Tears Over Kimchi Jjigae
In the end, nothing happened that day until it was time to clock out. Or more precisely, I couldn't do a damn thing. The situation wasn't even set up for normal work in the first place.
"…I'm home."
"Welcome back, sensei."
As I opened the door to the apartment after getting off work, Saori greeted me warmly at the entrance, just like the day before. I hesitated for a moment before asking her,
"Dinner?"
"Haven't eaten yet. I was waiting to eat together when you got back."
Saori puffed out her chest proudly as she said it. It seemed like she was fishing for praise, but I had to disappoint her.
"Sorry, but I think you'll have to eat alone tonight."
"Why? Did you eat out?"
"Nah, just not hungry."
But Saori didn't give up easily.
"Come on, eat a little at least. No matter how bad your appetite is, you gotta keep your meals regular for your health."
It kinda felt like a mom's nagging, but thinking about the effort she'd put into making dinner, I figured I should at least try a bit. So I nodded.
"Alright then, I'll get it ready right now!"
Saori dashed to the kitchen, beaming with joy at my agreement.
Is it really that exciting?
I gave a wry smile at her retreating back, then headed to the bedroom to change into comfy clothes before coming out.
"I tried making something special today."
By then, she was done prepping. Saori placed a stone pot on the table with a confident grin—the kind I couldn't even remember buying. Of course, the white lid hid whatever was inside.
"Go ahead and open it."
At her urging, I cautiously lifted the lid.
"…Kimchi jjigae?"
I was totally dumbfounded by the unexpected dish. I'd assumed she only knew Japanese food.
As if reading my mind, Saori flashed a smug smile.
"I saw a meal kit at the mart and gave it a shot. Following the instructions on the back wasn't too hard."
I nodded at her explanation and carefully scooped up a spoonful of broth. Slurp.
"…How is it?"
Saori watched me anxiously. But I couldn't answer right away.
"……."
Tears kept welling up no matter how hard I tried to hold them back—I couldn't even speak properly. All the pent-up frustration and homesickness burst out like a dam breaking with that one bite of kimchi jjigae.
She looked flustered, clearly not expecting me to break down crying. But even as tears streamed down my face, I kept eating. It wasn't like Mom's homemade kimchi jjigae, but it carried an even deeper warmth.
I ate in silence until my throat tightened too much to continue, and I set down my spoon. Saori, who'd been at a loss, finally approached without a word and pulled me into a hug.
I stayed in her arms until the sobs subsided.
The mood wasn't right for more food, so Saori and I moved to the living room.
"Sensei, feeling better now?"
"……."
I nodded, my face flushed with embarrassment. Saori let out a small sigh and handed me a mug of hot water.
"Sensei, you lied to me yesterday, didn't you?"
Our eyes met as I took the mug, and I flinched. Her gaze said she already knew everything. Maybe she'd been playing along because I hadn't opened up first.
Realizing there was no point hiding it anymore, I came clean.
"…Yeah. I said I was fine when I wasn't."
"Why?"
"…Dumping my problems on a kid young enough to be my daughter isn't very adult-like."
The "sensei" in her mind was the one from the game—leading by example, the ideal adult guiding all the students. In a way, that teacher's steadfast goodness was what captivated everyone so easily.
But real me? I'm no perfect adult. Nothing outstanding about me, heart still childish, just faking it with this grown body. I didn't want her to see through that. If she did, she'd be disappointed, I figured.
After I spilled my guts, Saori gave a wry smile.
"I never imagined sensei was worrying about something like that."
But hearing it seemed to shift her perspective a bit.
"Sensei was holding it all in too, just like the old me."
She gazed at me with eyes lost in memory. Probably referring to her younger self in the game—unable to trust anyone because her powers let her hear everyone's thoughts, leading to severe trust issues. That girl, nicknamed the "Queen," felt isolated in crowds. And sensei was the one who broke through her walls.
In that sense, sensei was her lifelong benefactor.
So I didn't want to hide anymore.
"Saori, there's one more thing I need to confess."
"What is it, sensei?"
I swallowed hard, steeling myself.
"…Truth is, I'm not the sensei you know. Or more precisely, I'm a different person with only the memories of those experiences."
Saori chuckled softly.
"I've known that from the start."
"…What?"
"You think I wouldn't notice something like that? But to me, you're still the same sensei. Even if the world we live in changes or our memories differ a bit, that doesn't change."
She showed me a photo on her smartphone gallery. Shockingly, it featured me—grinning with a V-sign alongside not just this Saori, but other students from Red Asterisk.
"If you think memories define a person, I'd deny that. A person's essence doesn't change without memories. So sensei is the same one I know—the one who saved me from despair and bad thoughts, guiding me back to the right path. The one and only adult in the world."
"……."
"So if sensei is in trouble, this time I'll help. Just say 'help me' once."
Her gentle smile was so radiant it weakened my resolve. Could I really ask her for help? Reach out to someone uninvolved?
The internal debate dragged on. But it didn't last long.
If meeting her was fate, then her offering help at this pivotal moment must be fate too.
"Help me."
Swallowing my pride, I said it to Tachibana Saori.
The next morning, I headed to the Pangyo office with Saori. The company lobby I usually entered alone now had Saori beside me—like having an entire army.
"Miss, this area's restricted to employees and authorized personnel."
The security guard approached, clearly seeing she wasn't staff. But instead of responding, Saori just stared into his eyes. His pupils dilated blankly, and suddenly he was politely stepping aside.
"Ah, my mistake. Please go ahead."
"Thank you."
She passed the first-floor security checkpoint as if it were natural, then turned to me with a coy look as I gawked.
"What's wrong, sensei?"
Snapping out of it, I asked,
"How'd you do that?"
"Just planted a suggestion that I'm the daughter of some big shot here."
"But you didn't do anything."
Don't hypnotists usually need gestures or words?
"For regular folks with no defenses, eye contact is enough."
She clapped loudly right in front of me. Clap! Everyone in the first-floor lounge froze mid-step, like mannequins.
"Mix in an action like sensei mentioned, and you can do this too."
"Okay, I get it—release them quick."
"Hehe."
Another clap, and the employees resumed moving like nothing happened. As I sighed in relief, the elevator dinged at the first floor.
Ding! It was empty inside. Saori stepped in first and struck an elevator girl pose.
"What floor, sir?"
I shot her an exasperated look, then cleared my throat lightly.
"Sixth floor, please."