The Chef's Treasured Blade
Time to get going.
It was six in the morning, an hour when the rest of the family would still be dead asleep. I'd gotten up this early even though it was a holiday, because I needed to get to the workshop. There was still work left to finish. The basics—the painting and the rest—were done, but plenty of little odds and ends remained, and I couldn't just kick back and take the weekend off.
Not that it mattered. There hadn't been set holidays on Mount Olympus, either.
It wasn't that I'd had especially little rest. There simply were no designated days off. You rested when there was no work. Working on a Sunday didn't bother me in the slightest.
"I'm heading out."
I was about to call a goodbye toward Mom's room and slip away when my little brother emerged from the smaller bedroom.
"Hyung, where are you going this early?"
"Still got finishing work at the workshop I set up."
"Then hang on a second. I'll come with you. I'll help."
Jeonghwan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and started getting ready. I waved him off, pulled a few fifty-thousand-won notes from my wallet, and held them out.
"A soldier home on leave has no business working. Take this and go have fun with your friends."
"But still..."
"It's fine. I'm leaving. Mom, I'm heading out."
That was when Mom came out of her room, rubbing her eyes as well.
"You're leaving already? At least eat breakfast first."
"I'm fine. I've got a lot to do today."
"Aigoo, this kid... All right. Watch for traffic."
"Yes. I'll be back."
Jeonghwan stared at the fifty-thousand-won notes in his hand with a look of utter disbelief. A moment later, he turned to Mom.
"Mom... who even is that guy?"
"Who else? That's your brother, Kang Cheolwoo."
"No, I mean—before I enlisted, that guy used to steal money from my wallet to go to the PC bang. And now he's giving me leave allowance?"
He hadn't said anything about it lately, but the truth was Jeonghwan couldn't make sense of any of it. He genuinely couldn't tell if this was the same person who'd raided his wallet for PC bang money and Mom's purse for drinking money.
"Well... he has been giving me a lot of allowance lately, saying he's doing part-time work... I really don't know what got into him..."
"He's not, like... sick, is he?"
People said a person changed when their time was coming. He couldn't help worrying it might be something like that.
"It's not that... I didn't tell you, but a little while ago your brother got into a pretty bad collision with a truck. Luckily he wasn't hurt too badly..."
"Wait. He didn't hit his head, did he?"
"...Did he?"
Even for her own son, the change had been so sudden that Mrs. Baek Jeongsun was starting to have her doubts. She asked Jeonghwan in a slightly worried voice.
"I-it'll be fine, right...?"
But Jeonghwan had no answer to give. His brother had suddenly turned into one of those older brothers you only ever saw in comics.
What the hell actually happened to him...?
"Hoo... it's cold."
The weather had gotten properly chilly by now. I'd dressed reasonably warm, but the walk to the subway still bit through the layers.
Maybe I should just buy a car.
For hauling materials and delivering finished pieces, a truck would make everything a lot easier. The problem was, I still didn't have a license.
A hundred years ago I was too busy drinking and hitting the PC bang every day. When would I have had time to get a license?
I found myself hating my past self all over again. Shivering the whole way, I arrived at the workshop to find a pile of packages waiting at the door.
They deliver on weekends now?
Materials, tools I'd need—I'd eventually make all my own tools, of course, but until then I needed something to work with, so I'd ordered them. I hauled every package inside, shrugged off my outer layer, and rolled up my sleeves.
"All right. Let's get started."
Cleaning up leftover paint. Organizing the material boxes. Even the window that kept creaking. I'd thought I'd gotten a lot done, but looking at it now, the remaining work was still a mountain. I worked up a good sweat, and before I knew it, it was two o'clock.
I hadn't eaten breakfast, and my stomach made its complaints known with a long, low growl. I could have gone out to grab something, but there was a better option for times like this. I pulled the Chinese restaurant flyer off the front door, called in, and ordered a jajangmyeon and a small tangsuyuk.
And true to the Fast Delivery promise printed on the flyer, the jajangmyeon and tangsuyuk arrived in under fifteen minutes.
"How long has it been since I last had jajangmyeon?"
Come to think of it, I hadn't had any since coming back. Which meant this was my first jajangmyeon in a hundred years. I slurped up a mouthful, and the taste after a century was nothing short of a revelation. I actually started clapping without meaning to.
"Ohh... that's incredible. Seriously."
A greasy, punchy flavor that felt a few hundred thousand years removed from anything resembling health food. It was like my taste buds had hauled off and punched my brain square in the face. I couldn't have stopped my chopsticks if I tried. And just as the jajangmyeon was starting to lose its edge, a single piece of tangsuyuk reminded me, vividly, that I was alive.
"A hundred years of that grind, and this is what makes it worth it."
