Chapter 35
Chapter 35
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: Inattentional Blindness (4)
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"It's warm. And so fluffy."
The flavor of fried rice doesn't vary much, but since it was just made, Kang Pil-jung thought it had a more vivid taste.
Back when he worked at the company, his wife would pack him a lunchbox now and then, and four out of five times it was egg fried rice.
For a simple reason.
Her cooking skills were terrible.
On weekends or weekday evenings, Kang Pil-jung would be the one setting the table instead.
'You don't have to pack it, you know...'
'Just take it and eat it, Kang Pil-jung. I made it while practicing cooking.'
'Hey, you're practicing cooking and all you ever make is egg fried rice?'
'What can I do? It's the one thing I'm confident in. You wanna eat that tasteless crap at the company?'
'No, I'll eat it well.'
'Good, now hurry up and go to work.'
He recalls that morning conversation.
A lunchbox container with childish character drawings on it.
Packed full to the brim with egg fried rice.
Sitting all alone on his office desk.
The surroundings had faded away from Kang Pil-jung, but it was a place all too familiar.
"Company?"
K Corporation's headquarters, planning team office.
He had to pull an all-nighter because he was assigned PR for some project. From one perspective in this hyper-competitive society, it was lucky work, but his body was exhausted.
The moon hung pale in the sky, and he still hadn't eaten dinner.
He debated whether to finally put the egg fried rice in his mouth.
Normally, he would've wolfed it down at lunch, but he hadn't felt like it then and had brushed it off with a team lunch.
But at this hour, going out to eat felt awkward.
He hadn't finished the workload he'd set for himself today, and stepping out for dinner now would just make the timing all weird.
"No choice, huh."
He scooped up a bite of fried rice, grains flying off.
It was cold and tough, like the chewiness was alive.
"Eat to live, not for taste."
At least it was fried rice, guaranteeing some flavor even when cold—he comforted himself as he shoved it in his mouth.
Then some kid tugged at his clothes from the side.
Tug tug—
"Choco Uncle."
"Hm? Oh, you."
She looked familiar, but he couldn't recall her name.
Probably a colleague's kid.
There were a few others pulling all-nighters besides Kang Pil-jung himself, so it wasn't that strange.
"You can't do that if you're eatin' it now."
"Kiddo, what're you talking about?"
"Fried rice, eat quick and go."
"Go where?"
"Home."
What was this kid saying?
Kang Pil-jung couldn't make sense of it at all.
Whose kid was she anyway?
The section chief's maybe?
"You fought! Gotta go make up!"
Fought? Me? With who?
With who.
There was only one person in the world Kang Pil-jung would fight with.
His wife, Choi Young-hyun.
Thinking of her stirred a single obsession that clawed at his chest.
A single sentence leaked from the hole carved in his heart.
"Young-hyun needs to go to the hospital...?"
For some reason he himself didn't know, a sense of duty surged from his gut.
Urgently, spurring his body into motion.
But his monitor still displayed scattered, unfinished project files.
Project.
Project...?
"Fuck, is work more important right now?"
Kang Pil-jung runs.
Leather bag
High-end wool coat
Even the lunchbox container left behind as is.
As he leaves the office, he calls out thanks to the nameless kid.
"Kiddo! Thanks!!"
It felt like the right thing to do.
The five-year-old girl called a kid at that spot pouts discontentedly and mumbles.
"I'm not a kiddo, I'm Yoon-seul...!"
Kang Pil-jung had forgotten her name.
She'd chew him out for it later.
Kang Pil-jung runs.
He runs past the crowds on the road.
The hard heels of his dress shoes pound the ground.
His knees ache.
Still, he runs.
His shoe tip catches on an uneven brick sidewalk.
His right foot twists.
It'll swell up for sure.
Still, he runs.
Haa— haa—
He's out of breath.
Winter air makes his breath puff white.
The jacket feels stifling.
He shrugs it off.
He reaches the main road.
Flags down a taxi and demands they speed like a bullet.
