The Great Witch's Rest Stop Mukbang
If someone from Triia asked me what was the most uncomfortable thing about living there, I'd say without hesitation, "Food."
In a world with a culture roughly on par with medieval Europe, the cuisine was predictably limited to bread, steak, stew—the usual Western fare. Even back on Earth, when my older sister and I pooled our money for our parents' wedding anniversary and splurged at a fancy restaurant, I'd sneak a thought while slicing my steak: "This one plate could buy four bowls of seolleongtang." Triia's food was torture for someone like me.
During breaks from the Witch Academy, I'd wander Triia's corners hunting for ingredients to recreate Korean dishes, only to return to Nihilum in tears with nothing to show for it. I still remember getting smacked by my master after venturing into demon territory for "exotic ingredients" like it was yesterday...
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd eat ramen again in this lifetime.
Ding-dong—
The cheerful bell from the ramen counter rang out, and like a girl reuniting with her first love, I shot to my feet to claim my prize. The ramen aroma was already teasing my frontal lobe, my salivary glands going haywire.
On a sturdy gray plastic tray sat a bowl of plain rice, pickled radish, kimchi... and the ramen itself, glistening invitingly. It was kkoddeolmyeon—the chewy kind any ramen lover dreams of. And peeking through? Juicy-looking... man...tuli...?
I ordered tteokramyeon, though?
I tore my eyes from the ramen and checked the electronic board.
[008]
The number on my ticket was 008 too. Did they mess up the order?
As I stared blankly between the ticket and the board, the lady from the kitchen approached.
"Miss, that's yours, alright."
"B-but... I ordered tteokramyeon?"
"You were staring so hard earlier, I felt bad and threw in some service~ Don't go blabbing about it everywhere, okay?"
"For real?! Thank you so much!!"
"Aigoo, seeing you this happy makes me feel good~ Now go eat up!"
I was so thrilled my voice pitched up without me noticing. I'd ordered the cheapest tteokramyeon out of consideration for the person treating me, but it got upgraded to mandu ramen! Rest stop service? That's next-level—you can't get this anywhere else. Lookism forever!
After thanking the kitchen lady profusely, I grabbed my utensils and skipped back to my seat, where the female hunter greeted me.
"Eat up first. Ramen cools fast. Mine's not ready yet... Huh? Sis, didn't you order tteokramyeon?"
"Yeah, but the kitchen lady said I was pretty and threw in mandu as service. Hehe."
Technically it was "sorry for staring," but that still means she thought I was pretty, right? Not wrong.
The female hunter muttered, "Huh? Rest stops do service like that? It's not some neighborhood joint," shot me a glance, and sighed like she got it. But who cares—
Schwick—
For the first time in over two centuries, cold steel chopsticks filled my hand instead of fork and knife. That familiar chill... I plunged them into the ramen, scooped up a perfect bundle of noodles, and slurped—sluuuurp!
First hit: spiciness. Artificial seasonings impossible in nature deepened the flavor. Then, baton-pass style, the egg's mild creaminess—yolk and white half-heartedly mixed, the only "complete food" in this dish. But once in the ramen, it lost that title, corrupted by the golden sun of noodle broth into a tragic heroine.
Ahh, so much stimulation at once—my tongue's going numb. But not yet... the mandu awaits.
I lifted a half-submerged dumpling to my lips. It split beautifully, hot juices and a hint of broth flooding in, garlic overwhelming my mouth—a scent Triia could never match.
Haa... this is it. Just hours ago, I was all "gotta get back," but one chopstick of this mandu ramen clouded my judgment. Fine, no way home right now anyway—might as well stuff myself silly.
My chopsticks flew nonstop. When the noodles vanished, I popped open the rice bowl I'd ordered ahead and dumped it in. As I cleared my utensils to the tray's edge, I spotted the forgotten kimchi and radish.
Oh my god...!
What have I done?! Forgetting kimchi while eating ramen... Time to atone!
Phase 2: Equipped with a spoon. I mixed meticulously, ensuring every rice grain soaked fully. Then, a spoonful of broth-drenched rice topped with a kimchi leaf, straight to mouth—
"Haup! Nom nom..."
...
"Mine's ready, sis. I'll be right ba—Sis?! Why are you crying all of a sudden?! Are you hurt?!"
I don't know how grateful I am that there's no erogenous zone in my mouth. If there was, I'd be immortalized on Mutube as "Rest Stop Climax Girl," right?
Fresh kimchi. That 200-year kimchi hit like... nostalgia for home? Even if this isn't my world, "all roads lead to Seoul," yeah? And calling money-grubbing girls "kimchi girls"—hey, don't hate on kimchi. Kimchi's innocent.
"You scared me half to death crying like that. But it means it's that good, right?"
"Sniff... Yeah... I tried so hard... Back there, I did everything for food... Right when I gave up, getting to eat it again... I just..."
Anyone hearing would think I starved, but nope. My master and mom, Vain Crimson, had a mansion fit for her fame, and us sisters feasted like kings every meal. I just preferred Korean over Western. Sweets and French cuisine thrilled me once, but decades later? Bleh.
Once calmed, I scraped the bowl bottom when I felt eyes again. Glancing around, folks still stared, but the intense gaze was from the female hunter across, eyeing my rice-ramen.
She had her own o-sambulgogi rice bowl, yet coveted my ramen? Not noodles—rice?! No way, even if you stare!
Schwick— Instinctively, I pulled my bowl closer. Realizing, she gave a wry smile, embarrassed.
"Ah... haha, you were eating so deliciously, I zoned out. Guess I'll order mandu ramen too."
I grabbed her as she stood for the kiosk.
"W-wait!"
"Yeah?"
"Me too... one more mandu ramen..."
"Hehe, not enough? It's been ages—eat your fill. Anything else? Don't hold back!"
"W-well! Samgyeopsal kimchi fried rice and sundubu jjigae...? Or..."
"Take your time. Or come pick yourself?"
"...!"
She called me a lifesaver— this is fine! Pay later. For now, order big!
I shoveled the last rice in, chugged the broth one-shot, and followed her to the kiosk. She picked mandu ramen first, then yielded. I scanned... not more mandu. Time to test this rest stop's limits.
Next page: jjapaguri! PC bang staple here too?! Instant pick. Don't forget—iron plate section, samgyeopsal kimchi fried rice...
My finger wouldn't stop. I'm... still hungry!
Ding-dong— Ding-dong— Ding-dong— Ding-dong—
"Haup! Nom nom, gulp. Haup! Nom..."
Bell after bell, but my spoon and chopsticks didn't stop.
"Keep eating! I'll get it!"
Starers now filmed openly on phones, but whatever—better use that time for another spoonful of samgyeopsal kimchi fried rice.
Genius order. Not plain kimchi fried rice—pork belly made it unbeatable. Fat rendered into kimchi, fried with rice, perfection. Grilled on iron plate, spread thin for that crispy scorched rice edge—not a mistake, but chef's deliberate crunch.
And I fell for it, fool that I am.
"Sis! Sundubu jjigae and jjapaguri!"
Bubbling earthenware sundubu and glossy jjapaguri arrived. What first? Happy dilemma.
Sundubu's still boiling—pot'll hold at least five minutes. Jjapaguri's dry noodles, no sogginess risk. Sweet-savory palate cleanser after all the salt.
Smart me! Jjapaguri first.
My 200-year feast ended after 20 minutes. Returning trays, the male hunter came back from the bathroom... enlightened vibe.
"Bro, you okay?" the female hunter asked. Ex-man that I was, I knew: my fault. But he bought food—forgiven.
Still awkward, so I asked for a 3,000-won walnut pastry on him.