Ji-Ho thought to himself,"At the very least, I hoped to get a little friendly energy from my roommate…"But there was nothing — just a strict schedule, professional silence, and emotionless grooming.
He got out of bed in a low mood, forcing himself to get ready with the little energy he had left. Quietly, he followed Head Chef Dong-Hun toward the hotel.
The first day in the kitchen wasn't any different from that cold first encounter. In fact, the staff now seemed even more indifferent. Everyone's eyes carried a quiet bitterness — the kind born from pride, pressure, and constant competition.
Chef Min-Ah gave instructions in a sharp tone:"Ji-Ho, you'll prep the dishes — but first, clean up all the used utensils. That's part of your training too, right?"
Her voice carried the same coldness you'd use with a new housemaid, not a colleague.
Ji-Ho didn't argue. He simply replied,"Ne, arasso."(Yes, understood.)And quietly got to work.
Then Chef Jae-Min chimed in with a mocking smirk,"What's wrong, Ji-Ho? You're a village chef — shouldn't this be easy for you?"
The kitchen filled with a low chuckle — but it wasn't lighthearted laughter. It was sharp, cutting… the kind that bruises pride.
Even Dong-Hun, his own assigned mentor, didn't once ask:"Are you doing okay?""Need anything?""How's your first week going?"
For Ji-Ho, this place only had one thing to offer: orders, schedules, and silence. Or worse… veiled hostility.
Days turned into weeks. A month passed.
The once bright-eyed boy from a quiet village — the one who used to smile over the littlest joys, who saw cooking as love — had fallen completely silent.
He slept quietly at night, woke up with no spark in the morning, and moved through the kitchen like a machine.
No one spoke to him anymore. And eventually, he stopped trying too.When he did try… he was either ignored or made fun of.
One night, after another long shift, Ji-Ho returned to his hostel-style room.He turned off the lights and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment before picking up his phone.He opened the family group chat.
The last message was from his mom:"Ji-Ho , are you okay? It's been so long since we talked…"
He started to type:"I'm not okay, Mom. I miss you all so much…"But he didn't send it.
Instead, he locked the screen and slid the phone under his pillow, blinking back the tears forming in his eyes.He was tired — not just physically, but emotionally drained. The coldness, the rudeness, the complete absence of warmth in this new world had slowly bruised the soft corners of his heart.
He felt so deeply alone, that now even a single "Are you okay?" might break him open.If just one person asked him how he was… he knew he'd cry. He'd pour it all out.
But that was the thing — no one ever did.
In that moment, he didn't need a mentor or a supervisor.He needed his mother, who used to gently run her fingers through his hair when he was sad.He needed his father, whose quiet, protective hugs made every fear melt away.He needed his sister, the one person he could share every little feeling with.
But he felt so helpless, so far away from them, that even though his heart ached to speak — he couldn't.
"If I tell Mom how people treat me here… her heart will break.""If I call, dad will hear the tiredness in my voice. They'll all start worrying…"
So he stopped talking to them altogether.He only sent his salary back home — always with a single line:"This is from me to all of you… I'm doing fine."
But every night, lying in bed in a strange city with no warmth, only one question haunted his heart:"Was I ever meant for this city?Or was I just brought here to cook old dishes for people who only care about the show…?"
The city outside sparkled with light.But in his heart — and in his room — it was nothing but darkness.
He had started to hate the lights of the city.The people laughed outside… posted pictures of coffee and Paris toast on Instagram…
But in the darkness of one small room,a gentle village boy fell asleep quietly…
He slept, but inside, he had completely broken.
When he first arrived in this city,his eyes sparkled with dreams —but now, those same eyes looked dull and tired.Little by little, he had let go of the hopethat his dreams would ever come true.
This city had turned his once-beautiful storyinto a harsh, frightening reality.That smiling, pure face —no one remembered the last time it had truly smiled.
But they say, don't they?"Every hardworking soul gets their day.You just have to hold on…until destiny decides to open the door."
And then —That day arrived.
The hotel kitchen had turned into a battlefield.
The hiss of hot pans,the sharp clatter of knives on cutting boards,and a frenzy of footsteps echoed everywhere.
The staff of Galleria Private Hotelwas under extreme pressure today.
The reason was simple —VIP clients were on their way.And these weren't ordinary guests.Their presence demanded not just food —but absolute perfection from the entire kitchen.
As always, Ji-Ho was working silently.Head down, chopping vegetables.His actions had become robotic:stay quiet, do the work, endure the daily mental strain.
But then —a voice cut through the routine.
"Ji-Ho. Do-Hyun Chef.The owner's assistant has called for you. Immediately."
The entire kitchen froze.Everyone turned to look.
A few exchanged knowing glances:
"Looks like someone filed a complaint.Maybe it's his turn today.Could be fired…"
Ji-Ho's throat went dry.
He whispered nervously to his Head Chef,"Did I… do something wrong?"
Chef Do-Hyun, calm as always, replied,"We'll find out soon enough. Come quickly."
The assistant led them both through a luxury hallway.Digital panels lined the walls,crystal chandeliers sparkled above,and elegant dark oak doors completed the atmosphere of power and wealth.
One of those doors opened —
Inside was a spacious, sophisticated office.Clean. Organized. Silent.Soft lighting gave the room a calm warmth.
And behind a sleek desk,one man sat — scanning through some files.