Luckily, traffic's clear.
And finally.
"Home.."
He felt ridiculous for coming all this way without even swiping his commute card, but there was no time to dwell.
He jabs the elevator button irritably—tap tap tap tap—
Damn it, no matter how fancy the apartment, elevators are consistently slow and shitty.
Ding—
Even after boarding the belatedly arriving elevator, Kang Pil-jung stamps his feet.
Pushing the 15F button, he regrets buying on such a high floor.
Soon, he arrives at the 15th floor.
RUnnieng as if chased by something, he opens the front door.
There you are.
"Choi Young-hyun."
You, still healthy-looking.
And only now does he see it clearly.
He gets it.
Your neck is awkwardly swollen.
Inattentional blindness.
Kang Pil-jung's careless gaze, blind to his wife's subtle changes because of work, shifts.
"What, Kang Pil-jung? You said you'd take the last train."
"Young-hyun."
"Hm? What's with you?"
"Let's go to the hospital."
"You sick?"
"No. Not me—you're sick. You have cancer."
"What bullshit."
"No time to explain, hurry."
"Hey, hey, hey... what the hell, Kang Pil-jung!"
For the first time, he roughly grabs Choi Young-hyun's wrist and drags her out of the house.
His wife, in pajamas.
Only then does the gnawing obsession in his heart melt away like snow.
A single tear rolls down the cheek of the middle-aged man.
Finally, before it was too late, he said it.
That you're sick.
That he noticed first.
That you're sick.
And so Kang Pil-jung emerged from the sea of memories that the fried rice had overlooked.
**
"Joo-hyun, this fried rice is too good."
"Really? Glad you liked it."
"Yeah, it's way better than what I used to have—feels like a whole different food. Hey, make it for me again next time you come."
"If there's ingredients left, sure."
Kang Pil-jung scrapes the bowl clean to the bottom.
He stands, gently patting Jang Yoon-seul's head.
"Yoon-seul, next time Uncle comes to the shop, I'll bring expensive chocolate. Thanks."
"Huh? Yoon-seul didn't trick ya?"
Song Joo-hyun couldn't follow that brief exchange. And one more thing.
Kang Pil-jung's expression, as he shoveled in the fried rice, was much brighter than before. It couldn't just be because the egg fried rice was tasty.
Maybe a good memory resurfaced.
"What..?"
She mutters absentmindedly.
"Joo-hyun, gotta go. Thanks for taking care of me."
"You're leaving? Uh... you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good. See ya."
Kang Pil-jung waves his hand side to side a couple times, then heads straight out of the shop.
It felt abrupt from Song Joo-hyun's perspective.
"Yoon-seul, looks like Uncle's mood suddenly got better...?"
"Yeah! Yoon-seul knows why."
"Yeah? Why?"
"Yoon-seul scolded him. Told him go home quick."
Jang Yoon-seul sticks out her belly.
Song Joo-hyun couldn't grasp the before-and-after at all.
But right now, thinking about it, that wasn't the important part.
She quickly pulls out her smartphone to check Kang Pil-jung's satisfaction level.
"No way, it went up this much?"
[Onui Tycoon!]
[Used Bookstore Owner Kang Pil-jung]
[Overall Satisfaction: 100%]
[Used Bookstore Owner Kang Pil-jung – Registered as Family!]
"Family rank...!"
Higher than regular customer.
Per the Tycoon app rules, 80% satisfaction makes a regular.
You need 100% to reach Family rank.
Song Joo-hyun had aimed for Excellent Customer at best.
Trigger food, in situations like Kang Pil-jung's, evokes specific memories through certain dishes.
The food that calls forth nostalgia naturally breeds fondness, like being steeped in sentiment. It leads straight to rising shop satisfaction.
[Dal-nim: We didn't expect this either—did you make the fried rice anticipating it'd go this far?]
[Song Joo-hyun: Of course.]
She decides to affirm it first.
[Song Joo-hyun: Now you feel like helping Uncle out?]
