Chapter 8

Watching her expression for a moment, I scratched the back of my head and finally answered the call.

The name on the screen read Jo Miwon.

It had been a while since I’d seen that name, and a faint sense of nostalgia washed over me.

Jo Miwon was a friend I had met back in high school, when I attended a culinary vocational school far from home.

At first, I found him a bit overwhelming. He always wore a serious face while saying the most random things, which made him seem strange. But before long, I realized he had a surprisingly funny side.

Especially when he became obsessed with a topic, his endless explanations often turned ordinary situations into ridiculous ones.

Back in high school, Miwon and I were inseparable. We spent every day together.

But after I finished my military service and left for France, we naturally saw each other less.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you finally picked up. It’s me, Jo Miwon.”

“I know.”

“It’s been forever. You finish your service and don’t even bother to call?”

“I’ve been busy.”

His familiar voice boomed through the receiver, full of exaggerated energy. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come on, that’s cold. You just got discharged. Shouldn’t we have a drink to celebrate? When are you free?”

“Later.”

“You always say later. What’s keeping you so busy already?”

His familiar complaining tone made me smile again. It felt good to hear him.

But with Gaeul sitting next to me, I felt the need to wrap up the call quickly.

“Fine. What about tomorrow?”

“Perfect.”

“Then let’s meet in the evening.”

“Really? Promise?”

“Yeah.”

The call ended, and I set the phone down. Gaeul glanced at me, pretending not to care.

“Who was that?”

“A friend.”

“What friend?”

“Someone you don’t know.”

“…”

A heavy silence filled the air.

Then it hit me. I had answered too casually.

“I went to a culinary high school far from home after middle school. He was a classmate from back then.”

“…Was it a girl?”

That was when I understood the reason behind her expression.

The name Miwon did sound more like a girl’s name than a boy’s.

In fact, Miwon used to get teased about it all the time.

When I chuckled, Gaeul puffed her cheeks and began packing her things.

“I’m going home.”

“Don’t. I’ll explain everything.”

I caught her wrist and told her about Miwon in detail.

Stories from our school days, little things he did, his goofy habits.

“Are you convinced now?”

“I never said I wasn’t. You’re imagining things.”

She turned away, but there was a faint smile at the corner of her lips.

* * *

The next evening, I headed to the neighborhood barbecue restaurant where we had agreed to meet.

It was an old, shabby place, but I had been going there with my family since I was young.

I sat down and took a sip of water as the door opened.

“Hey, Kang Chan!”

Turning around, I saw Miwon grinning widely behind his round glasses.

His freshly cropped military haircut made me laugh. Despite that, his lanky frame was still the same.

“Auntie, two servings of pork belly and a bottle of soju, please.”

As I ordered, Miwon dropped into the chair across from me, flashing a satisfied grin.

“How long has it been? We enlisted around the same time, so… about two years?”

“Something like that.”

I replied casually, but inside, I felt a wave of nostalgia.

Looking back, I owed this friend a lot.

Even after I moved to France and lost contact with most people, he had kept in touch.

During the lonely times when I struggled to adjust, his messages had been one of the few things that made me smile.

He was probably the only school friend who had stuck with me until the very end.

As I thought about that, the owner brought over the meat and drinks.

When I reached for the tongs to grill, Miwon quickly stopped me.

“Hey, you know I’m better at this. Leave it to the master.”

Grinning, he took over and began flipping the meat with practiced ease.

The sizzling sound filled the air as the slices turned golden, releasing a savory aroma.

I shook the soju bottle and filled his glass. As the liquid rose to the brim, he let out a satisfied sigh.

“Man, when was the last time we had a drink together? Before we enlisted?”

“Maybe.”

I raised my glass and hesitated for a second. It had been a long time since I last drank.

Ever since dedicating myself to cooking, I had cut off anything that could dull my sense of taste, including alcohol and cigarettes.

Even the glass in my hand felt unfamiliar.

“Let’s toast. To your discharge.”

