while Yu Hana supported from behind. That combination definitely had competitive strength. It was a shame these two were the ones participating in something as childish as a kimchi battle, but considering their ages, a little immaturity was understandable. They had given us good content, so maybe I should even be grateful.
That aside, I wondered how this would be edited. If they made a pre-debut video, this kimchi battle would definitely be included. Watching Seong Jiyeong still twitching her lips in lingering regret even after the match ended, I couldn’t help but feel curious about how it would be portrayed. The image of the proud, chic cat queen genuinely heartbroken over losing a kimchi duel seemed like a pretty good selling point. I should check the footage later when it’s ready.