A Chef's Tears

I had only made a single kitchen knife, but as the final course was served, the banquet drew to a close. The reception was explosive. The floor manager bustled in and out of the kitchen, his face flushed with excitement as he relayed the guests' glowing reviews. And that was only the beginning.

"That was truly magnificent. Next month's executive board meeting must absolutely be held here."

"Director Yoon made an incredible choice in hiring her. That was hands down the best banquet I've had in recent memory."

Departing VIPs paused to throw compliments directly toward the kitchen as they passed.

"Incredible work, Chef! It was seriously so delicious. I'll definitely be back to eat here again!"

A young, third-generation heiress walked right up to the open kitchen, her eyes sparkling as she offered her praise.

"...Thank you. Please have a safe trip home."

Hyeyun bowed deeply. At last, the final guest departed.

"Great work, everyone!"

The staff's closing greetings echoed through the dining hall.

"..."

Hyeyun stood before the pass, staring out at the emptying hall. The praises she had just received still buzzed in her ears. She had heard them clearly, yet strangely, it didn't feel real.

"..."

The sensation of slicing through ingredients still lingered in her hands. Throughout the entire day, she hadn't made a single mistake. Her wrist felt miraculously fine, and the tip of her knife had moved exactly as she willed it. There hadn't been a single moment of that dreadful trembling or loss of control. In her entire life, she had never felt a knife fit so perfectly in her hand.

"...Is it really over?"

The whisper slipped past her lips. The tension hadn't fully left her body yet. Even though it was all over, her shoulders remained stiff and tense.

The sounds of the staff wrapping up their stations, the clinking of silverware, and the fading footsteps filled the background. Hyeyun simply stood there, frozen in place.

"Chef Kim, you haven't left yet?"

She turned to see Director Yoon Seah. It seemed she had only just found a moment of peace after seeing off the guests.

"Ah... Yes. I wanted to tidy up a bit before heading out."

"You did an incredible job today." Director Yoon offered a gentle smile as she approached. "Honestly, even I was surprised. Today... was the best of your dishes I've ever had."

"...No, you flatter me." Hyeyun bowed awkwardly. Then, before she could stop herself, the words spilled out. "...I'm sorry, Director."

"Hmm?"

"Lately... I've been making so many mistakes. And collapsing like that last time... I felt like I was only causing you worry right before such a major event..."

Her voice trailed off. Hyeyun wasn't ignorant of the rumors whispering through the grapevine. The young head chef finally collapsed right before a crucial event. That's what happens when you put an unproven kid in that position. She's finally hit her limit. It was never about talent anyway... she was just brought in as a figurehead. Those words had been clawing at a corner of her heart this entire time.

"...My dear, don't tell me," Director Yoon let out a soft chuckle, "you actually believed those rumors?"

"...Pardon?"

"The rumor that I brought you in just for show, to set up some young kid as a scapegoat. That rumor."

Hyeyun's shoulders flinched. She felt completely exposed.

"Haha... Well..."

"What do you take me for?" Director Yoon shook her head lightly. "I'm not that idle of a person."

She crossed her arms and looked Hyeyun straight in the eye.

"Le Ciel. Do you remember the first day I tasted your food there?"

"...Yes."

"I fell in love with your cooking that day. That's why I brought you here. There is no other reason." Director Yoon shrugged. "Well, to be honest, even I didn't expect the backlash to be this severe."

She swept her gaze across the empty dining hall and the open kitchen.

"But seeing you today, I know I made the right choice."

"..."

"My eye for talent is never wrong." Director Yoon chuckled and turned around. "You've worked hard. Get some rest."

Click, clack. The sound of her heels faded into the distance. Hyeyun stared blankly at her retreating back. And then, the lights in the dining hall snapped off.

In the darkened kitchen, she was entirely alone.

"..."

Drip. Something warm rolled down her cheek.

"...Oh?"

She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. But then...

Drip, drip.

"...Huh?"

Once the dam broke, it could not be stopped.

"Ugh..."

She clamped a hand over her mouth. She couldn't make a sound. No one could hear her. Yet despite her thoughts, her shoulders shook uncontrollably.

She had fought tooth and nail to get here. Truly, tooth and nail.

