The World's Scariest Cuisine
I wrote that sentence and hit send, then bolted. My stepsister's cooking? That kind of nightmare has no business existing in this world!
Someone might say it's too harsh—it's family-made food, after all. Those with brains melted by subculture would definitely chime in: How could you reject food made by your angel-like little sister? But this is reality. Nothing like a romcom where the stepsister dotes on me or some happy fantasy ever happens here.
If there's ever a time she wants to look good to me... 'Onii-chan~ I need some allowance money...' There's always an ulterior motive. That's what stepsisters are.
But there's another reason I'm running.
"Please, please don't let me be too late!"
Dark cuisine. Not the TV variety, but the real deal straight out of anime. I still can't forget that horror.
A few years back. My stepsister tied on an apron and served me a meal.
'...What the hell is this?'
'What do you mean? It's rice, obviously?'
'Riiiiiice...?'
Blackened, charred rice. And from what I knew, it was supposed to be white rice cooked in a rice cooker. A pot with a fish head sticking out, bubbling like lava with flames shooting up and smoke pouring from the vent. And that was just the start—spinach turned red, mushrooms melted like pudding, broth solidified into jelly. I thought we'd slipped into another dimension.
'Hey.'
'What, oppa?'
'Try eating it yourself first.'
'...Out of consideration for your effort, you eat it first, onii-chan.'
Effort. That word got me. I took a bite of what looked like the least suspicious jellied broth.
'...Fuck...'
'Oppa? Oppa?! Snap out of it!!'
Next thing I knew, I was in the ER. The doc said it was a stomach ulcer. Fuck. Even thinking about it now makes me dry-heave.
Before I knew it, I'd reached the apartment entrance. I jabbed the open button, heard the beeps, and the door slid open. A ding, and the elevator arrived. I threw myself inside, mashed the 10th floor and close door buttons like my life depended on it.
"Hoo...!"
I panted, legs trembling, back sliding against the elevator wall. I yanked out my smartphone. The screen showed a text from my stepsister.
Reading those made curses rise in my throat. Bad? The kind that gives you a stomach ulcer? The thing that's no longer food but something else?
The elevator dinged arrival. I steadied my breathing and opened the front door.
"Freeze!"
Like cops storming a criminal's hideout.
Clang! Something dropped, followed by my stepsister's voice.
"Ack, you scared me! Come in quietly!"
"Hey, Lee Da-eun. You were just holding a frying pan, weren't you?"
I charged straight at her. The kitchen... thankfully empty, nothing there. I let out a sigh of relief.
"...Good."
"The person in question is right here?"
"That's why it's really good."
I chased Da-eun out of the kitchen. The enemy of such cooking must be expelled swiftly. But she seemed miffed at the treatment.
"Tch, I can cook just fine."
"...You feeling okay anywhere?"
I was genuinely worried. Cooking that causes illness goes beyond "fine"—it's more like biological weaponry.
She shot me a glare.
"I'll secretly feed it to you while you sleep."
"Please... spare me that one thing?"
"No, I ate it and I'm fine!"
"Dad passed out after eating it?"
"Mom was fine after hers."
What kind of conversation is this? Between a fresh high schooler and a well-seasoned middle schooler?
Anyway—
"So, what's for dinner?"
"What do you want? There's some leftover pasta noodles."
"I want rose cream pasta."
Looks like rose cream pasta for dinner. I tied on an apron, pulled veggies from the fridge, and started chopping.
"What? You're doing it without a fight today?"
"I don't wanna die at your hands."
"Mmm. Nothing beats threatening you, oppa!"
Please don't learn that stuff. I screamed internally while cooking.
...
Pasta was quick. Boil noodles, chop veggies, mix cream and rose sauce just right. Grabbed bowls from the cabinet, portioned it out. Set them on the living room table. Da-eun snatched her plate like she'd been waiting, heading to her room.
"Don't take it."
"Why? It's comfier in my room."
"Didn't you get smacked for that?"
I pointed at the shower with my chopsticks. She got it, sat back down. Last month, Da-eun spilled food on her bed and got the back-smack of her life. No eating in rooms since—parents' strict rule before their business trip.
"Thanks for the food."
Da-eun picked up her chopsticks with a polite thanks. I nodded and dug in too.
A few bites in, she started talking, bored.
"Oppa."
"Yeah?"
"Friends asked again today?"
I listened quietly. I'd heard this story plenty, knew exactly what she meant.
"Why our last names are different?"
"Yeah. They bug me every time."
Kang Sung-hoon. Lee Da-eun. Our names. Different surnames, no matching vibes. Obviously—mine from Dad, hers from her mom. Both surname and given name differ. Legally siblings, but different names draw questions: Why different surnames if siblings? Don't you look alike? Da-eun gets bombarded.
I kept going.
"So what'd you say?"
"Told 'em we each took a parent's surname, obviously."
"That's the plan?"
"Duh. Don't wanna air family laundry."
She chewed pasta, mumbling. I agreed, slurping the last of mine. Da-eun looked grossed out.
"How do you eat that fast?"
"This is normal speed. You're just slow."
"Bull. I'm the fastest at school."
Is she? Sounds plausible from her stories... While I pondered, she asked carefully.
"How's school?"
"Same old. Nothing much."
"Really...? Really nothing?"
Da-eun eyed me cautiously. Guilt on her face. Instead of words, I showed her with action—chopsticks lightning-fast, stealing her last pasta.
"Hey! Cheater!"
"First come, first served. House rule."
"Who made that rule? I never agreed!"
Her face flipped—no more guilt. I waved her off calmly.
"Ahem!"
"Ahem what? Am I a dog!?"
She growled like a pup. Better not bite. I dashed to the kitchen, brought her exact portion.
"Hmph. Fine, I'll let it slide."
Truly calmed. Darwin scores another win—humans evolved from monkeys, after all. Food tames her half the time. I eyed my now-tamed stepsister, dumped my plate in the sink.
"You do dishes."
"Yeah, by tomorrow."
"Cool. Don't procrastinate too hard."
Chatting like that, I headed to my room.
"Oppa, you're really okay, right?"
I missed her worried voice.
In my room, I changed clothes, hung the old ones haphazardly, sat at my desk. Picked up the white cylindrical bottle.
[Two a day! Vitamins for a healthy mind!]
Popped the lid, shook it. Roll, thunk—one pill out. Swallowed it quick.
"Already empty?"
Tossed the bottle in the trash—it arced beautifully into the bin.
"Goal! Player Kang Sung-hoon nails a gorgeous three-pointer!"
Muttering nonsense, I sat on the bed. Wanted to flop down, but blocking disaster left me drenched in sweat. Grabbed fresh clothes, turned on my phone naturally.
Whoa, how many emojis does this girl have? While I was baffled, Park Ha-yoon jumped in.
I said that and shut off the phone. They'll entertain themselves. Group schedule set for tomorrow.
Next day. After school, we headed to the hospital. And—
"...Huh?"
"It's closed?"
We found the hospital shut tight.