A Taste of the Elite
"What, does it look too pricey?"
Senior Choi Yujin seemed to pick up on my hesitation and glanced over as the women in hanbok left the room.
"It just feels unnecessarily expensive. Doesn't seem like anything special."
"Still, this is top-grade cuisine. You can't get it at ordinary restaurants. It's like the royal meals from the old kings' tables. If you want to join the upper crust someday, you need to get used to this stuff. If you're always thinking it's a waste to spend money, you'll never make it there."
"Is that how it works?"
"Yeah. Korean rich folks do it too, but especially Chinese tycoons and Middle Eastern billionaires—they take it to another level. A few hundred million is pocket change to them. There's that famous story about some guests at our hotel who ate here, loved it, and left a tip in the tens of millions. We're talking trillions in assets; money's no object."
Real money-burning madness, I thought. How loaded do you have to be to drop tens of millions as a tip? To them, it was probably like tossing a scrap of food.
No wonder the gap between me and the elite felt even wider. Even if I got rich, I doubted I'd ever be that casual with cash.
Anyway, the food was delicious. You could tell a master's touch was in every bite—flavors I'd never tasted before. All the side dishes and mains were neat, clean, and subtly flavorful. The star was the tteokgalbi; it melted in your mouth like butter. I'd never had anything like it. That alone made the price feel worth it.
Hanyaseong barely touched the other dishes, devouring the tteokgalbi instead, so Choi Yujin laughed and pushed her share over too.
"You're a meat lover, huh? This place is famous for its wild greens."
"Nah, I don't like that stuff."
I quickly grabbed the tteokgalbi she'd offered with my chopsticks and tore into it.
"Even at these prices, business seems good. Place is pretty full."
"Mostly for formal family meetings or entertaining important older guests. Young folks don't come much, but those occasions draw a crowd."
"Gotta be the wealthy types."
"The hotel itself caters to the elite. Everything's expensive by design. Rich people don't go cheap. That's why they jack up the prices—'expensive sells,' as they say."
"Anyway, I'm still not used to it."
"You're young. Give it time; you'll grow to like these places. Even affluent old couples are regulars."
Hanyaseong picked out all the tasty bits, determined to get his money's worth. Classic working-class mentality. Choi Yujin figured it'd take him ages to shake it off.
To truly join the upper class, you couldn't let money dictate your choices. Do that, and the elites would shun you. Pinch pennies or complain about prices, and you're a laughingstock. That was one of their dark sides—obsessed with luxury and extravagance.
Most of them had never touched street food like tteokbokki or sundae. Parents raised them to see it as "commoner slop." Some even skipped kimchi. Choi Yujin wasn't that extreme; she'd eat it at department gatherings or club events. No aversion, but she wouldn't indulge alone.
Choi Yujin paid with her card, and we stepped out of the hotel. The sun was dipping low, heading toward 5 p.m.
"You heading straight home?"
"Yeah, then out again to hunt that gem."
"Alright. Call me tomorrow."
"Sure thing. See ya."
Hanyaseong hopped in a taxi home. The day had flown by in a blur—what even happened? Upper-class life seemed intriguing but ill-fitting, like clothes off the rack.
Was it just about splashing cash? Nah. True elites had something more. Born-rich heirs weren't the real deal. Only those who clawed their way up earned the title.
Hanyaseong vowed that even as an elite, he'd chow down on jjajangmyeon, chicken, and sundae. He wanted no part of fake elites who shunned it.
In that sense, Senior Choi Yujin and Senior Euna were genuine. No snobbery—he'd never seen them dodge "common" food. Euna even ordered extra to spite her dad.
Elites shat like everyone else but acted like theirs was gold. Laughable, avoiding street eats. No clue about taxi fares, subways, or buses either. The world boiled down to posers and the real upper crust.
Hanyaseong resolved to become the latter, not some show-off phony.
Back home, the portal timer had a bit left. He stashed the two pickaxes and three shovels from the department store in the attic, then raided the convenience store for snacks and hauled them up too.
Soon, a translucent glow formed—the portal opening. He shoved everything in and followed.
Thud-crash.
"Ugh..."
He botched the landing, tumbling over. The tools tripped him up.
Rubbing his sore knee, he stood. Warm spring air, vibrant surroundings.
He yelled toward the root-lodging area: "Yadonga!"
After a few calls, the beast sauntered out, looking lazier by the day. Training had lost its thrill—daily grind soured the fun. Both Hanyaseong and Yadonga were bored of it.
"Take this."
He separated the snacks; Yadonga grumbled but grabbed them in his mouth. Other wild beasts swarmed like kids spotting the chocolate bar guy, bouncing excitedly. He doled out items to them, then grabbed pickaxes and shovels and headed to the lodge.
Time to dig where Yadonga had marked. He sorted gear, crumbled chocolate bars for the beasts, and examined the golden artifact again.
Still baffling. No clue its purpose, but the intricate engravings screamed key to some door—pure speculation.
Pickaxe in one hand, shovel in the other, he trekked to the temple ruins. Yadonga's old paw-marks had faded.
No choice—call the snack-distracted beast.
"Yadonga! Come mark it again!"
Grumbling from the cave, Yadonga emerged, rice bits and kimchi flecks on his muzzle, eyes screaming "dinner interrupt?" He pawed a few spots perfunctorily—same as before, so Hanyaseong let it slide.
"Dig here, right?"
Yadonga scowled, growled low, and trudged back upslope. Figure it out yourself.
A bit frustrating, but Hanyaseong picked a spot and swung the pickaxe.
Thwack-thwack. Heavy iron bit earth.
"Something really there?"
Yadonga wouldn't waste time; he'd sensed something.
After 30 minutes hacking a wide hole in the hard soil, he shoveled out dirt. Alternating for an hour, he'd dug a meter deep, sweat pouring like rain.
"Huff... damn, this sucks."
Shoveling wrecked you—back and arms aching heavier by the minute. Day laborers doing this nonstop? Respect, and pity. Pennies for a full day's grind. Lifetime of it, no apartment. World was unfair. Use your brains or bust.
"Whew, enough..."
Nightfall, deep enough for a pipe—nothing. No water, worms, bugs. Wrong spot. Yadonga probably didn't know exactly where.
"Gonna take forever..."
Dozens of holes, maybe. Sigh. Months of pick-and-shovel till next world trip.
Tomorrow, he decided. To the stream for water, detox, wash. Back at lodge, Yadonga snored belly-up, stuffed on triangle kimbap, food coma hit.
Who was the boss here? Hanyaseong boiled water for cup ramen and eyed the gold bar anew.
More it gleamed, more it evoked ancient Atlantis or Inca—exquisite engravings, advanced tech beyond doubt. Purpose unknown.