Chapter 1

All my life, I chased only cooking.

The most important thing in my life was ‘cooking’… and the second most important was to be recognized for it.

Naturally, the third most important thing to me was success. Because of that, I never had the time to look around.

But that obsession and effort eventually rewarded me greatly.

[Michelin 3-Star Chef Kang Chan! The first Korean to win the Bocuse d’Or, proving the potential of Korean cuisine to the world.]

[The Bocuse d’Or is often called the “World Cup of Cooking,” a competition of the highest global prestige…]

The first Korean to win the Bocuse d’Or. Recipient of the James Beard Award.

Named “The Most Influential Chef in the World” by Forbes.

After years of relentless effort, my name was followed by dazzling titles.

Gourmets made pilgrimages to my restaurant, my dishes became trends, and my style became the new standard in the world of fine dining.

Yeah. I had achieved everything I had ever longed for.

But I never imagined that this shining moment would not bring me happiness.

“We should end this.”

Now that I had finally achieved everything, there was no one left by my side.

My parents had passed away long ago. I could still vividly remember their smiles when they ate the clumsy dishes I made as a child.

I stood at the top of the world, cooking expensive food for others, but I had never once cooked a proper meal for my parents.

And even my wife, Yoon Gaeul, who had stayed by me until the end, left.

When she asked for a divorce, I had no excuse to offer.

I hadn’t been a husband who celebrated birthdays or anniversaries.

She didn’t demand anything of me. She simply left.

If only she had wanted something from me, I would have tried to meet her halfway.

If she had used the divorce as a reason to ask for money, it might have hurt less.

But Gaeul wanted nothing. She just seemed tired.

“I’m just… tired now.”

We had no children. I was completely alone.

At that point, everything I had achieved felt like a mirage. Only emptiness echoed inside me.

“Chef Kang Chan. You’ve won this year’s Bocuse d’Or. You’re the first Korean ever to take first place. Can you share your thoughts?”

Under blinding lights, camera flashes exploded endlessly.

The press conference was filled with journalists from around the world.

Microphones covered the table, each marked with a different company logo.

I stared blankly ahead, then answered mechanically.

“I’m happy not only for my personal honor, but also because Korea has been recognized globally.”

The reporter nodded, scribbling something down. Then came the next question.

“What’s your next goal, Chef? You’re already at the top, but is there anything else you wish to accomplish?”

I pressed my lips together. In truth, there was nothing more I wanted. Nowhere else to climb.

Even with the whole world watching me, I felt neither proud nor happy. It was as if all my emotions had stopped working.

Something felt wrong. What had I been running toward all this time?

Why had I clung so desperately to success, leaving my loved ones behind?

In the end, I was left with nothing.

Success? Fame? What meaning did any of it have now?

Everything precious had already slipped away.

‘If only I could have one more chance.’

Then maybe I could live an ordinary, peaceful life with my parents and Gaeul.

If only time could turn back, I’d change everything.

My lips were dry. The reporters’ endless questions blurred in my head.

Then, suddenly, my body began to tilt.

Thud

The camera flashes faded, and my eyes slowly closed.

Even then, the last thing I saw was Gaeul’s face and my parents’ warm smiles.

* * *

“…!”

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was an unfamiliar ceiling.

Blinking several times in confusion, I shot up in bed.

A small room, old wallpaper, a familiar scent. My breath quickened in disbelief.

Looking around frantically, I spotted a phone on the table.

I grabbed it and turned it on. The date displayed on the screen made my heart stop.

September 25, 2014.

My mind went blank. I had gone back twenty years, back to when I was twenty-one.

Staring at the date, I rushed out of the room.

Opening the door, I saw a small living room and a kitchen.

My hands trembled as I walked toward the kitchen. On the table was a bundle covered with cloth.

I slowly lifted it. There was warm rice, kimchi stew, my favorite, and neatly arranged side dishes.

It was exactly the same meal from my memories.

Next to it lay a small note written in a familiar hand.

—Chan-ah, make sure you heat the stew before eating.

Just one short line. Emotion rose to my throat. That one line tightened my chest.

Even on busy mornings, my mother always set the table for me.

A bowl of stew, freshly cooked rice, and a few side dishes.