—Asian. Female. And the youngest.

In that foreign kitchen, they had never called her by her name. On her first day on the line, the chef next to her had snorted. What is she going to do with those tiny wrists? I bet she'll be packing her bags in tears within a week. He had said it loud enough for her to hear. They wouldn't even return her greetings. It was blatant disregard. Ridicule.

So she didn't cry. Even when her wrists gave out, even when her hands were covered in blisters from burns. She grit her teeth and arrived an hour earlier than everyone else to prep. She was the first to turn on the lights, and the last to turn them off.

She endured for days. Weeks. Months.

At some point, the way they spoke of her changed. She's a monster. Yes. She actually preferred that. It was better to be called a vicious bitch than to be ignored.

And so she proved herself. Every single label attached to her instead of her name—she crushed them one by one with sheer talent. She fought her way up to become the youngest sous chef at a notoriously difficult Michelin-starred restaurant.

Yes. Hard work never betrays you. She believed that. She had to. It was the only weapon she possessed.

But even after returning to Korea, nothing changed. She's a woman. She's too young. She's a nepotism hire. A puppet set up by the director. Someone who lucked into the position without real skill. The hushed whispers followed her everywhere.

The more they whispered, the harder she clung to her work. Just like before. Arriving earlier, staying later. If she just did that, it would be enough. She just had to do more. More, and more. Then she could prove herself again. It had always worked. Hard work had never once betrayed her.

...But this time was different. The nightmare began.

Every night, she was plagued by sleep paralysis, waking up drenched in cold sweat at dawn. The lack of sleep left her with splitting headaches. Yet even as her body screamed in protest, she didn't stop. As she always had, she arrived earlier and stayed later. She couldn't rest. If she stopped, she would fall behind again.

The price of grinding herself down so mercilessly was cruel. Her overworked wrist finally began to scream. Her cuts went askew. Her seasoning faltered. This was the woman who had spent her entire life proving herself with her two hands. And now, those hands were starting to shake.

"..."

That was what terrified her most. More than being ignored. More than being dragged down. The fact that her own hands would no longer listen to her. The realization that her only weapon, the culmination of all her lifelong efforts... was instead consuming her. The hard work that had never once betrayed her was now stabbing her in the back.

She couldn't tell anyone. The moment she spoke of it, she felt everything would end. She could only blame herself. It was her fault for foolishly overworking her wrist. It was her fault for having a weak mind that suffered from nightmares. It was her fault for not gritting her teeth and enduring harder. She had survived like this her whole life. Why did it have to happen now?

...So, in truth, she had been planning to give up. She was going to lay down her knife once this banquet was over. She felt she had truly reached her limit. Her life had been defined by proving herself through effort, but she could no longer make that effort.

"Ugh... huff..."

But today...

All those doubtful eyes that had watched her, those cold gazes that had followed her like labels, had transformed at the tips of her fingers today. Into admiration. Into ecstasy.

In a place where the nation's wealth and power had gathered, her knife, her cuisine, had been recognized. It felt as though all her past struggles had finally been validated. That it hadn't been in vain. That she had done well. That she had survived.

"Ugh... huff..."

Clinging to the cold prep table, Hyeyun wept for a very long time.

She changed her clothes and packed her bags. Today, she absolutely wanted to express her gratitude to that person. To the artisan who had placed this miraculous kitchen knife in her hands.

She cradled the knife bag in her arms. Its weight felt incredibly precious today. As she walked toward the emergency staircase to head home, she froze.

"..."

No way. What did I just hear...?

Hyeyun stood frozen behind the wall, not even daring to breathe. Talisman? That bitch? A guy in a mask? Her mind spun into a chaotic tangle.

Only after the voice faded and the emergency door clicked shut did Hyeyun drag her trembling legs out of the hotel. The cold night air brushed against her cheeks, but instead of cooling down, her head only grew hotter and more confused.

'Mirae-unni was definitely talking about me.'

Saying that she would be humiliated. Saying that it would all be over if she just placed a talisman.

'No... there's no way.'

It made no sense. She must have misheard. Talismans, curses—those were words that didn't belong in the world she lived in. She had spent her entire life believing only in what she could see. It had to be nonsense. It had to be.