Just as the jajangmyeon was nearly gone, the front door opened.
Who's that?
"Excuse me—is this All-Around Workshop?"
The man who stepped inside looked to be in his early-to-mid thirties. Short hair, and his hands were mapped with cuts and burn scars.
A chef?
I set my bowl down and spoke.
"Yes, that's right. This is All-Around Workshop. Why don't you have a seat over here."
He approached the table carefully and sat down.
"So, what brings you in? Did you see the sign outside?"
The man shook his head.
"No. There's a group chat for a game I play, and someone posted about this place. I came after seeing that."
I'd honestly wondered if that promo would even work. I never dreamed it would pay off in a single day. I made a cup of coffee and handed it to him.
"I see. And what brings you in today, Chef?"
"Pardon...? Wait, how did you...?"
The man startled at being called a chef.
How? Come on. It's written all over you.
When Jin-seong had first walked into the workshop, he'd wondered if coming on a weekend had been a mistake. The building looked old, and the place wasn't even fully organized yet. But the moment they exchanged a few words, he couldn't help being stunned. All he'd said was that he'd seen a post in a game group chat—and Cheolwoo had identified him as a chef instantly.
What is he, a fortune-teller?
While Jin-seong sat there stunned, Cheolwoo spoke as if it were nothing.
"I noticed you'd cut your hair short. Looking at the hairline, it didn't seem like hair loss, so I figured you were in a profession that required it—military, or a chef. And those cuts and burn marks on your hands? Those are textbook chef injuries, aren't they?"
It was a skill honed over a hundred years of making things for the gods of Mount Olympus.
Making something tailored to a person without knowing who they were was absurd to begin with.
"Th-that's incredible. You figured all that out from a glance? You didn't... see me on TV or something, did you?"
Jin-seong asked again, a hint of suspicion on his face. Cheolwoo just shrugged, looking genuinely clueless.
"TV? Sorry. I don't really watch much television."
"...I see. Sorry about that."
An awkward silence settled for a moment. Then Jin-seong set down the bag he'd been carrying, and from inside it he carefully drew out a cloth-wrapped bundle. What lay inside was a kitchen knife, along with an assortment of other kitchen tools. He spoke in a calm voice.
"These are why I came today."
Cheolwoo studied the knife and tools in silence, then asked.
"May I handle them for a moment?"
"Yes, of course."
That's a good knife...
The other tools were fine as well, but this knife in particular was excellent. It was quite old, but you could feel how carefully it had been used and cared for. I turned it over in my hands, then handed it back.
"It's a fine knife. I can tell you've treated it with care."
At those words, Jin-seong's face lit up.
"R-right?! Whatever else, that knife is a truly excellent one. I bought it when I first started as a chef."
He launched into praise of the knife as if his own child had just been complimented.
"...I earned my two Michelin stars with this knife, you know!"
Even as he listened, Cheolwoo's eyes moved carefully between Jin-seong's hands and the blade.
Hmm... this is...
Listening to him talk, I felt like I already knew what the problem was—and what this man wanted. That was when Jin-seong realized he'd gotten carried away talking by himself.
"Ah... sorry. I got a little too excited there..."
Cheolwoo smiled and told him it was fine.
"It's all right. More importantly—Jin-seong, was it?"
"Yes. Lee Jin-seong."
Jin-seong's mouth fell open and stayed that way.
"H-how did you know...? Did you look into me or something...?"
"Hahaha. I don't even know who's going to walk through that door. How would I investigate anyone?"
"Ah, right... sorry."
"Just now, while you were talking and gesturing, I noticed your right hand moved a little unnaturally at times."
"......!"
He caught that in a single look...?
It was true he'd injured his right hand in a car accident a year ago. But the treatment had long since been completed. The memory of that pain still made the movement awkward now and then, yet not a single person had ever noticed.
Just... what kind of person is this...?
Jin-seong nodded carefully.
"Yes... that's right. I injured my right hand in a traffic accident a year ago. The treatment is finished, of course. I'm just not sure if that's why I can't use this knife properly anymore..."
Hmm... well, what matters is that he wants to use this knife perfectly again.
"In any case, what you want is to be able to use this knife and these tools the way you used to."
Jin-seong collected himself and nodded.
"That's right... The memories matter, of course, but I can't perform at a hundred percent with any other knife."
In the end, this was a restoration job—and compared to making that chair last time, it wasn't even work. Jin-seong asked carefully.
"Um, then... how long would it take?"
Cheolwoo glanced at the clock.
"It's three now... could you come back around eight? I should have it finished by then."
"What!? You can repair all this in just five hours?"
"Well, not five—I have to eat dinner too. Call it about four hours."
Jin-seong's face was a picture of disbelief. Cheolwoo, for his part, looked as if none of this were any trouble at all.