[Dal-nim: ...? What do you mean? Sure, Kang Pil-jung reaching Family rank positively impacts the shop's reputation, which is good for us,
but that doesn't directly mean we have to help him.]
[Song Joo-hyun: Isn't that a bit shortsighted?]
[Dal-nim: ?]
[Song Joo-hyun: Uncle Kang has the highest satisfaction for our shop on the app right now.]
[Dal-nim: True, so?]
[Song Joo-hyun: Then shouldn't we help manage our customers well? For mutual win-win. If Uncle stays down because of his wife and stops coming,
losing a customer like that hurts you guys too, right?]
[Dal-nim: Hm, viewing it from that angle, huh.]
[Sun-nim: Can't argue with that. From the shop's side, we can't lose a customer showing that level of satisfaction.]
It was persuasion without logical flaws.
At least, it created some justification for helping them.
**
"Whew, made it in."
"What, Kang Pil-jung. Visiting hours are long over."
"Snuck in."
"You're one ballsy guy at times like this."
"That's why I married you, Choi Young-hyun."
"Bullshit."
An awkward air lingers between the middle-aged couple.
A quiet hospital private room.
Lights-out time had passed, but the patient wasn't asleep yet.
Kang Pil-jung, having evaded the patrolling nurses to reach here, faced another hurdle.
Apologizing to his wife, Choi Young-hyun.
He wanted to say sorry for being a gloomy ass.
Normally he'd hem and haw and let it slide half-assed, but maybe because he'd sunk into that memory at Onui Restaurant earlier.
He felt bold enough to act.
"Sorry."
Their voices overlap.
The air turns awkward again.
"Not your fault."
Choi Young-hyun speaks first.
"Huh?"
"Not your fault, you idiot. Doctor said the radiation from last cancer treatment probably caused the recurrence."
"...."
"So not your fault. Stop blaming yourself like a moron. And sorry for hitting you earlier. Hurt?"
"Yeah, it did."
"That's why listen to me."
Kang Pil-jung grins sheepishly.
"Me too, sorry. You're the one suffering more, and I just stressed you out with dumb shit."
"You know, then act better!"
She says that, then clamps her own mouth shut.
Realizing her voice was too loud.
Luckily, no nurses in the nearby hall.
Choi Young-hyun extends her right hand as a peace offering.
He approaches the bedside and clasps it.
....
And suddenly, arm wrestling starts.
A frequent couple's prank and reconciliation method.
They both believe frequent skinship keeps the marriage smooth—it's habit now.
At the bookstore, they'd sometimes ask Song Joo-hyun to ref.
Man and woman would prop elbows on the dinner table and arm wrestle.
If a nurse saw, she might not believe they were in their 50s. So childish and cute.
Single round.
Time for one arm to dominate and pin the other: about 3 seconds.
Result, as always, Choi Young-hyun's win.
Can't underestimate a former volleyball player, Kang Pil-jung always thought.
"Hey, Kang Pil-jung. See? Still got strength. Body's better than I thought."
"Yeah, seems so."
Brief silence.
"Bullshit."
Silence again, and.
Tears flow from Choi Young-hyun's eyes—rare sight.
"What."
"Why'd you let me win, idiot."
"You'd curse coming off court even when losing as a player. Figured it'd double if you lost to me."
"I'm a lot weaker now, huh?"
"No, same as always."
"Don't lie."
"If you know it's a lie, play along."
"You jerk..."
"Age doesn't trim the swearing, huh."
The couple kiss.
A narrow gap between lips, and they share mature smiles. Happy smiles.
Secretly.
Can't do lovey-dovey in public at their age.
Or so they thought—but after Song Joo-hyun's persuasion, the Onui siblings had turned their gaze here to check on the couple.
They'd watched from that cringy line "That's why I married you, Choi Young-hyun."
onward.
"Hm, middle-aged romance is sweet too?"
"Sugar overdose, brother dear?"
Dal-nim sighs and snaps her fingers.
"Seen enough—time to manage the customer."