...But then, she suddenly remembered the strange people who had been slipping in and out of the kitchen lately. The mysterious spiritualists Director Yoon had brought in. The acrid smell of incense. The hideous scraps of paper pasted in every corner. And...

"Yeah! The one we put in the exhaust fan at first worked perfectly!"

"...The exhaust fan."

Hyeyun unconsciously muttered the word. The exhaust fan. Why did that word linger so stubbornly? Something just out of reach kept nagging at her mind.

Come to think of it... on the day she collapsed, that master had done something toward the ceiling.

"..."

It was right there, yet she couldn't grasp it. The hazy memory kept slipping through her fingers.

Hoñ̃̃̃k!

"Ah!"

Just as she was about to cross the street, a blaring horn right in front of her made her stumble backward. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Her shoulder bag slipped, and the knife case inside slid out onto the asphalt. The leather case parted slightly, and the blade within gleamed under the streetlights.

"..."

The person who had handed her this knife. The artisan who had hidden his face behind a mask. ...A black mask.

In the phone call just now, Kang Mirae had definitely said she ran into someone wearing a black mask, causing the talisman to burn away. That black mask.

The hazy memories of that day suddenly snapped into crystal-clear focus. Yes. It was him. The master in the mask who had come to deliver the knife. He had pulled a blank sheet of paper from his coat, made a quick stroke on it, and thrown it toward the exhaust fan on the ceiling. And then, she had lost consciousness.

...Could it really be? It was after that. Right after the day the master threw the paper and she collapsed. When she opened her eyes, the relentless nightmares had vanished. The splitting pain in her wrist had cleared up as if it had never existed. And everything had miraculously fallen into place.

"..."

Did such things really exist? Absurd things like curses and talismans?

Then... it wasn't because her mind was weak, or because she had collapsed from overwork? Her gaunt face, the terrible nightmares, the unceasing pain in her wrist—that wasn't her limit, but someone else's malice?

"Ugh..."

Suddenly, her stomach churned. A wave of intense nausea hit her, as if gastric acid were rising. The one person she had trusted to be on her side in that kitchen, the one who had smiled so warmly, worried over her, and massaged her stiff shoulders—Kang Mirae had actually been destroying her from behind her back.

The sheer weight of the betrayal suffocated her. She felt like she would collapse onto the street and throw up at any moment. But at the end of that terrible betrayal and nausea, Hyeyun's gaze fell upon the kitchen knife on the ground.

As if possessed, she bent down and picked up the knife bag. The cold touch of the leather against her fingertips barely managed to anchor her back to reality.

'Then my recovery...'

Was it really all thanks to him? Did the master in the black mask lift the curse that was crushing her? And did he even stop the terrible thing Kang Mirae tried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to do today...?

She still couldn't bring herself to believe in curses and talismans. But this knife was beyond doubt. It was a sensation she had felt with her own two hands today. It felt as though the knife were alive and breathing, supporting her wrist. That ecstatic sensation. This unrealistic knife was the proof he had left behind.

'Could it be...?'

The blue stone embedded in the pommel gleamed brilliantly.

'Really?'

The man who had saved her from the edge of the cliff, handed her this miraculous knife, and elevated her beyond her prime. A savior who had appeared in an instant in her gray world.

A strange flush rose on her pale cheeks. Her heart, which had been racing with betrayal, began to beat wildly in an entirely different direction. Her grip on the hilt tightened, as if she would never let it go.

'I must see him again tomorrow.'

No, not just tomorrow. Having tasted this miraculous sensation, she felt she would never be able to cook again unless it was with a knife he had crafted.

"..."

Standing alone under the streetlight, Hyeyun's eyes burned with an unprecedented, intense fervor.

Vroõ̃̃m!

With a smooth engine purr, Jian's bright red sports car glided through the congested streets of Gangnam. Leaning back deeply into the premium leather seat, I glanced down at the thick manila envelope resting next to me. Inside was a stack of checks handed over by Director Yoon. Even at a glance, it looked to be more than ten times the amount we had agreed upon.

Well... I did perform an exorcism for them. I expected to receive a bit more than the five million won for the knife, but this felt a bit excessive. Come to think of it, the money wasn't the only thing that had been excessive today.

