Chapter Text
Thunk. Thunk.
Thin slices of meat fell in steady rhythm against the cutting board. Steam curled upward from the pot beside him, thick with garlic and soy sauce, filling the small restaurant with a rich, familiar warmth.
Cha Eui-jae wiped his hands on a rag and untied his apron, hanging it neatly by the stove before turning off the flame.
“Almost three…”
He checked his phone. The address was already saved. Ha-eun had sent three messages in the last hour—two reminders and one threat involving exaggerated pouting.
After a quick wash and a change of shirt, he locked up and stepped outside, the click of the door echoing faintly behind him.
He didn’t like being late.
He checked the map at nearly every turn, glancing down at his phone more times than necessary, until he finally reached a small house tucked at the end of Mangwon-ro 4-gil.
“Uncle!”
He heard her before he saw her.
Ha-eun came running down the path, giggling with her friend, a smear of sauce still clinging stubbornly to her chin.
A genuine smile broke across his face.
“Had fun?” he asked, crouching slightly to wipe her chin clean with his thumb.
“Yes! We made noodles… just like you!”
“Did you now?” he chuckled.
He glanced at the little girl beside her. Bin-ah shyly waved up at him, her fingers barely lifting from her side.
Eui-jae waved back, his heart softening at the tiny gesture.
“Ready to go home?” he asked, watching as Ha-eun carefully packed the noodles into a small container.
“Yep!” she exclaimed, thrusting the box into his hands. “This is for you and Grandma. She said I might have to make soup one day, so we were practicing.”
Eui-jae looked down at the contents.
The noodles were hopelessly overcooked—soft to the point of surrender. The sauce appeared to be an enthusiastic combination of ketchup and optimism.
He did not dare say that out loud.
“Looks like I have competition already,” he said instead, ruffling her hair.
She beamed.
They waved goodbye to Bin-ah and turned the corner of the street together.
“Uncle?” Ha-eun glanced up at him, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Yes, little gremlin?”
She scrunched her face in protest. “Can Bin-ah come over tomorrow?”
“What for?”
“We want to make noodles again!”
“Hmmm.” He pretended to think deeply, though in truth, he would have rearranged the world if she asked. “What’s in it for me?”
He shifted her to his left side, subtly placing himself between her and the passing traffic.
Ha-eun tapped her chin, brows furrowed in the most dramatic display of thought he had ever witnessed. After several seconds, she gave up.
“Come onnn, pleeease!”
Eui-jae laughed softly. “Fine.”
—
Ha-eun perched at one of the tables later that afternoon, surrounded by bottles of sauce she had absolutely no business handling unsupervised.
Eui-jae watched the chaos unfold.
Kids… always full of destruction. And yet…
He didn’t mind.
He walked closer—
—and was immediately assaulted by the sharp, overwhelming stench of garlic and soy sauce.
For an average person, it would’ve been strong.
For someone with S-rank senses, it was catastrophic.
I survived a rift only to be taken down by a child enthusiastically mixing condiments.
He almost laughed at himself.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to cover his nose as discreetly as possible.
“Making the sauce, duh!” Ha-eun chirped proudly.
Oh, to be a child. Free of burdens. Free of consequences.
He made a mental note to taste it before she poisoned herself—or worse, her friend.
Soon enough, evening approached. Hunters began drifting in, tired and quiet.
Eui-jae had just set aside the last tray of meat when Ha-eun appeared beside him, holding a bowl.
“Here! Try it!”
He looked down.
The contents resembled monster sludge. The smell alone could probably incapacitate a C-ranker. Possibly a B-ranker on a bad day.
He dipped a finger in cautiously and brought it to his lips, silently praying his poison resistance would apply to this situation.
It wasn’t bad.
Then the aftertaste hit.
It burned as it slid down his throat.
[Trait: Poker Face (B)] activated.
Holy—
He looked down at Ha-eun, who stared up at him with complete innocence.
“Uncle?”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Cha Eui-jae was speechless.
“Uhh… yeah.” His brain and tongue fought for dominance. “It’s good. Really good. Why don’t we… leave it in the fridge to marinate?”
“Marinate?” she echoed.
“Yes. It’ll, uh… lock in the flavor.”
“Really?? Okay!”
She marched to the fridge with far too much confidence, nearly knocking over two containers before placing the bowl dead center like it was a sacred artifact. Then she scampered off to the back room to finish her homework.
Eui-jae stared at the fridge.
I’m going to have to replace that.
The bell above the door rang.
Customers began filtering in, greeting the part-timer as they took their usual seats.
He spared the fridge one last wary glance.
This would have to wait.
—
By the time he wiped down the final table, it was already ten.
Late.
Too late.
He walked quietly to the back room and found Ha-eun asleep at the desk, her books spread open beneath her cheek.
“Oh dear…”
He had forgotten to inform Grandma.
He stepped back to the counter and sent a quick text. After a moment’s hesitation, he called instead.
The phone rang four times before—
“Eui-jae?”
“Yes, Grandma. I’m sorry. Ha-eun insisted on staying here to finish her homework.”
“Oh, that’s alright. She already told me from her phone.”
“…Is that so.”
“Eui-jae, thank you again for doing all this.”
“Grandma, it’s the least I could—”
“You didn’t have to,” she interrupted gently. “But you did. Thank you.”
He fell silent.
Gratitude.
It wasn’t something he was used to receiving for small things.
A quiet warmth spread through his chest. Unfamiliar. Fragile.
Not unpleasant.
“Eui-jae,” she added softly, “it’s late. Close the shop and get some rest.”
“I will. I’ll bring her home soon.”
After hanging up, he moved to gather ingredients for tomorrow—
—and opened the fridge.
The smell hit instantly.
Worse.
Significantly worse.
Without hesitation, he dumped the contents into the sink and washed the bowl thoroughly, erasing all evidence of the biological hazard.
Then, with a sigh, he began carefully mixing a new sauce. Similar ingredients. Similar color.
Far less lethal.
He tasted it.
Strong—but acceptable.
Satisfied, he placed the bowl back into the fridge and silently prayed Ha-eun wouldn’t notice the difference.
Turning off the lights, he headed to the back room.
She was still asleep.
He packed her bag gently, slinging it over his shoulder before carefully lifting her into his arms. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her small hands instinctively clutching at his shirt.
He checked the locks twice before stepping out into the cool night air.
The street was quiet.
And as he walked home, carrying her with careful steadiness, Cha Eui-jae allowed himself a small, private smile.