Every day without fail, a warm meal waited for me on the table.

But I took that devotion for granted.

I often skipped breakfast because I overslept after staying up late practicing.

Some mornings I left without even noticing the meal she had prepared.

And there was one memory I could never forget.

That day, too, breakfast was waiting on the table. But I was late and rushed out.

When I returned from practice that night, I saw my mother sitting alone at the table.

She hadn’t even changed her clothes. The meal she’d made that morning was still there.

The stew had gone cold, the side dishes untouched. She was quietly eating the cold stew by herself.

I hadn’t been able to say a single word. That image of her back stayed burned into me, even after she passed away.

I quickly wiped my tears with the back of my hand and headed to the door. Then I burst outside.

After running for a while, I stopped in front of a small shop.

Lifting my head, I stared blankly at the old sign.

“Chani’s Snack Bar.”

My throat tightened as I exhaled shakily. It was the same snack shop my parents had run for twenty years.

Through the window, I could see them inside, busy as ever.

My parents. Alive. Right there before me.

I wanted to run in, but I froze.

What would they think if their son suddenly ran in crying? Even I would be shocked to see that.

Besides, I looked a mess. In my rush, I had even put on mismatched shoes.

Conflicting emotions swirled inside me, but first, I had to calm down.

I watched them for a long while, then slowly turned away with a deep breath.

Just knowing that they were alive, that alone was enough for me.

* * *

Back home, I sat before the table again and stared at the meal.

Then, like someone who hadn’t eaten for days, I shoveled a spoonful into my mouth.

Every bite of the kimchi stew, every piece of rolled egg carried my mother’s care.

Even though the food had gone cold, it was the most perfect meal I’d ever had.

Maybe what I had longed for all my life was this simple, ordinary happiness.

After clearing the dishes, I took a deep breath and drank a glass of water.

Then my eyes fell on a calendar hanging nearby. A red circle marked September 18.

‘What’s this?’

I stared at it for a while, then sighed softly.

September 18, 2014. The day I was discharged from the army.

My mother must have marked it to celebrate.

That meant it had been exactly one week since I got out.

“Then today must be…”

The day I filled out my application to Le Cordon Bleu in France, and my mother’s birthday.

Back in my room, I picked up the application on my desk. I gazed at it in silence for a long time.

The words “Le Cordon Bleu” printed neatly across the top brought back a flood of memories.

Back then, I loved cooking more than anything. That passion drove me to dream of studying in France, the home of cuisine.

But the cost was enormous. Tuition, housing, living expenses, at least sixty million won in total.

Our family couldn’t afford it. My parents ran a small snack shop.

Even on good days, the profit barely covered living costs. There was no such thing as spare money.

I knew all that, but at the time, only one thought consumed me.

‘Success.’

Cooking was all I knew, all I was good at. There was no other path.

I pleaded with my parents again and again. It would be hard, but I promised I’d repay them once I succeeded.

And somehow, they managed to gather the money. They sent me to Le Cordon Bleu despite everything.

As soon as I was discharged, I filled out the form, and soon after, I received my acceptance letter.

Back then, I was too young and reckless to think about how my parents felt. I was just excited about France and my future.

But now, I understood their hearts. They worked nonstop for their only son.

They never once complained, no matter how difficult things were.

And I, blind to it all, only focused on moving forward.

Even when they called, I hung up quickly, saying I was busy. For years, I didn’t even visit once.

What meaning did that success hold? All that remained were shame and regret.

Back then, ‘cooking’… might have been nothing more than a means to achieve success.

I took a deep breath and looked down at the application. Then, without hesitation, I tore it apart.

It all felt meaningless. I had already learned everything, reached the top.

The passion that once burned so bright was now just an empty illusion.

I would no longer make the same mistake.

To live a simple, precious life with my loved ones. To cook not for success, but for the people I love.

That was the life I wanted.

The torn pieces fluttered to the floor. Strangely, I felt lighter.

I looked at them quietly, then glanced at the clock on the desk. Three in the afternoon. Still some time before my parents came home.

I headed for the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and saw the familiar bag of dried seaweed.

I reached for it. Today was the birthday of the person I love.