Staring blankly out the window, I recalled what had happened before leaving the hotel this morning.

"Master...! Thank you, thank you so, so much!"

The moment she arrived at work, Head Chef Kim Hyeyun had sought me out, bent her waist at a ninety-degree angle, and burst into tears.

"I don't know how I can ever repay this debt... If it weren't for you, Master... ugh!"

I was a bit—no, actually, quite flustered.

'I mean, my kitchen knife is amazing, but...'

Was it really something to sob over like this? It wasn't even free; I had received a massive bonus from Director Yoon. The way she stared at me with those burning, tearful eyes was so intense it was actually a bit burdensome.

"Excuse me, Master! I would love to personally show my gratitude. If it's not too rude, could I have your contact information...!"

Just as the chef was hurriedly pulling out her phone to ask for my number...

"Ah! You can contact us through here!"

Seo Jian materialized out of nowhere, sliding between the chef and me while thrusting her business card forward.

"I handle all of our master's scheduling and external communications! If there are any issues with the knife or if you need maintenance, please feel free to contact me at this number anytime, Chef!"

Faced with Jian's bright, smiling iron defense, the chef looked strangely disappointed but had no choice but to accept the card. And behind Jian, a familiar, smirking face approached. It was Jin Muyeong, the self-proclaimed 3rd Class spiritualist.

He sidled up to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with easy familiarity. Then, glancing at the envelope, he offered a knowing grin.

"You know, hyung-nim, I made sure to tell Director Yoon exactly how incredible the entities you exorcised were. Hehe."

Ah... So that was it. Now it all made sense. Why the chef had been sobbing and sniffling since morning, and why Director Yoon had handed over a check worth more than ten times the knife's value.

Clearing out those minor cursed spirits in the exhaust fan had been a simple matter that required only a single talisman. But this punk had undoubtedly exaggerated the whole thing to save face for failing to solve it himself.

'I thought their reactions were a bit much. A massive misunderstanding has piled up here.'

Well, it wasn't a bad thing. Thanks to that, I had walked away with a handsome sum. I had stood there in a daze before being ushered out of the hotel by Jian. Furthermore, according to Director Yoon, the sous chef had been a spy hired by some family called the Hyunmu Family.

"We have secured all evidence of the sous chef being bribed, including the transaction records. We handed her over to the Spiritual Management Bureau this morning."

If that was the case, the talisman hidden in the prep pan had been planted intentionally.

'Well, well.'

If you do bad things, you get punished. That was just the way of the world.

"Sigh, seriously. You really can't trust anyone in this world," Jian said with a sigh as she gripped the steering wheel. She was referring to the sous chef.

"Still, it's a relief we were able to stop her before she could pull anything foolish, all thanks to you, Dohyun-nim. You really went through a lot."

"Well, I only made a single kitchen knife."

"Oh, there you go again. So humble." Jian offered a bright smile through the rearview mirror. "Ah, by the way! I registered you for that thing you asked about last time."

"What I asked about?"

"You asked if there was a place where you could check the trends and rumors ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the spiritual world."

Ah, right. Since I knew absolutely nothing about this world, I had casually asked if there was an anonymous community of some sort. Jian reached into the passenger console box and pulled out a black tablet, handing it to me.

"I installed the app, so why don't you check it out? The security is incredibly tight, so I set it up to open only with biometric authentication."

When I turned on the tablet screen, a lock screen with a bizarre pattern appeared. When I placed my fingerprint on the screen and aligned my eyes, the words "Authentication Complete" flashed, and a black-themed app opened.

[Dokkaebibul - Anonymous Spiritualist Forum]

Oh. There really was such a thing. It looked like the site Jian had shown me at the cafe last time. So it was called Dokkaebibul. Looking at the top of the screen, I saw a tab labeled [Dokkaebibul Marketplace]. Ah, what she had shown me back then must have been that section.

With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, I scrolled through the real-time trending board. But then...

"...Huh?"

My finger froze mid-scroll. I blinked and stared at the screen again.

TK Group? Dokkaebi Market explosion? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Cheonsan Sect?

...What on earth was all of this?