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Chapter 24
The day of the recording for The Self-Made King of Cuisine, episode four.
“Sunbae-nim, starting today you’ll be in a two-person waiting room.”
One of the writers pointed down the corridor.
“There’s a name list on the door, so just check and go in.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and…”
“Yes?”
The writer hesitated, then carefully added:
“The room assignments were made at our discretion. If we switch one person, then everyone will start asking for changes, so… we hope you understand it’s difficult to make adjustments.”
“Of course. That’s fine.”
“Thank you so much.”
After making her apology, the writer hurried off toward the recording set.
‘So it was someone who came in earlier.’
No doubt the owner of that car she’d seen in the parking lot had asked for a swap—and had been turned down. Just as the writer said, they couldn’t honor only one request without being flooded by others.
In truth, it didn’t matter much who she shared the room with.
‘A two-person room has to be better than a big group one.’
The awkward atmosphere from the very first day had thankfully faded over repeated recordings, but still—being stuck with many people was never as comfortable as fewer.
‘With just two, maybe it’ll even be easier to talk naturally.’
Haerin walked the corridor, glancing at each door’s posted name list. Not here. Not this one. She reached the very end.
“…Seriously?”
On the paper taped neatly to the final door were two names, side by side: Yoo Haerin and Shin Ihyun.
Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door cautiously.
The room was silent, empty.
‘Guess he hasn’t arrived yet.’
She was about to settle on the sofa when another thought struck her.
‘Right… I never repaid him for the chamomile.’
Should she give it today, before filming? There’d be enough time for a quick drink. She already knew his taste.
“He wouldn’t mind if I just brought it, right? Or maybe I should leave him a message first.”
She stepped back into the corridor—
“Hello, Sunbae-nim. I was just coming to check if you’d arrived.”
—startling at the sudden voice. Jooho was standing right there.
“Did you have a good weekend?”
“Yes. How about you, Nam Jooho-ssi?”
“Well, me too, sort of? I actually had no schedule, so I finally got to rest.”
“Why sort of? Isn’t that a good thing?”
He tilted his head with a playful grin.
“Because you didn’t meet me, Sunbae-nim?”
“…Excuse me?”
Haerin’s lips twitched awkwardly. She regretted starting this conversation—she should have just said hello and walked past.
Back at the first recording she’d thought he was simply polite and considerate. A junior who’d even suggested a get-together despite barely knowing her.
But as the weeks passed, his words had begun to feel… blatant.
‘How should I put it?’
Like someone desperate to meet her one-on-one.
By today, she could no longer dismiss it as a misunderstanding.
“Didn’t you think of me at all, Sunbae-nim?”
Yes. Definitely flirting.
Haerin drew a line.
“We see each other here anyway.”
“You keep such a distance… it’s a little sad. You won’t even give me your number.”
“What’s the big deal about phone numbers? People who really click don’t need them to become close.”
“Maybe, but being able to text makes it a lot easier. Just think of it as a normal exchange between colleagues.”
Sure, in theory phone numbers could be traded for purely professional reasons. But—
‘Your intent is way too obvious.’
She’d already declined him several times. Even if it really were innocent, she wasn’t comfortable.
“Well then, I should get going. We can talk later.”
“You won’t give it to me then, either.”
His lips pouted faintly, his expression wounded.
‘Yes, you’re handsome. But this isn’t cute—it’s suffocating.’
“I’ll see you inside the studio.”
She tried to brush him off when he pressed again.
“By the way, Sunbae-nim—you’re sharing with the anchor, right?”
“Yes. I only found out when I got here.”
“I saw he gave your dakbokkeumtang ten points the other time.”
“Yes, he did.”
“So you two must be close? To just hand over a score like that?”
His persistence was grating.
“You don’t have to be close to give a score.”
“Eh, how could you not?”
Why are you like this? Haerin forced down a sigh.
“To give a ten, either your food has to be incredible… or you two are really close. I’d say it’s one or the other.”
“My cooking was good enough.”
It hadn’t been, actually. She wilted inside, remembering.
What a waste of that one successful dish.
“No way. That couldn’t possibly have tasted good.”
“How would you know? You didn’t even try it.”
“It just couldn’t have been. You dumped in half a box of salt.”
Haerin stopped dead.
“…And how would you know that?”
His eyes flicked sideways, then he chuckled.
“Ah, sorry. Honestly, I wanted you as my taster that round. Seeing someone else picked felt unfair, made me resentful. But it’s all for the sake of entertainment, right? Just a joke.”
Entertainment, my ass. Creeping around like that wasn’t funny—it was disturbing.
And infuriating.
“What if something serious had happened?”
“What could happen? It was just salt. Shows do punishment food all the time.”
No. Never that much.
‘So that’s why. I thought I was going to die after one bite. …But Shin Ihyun—how did he manage to eat the whole thing?’
She remembered his calm face as he cleaned his plate. Only after the cameras were off did he quietly gulp water.
A silent act of consideration.
“Are you mad?”
Jooho ducked his head, trying to catch her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Sunbae-nim. The PD scolded me too. Said I ruined the format, that I can’t break the rules like that.”
With a pitiful face, he stepped closer.
“So please—share your waiting room with me instead? As a way to smooth things over?”
“…The waiting room?”
“I already asked one of the writers, but they said no. But you have seniority, so maybe they’d listen.”
So he was the one who tried to switch rooms.
Amazing. In under five minutes, he’d managed to drain every ounce of goodwill.
Haerin retreated a step.
“Why on earth would I share with you? I’m uncomfortable enough already.”
“Because of the salt?”
Because of your whole personality, she thought grimly—just as he stepped in again.
Too close. So close she could touch him by raising a hand.
Her back bumped against the wall.
His cologne was heavy, oppressive.
“Sunbae-nim… you might have misunderstood, but…”
“…”
“I only wanted to get closer. I told you I was a fan, right? Being on this program with you—I guess I got carried away.”
“Look—”
“Sorry. But since you keep misunderstanding, maybe it’s best to be honest. The truth is, I…”
Her mind raced.
Whatever he was about to confess, she did not want to hear it.
Think. Think. What excuse?
She couldn’t just shove him—he was a young actor from a powerful agency. That would backfire.
She darted her gaze around, desperate for a way out—
“…Anchor-nim! You’re here?”
There he was: Shin Ihyun, immaculate as ever, striding into the corridor.
Haerin shoved Jooho aside and hurried to Ihyun’s side.
She’d escaped—for now.
‘But what next?’
Things weren’t improving.
“Sunbae-nim. You can’t just walk away before hearing me out.”
Footsteps approached again.
Flustered, Haerin looked up at Ihyun. His detached gaze met hers.
‘He probably has no idea what’s going on. If I drag him into this, will he be annoyed?’
But she had no time left.
So she spoke.
“Before we go in… let’s talk, shall we?”