I smiled and clinked my glass against his. The sharp sound of glass meeting glass rang out.

I took a small sip, letting the alcohol burn its way down my throat. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant.

As the meat finished grilling, we started reminiscing about our school days.

Cooking bibimbap together during lunch breaks, getting scolded by teachers, sneaking food into the dorms.

It felt like we had gone back in time.

Back then, I hadn’t been a very outgoing student.

At home, I was quiet. At school, I kept to myself. Friends were few.

Even after entering culinary high school, not much had changed.

I didn’t mind being alone. I only cared about cooking.

But that became a problem whenever we had group assignments.

While everyone else naturally formed teams, I often found myself left out.

Until one day, Miwon came up to me without hesitation.

He cracked jokes, dragged me into group work, and somehow made everyone laugh.

Because of him, I gradually began to blend in and make friends.

He was unpredictable, but behind his silliness was genuine kindness. I had been grateful for that.

After a while, Miwon grew quiet. He looked thoughtful.

“So, what are you planning to do now? You were supposed to go to France after your discharge, right?”

“I decided not to. I’m staying in Korea to study and explore different cuisines.”

“What?”

He lowered his chopsticks and stared. I laughed at his surprised face.

“I mean, France would’ve been a great opportunity. But I wouldn’t get to learn much about Korean food there. If I study here, I can learn both Korean and international cooking.”

“You sound different somehow.”

I froze for a moment. Sometimes, he could be surprisingly perceptive.

“People change.”

“…Yeah, I guess they do.”

He looked down and let out a slow sigh.

There was a quiet weight to it.

I studied his face, then asked softly,

“Something bothering you?”

After a moment of hesitation, he nodded.

“It’s just… everyone seems to know what they’re doing. You, too. But me? I feel lost. I don’t know what I want. It feels like everyone’s moving forward while I’m stuck.”

His downcast expression reminded me of my past self.

The anxiety of falling behind, the fear of standing still while others moved ahead.

I used to live like that, constantly comparing myself to others, always afraid of wasting time.

But now I understood something I hadn’t back then.

That unease had taught me important lessons.

Those restless days had shaped who I was.

Still, if I could go back, I might tell my younger self to slow down a little.

To take a breath and look around instead of running blindly.

Maybe then I would have been a little happier.

I didn’t want Miwon to repeat that same struggle.

Everyone goes through uncertainty, but if he took time to think clearly, he would find his own way.

And I believed in him.

“Don’t worry about people who seem ahead of you. You’re still young. You’ve got time to start anything you want.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course. You can change too.”

As I watched him, a thought came to mind.

What had Miwon been doing lately, anyway?

I tried to recall.

After his discharge, he had bounced between jobs, from convenience store clerk to construction work and everything in between.

He was always the type to give his all once he started something. He worked hard and never gave up easily.

But he also had a habit of being… a bit clumsy.

He’d give confident speeches about history and get basic facts wrong.

He once messed up a presentation so badly that the slides came out in random order, making everyone laugh.

The funny thing was, he never seemed embarrassed. He always stayed serious, even when others teased him.

That clumsy honesty was part of what made him likable.

Then I remembered something else.

Miwon had once tried making eating videos, mukbangs.

He had been famous in school for his huge appetite.

Even after finishing lunch, he’d still buy five pastries at the school store, and he could easily eat ten servings of pork belly on his own.

That same appetite had followed him into adulthood.

He had turned it into a gimmick and started streaming mukbangs online.

People liked his honesty and quirky charm.

The problem was timing.

By then, the market was already crowded.

So many creators were doing the same thing that it was hard to stand out.

But now, in 2014, mukbang was still in its early stages.

The industry was just beginning to form.

This was a rare opportunity.

A blue ocean waiting to be claimed.

In a few years, the flood of content creators would make it oversaturated.

Only those who found a unique identity early on would survive.

If Miwon wanted a real chance, it was now or never.

And I already had an idea that could help him.

I looked at him and said carefully,

“Have you ever thought about doing broadcasts again?”