The camera lights were hotter than I expected.
I sat stiffly on the Morning Seoul set, my palms sweating against the wooden stool as the makeup artist dabbed my forehead with powder for the third time. Across from me, reporter Kim Ji-won adjusted her earpiece, her smile sharp enough to cut dough.
"Thirty seconds," the producer called.
Dae-ho, crammed into the audience section between Mother and Grandfather, mimed choking himself. Jeong's mist—invisible to everyone but me—drifted toward the studio's ventilation system like a curious fox sniffing for exits.
"Breathe," his voice whispered in my ear. "They're just people. Hungry people."
The red light flicked on.
The Interview
"Han So-young, at just twelve years old, you've become the face of Seoul's artisan baking movement." Kim leaned forward, her mic hovering near my chin. "How does it feel to take down a giant like Moon & Son?"
The studio audience murmured. I gripped my knees under the table.
"It's not about taking anyone down." The words came out steadier than I felt. "It's about remembering what bread is supposed to be."
From my bag, I pulled two identical-looking buns—one from Han Baking, one from Moon & Son. The crew zoomed in as I tore them open.
"See these pores?" I pointed to our bun's irregular honeycomb structure. "Real fermentation. Eighteen hours." The Moon & Son bun split like Styrofoam. "Theirs? Two hours with quadruple the yeast and methylcellulose."
Kim's nose wrinkled as she sniffed the comparison. "This one smells... plasticky."
"That's the propylene glycol alginate." I reached for the third item I'd brought—a mason jar of our starter, bubbling lazily. "This is 43 years old. Passed down from my great-grandmother. Moon & Son's 'traditional' starter?" I tapped my phone, pulling up their lab report from Taehyun's files. "Invented last Tuesday."
The audience erupted. Dae-ho whooped. Even Grandfather cracked a smile.
The Aftermath
By noon, our bakery was swarmed.
Not just with customers—with farmers.
"Han-ssi!" An elderly man in mud-caked boots pushed through the crowd, hefting a burlap sack. "My wheat fields are chemical-free! Take it, no middlemen!"
Another vendor waved a sample of wild yeast cultured from persimmons. Mother nearly wept when she tasted it.
Jeong's mist swirled around the offerings, lingering on a jar of chestnut honey from Yangpyeong. "This one," he murmured. "The bees pollinated apple blossoms. You'll taste it in the crumb."
Taehyun appeared at the back door just as we were drowning in contracts. His usual crisp suit was rumpled, his tie missing.
"Sunyang's board is furious," he said, stealing a yakgwa from the cooling rack. "They had shares in Moon & Son's distribution network." He chewed thoughtfully. "These need more ginger."
I swatted his hand. "Why help us, then?"
He met my gaze. "Because you're right."
For the first time, Jeong didn't hiss when Taehyun reached for another cookie.
The Threat
The call came at midnight.
"Han Bakery." My voice shook only a little.
No greeting. Just a man's voice, cold and mechanized through a voice changer: "Drop the interviews. Stop the supplier campaign. Or your grandfather's arthritis medication... disappears."
The line went dead.
Jeong's mist turned the color of storm clouds.
The Trap
We set it in broad daylight.
With TV crews filming, I "accidentally" left our ledger open on the counter—showing a fake order for Grandfather's medication, triple the usual amount.
The thief took the bait within hours.
Security footage (conveniently livestreamed by Dae-ho) showed a Moon & Son executive swapping the real prescription for a counterfeit bottle. The police arrested him mid-sip of our complimentary barley tea.
"Idiots," Taehyun muttered as we watched the news van pull away. "They never learn."
Jeong's mist curled around the recovered medicine bottle. Not in warning—in satisfaction.
The Offer
Chairman Kang arrived unannounced at closing time.
He studied our crowded dining area, the line still stretching out the door, before placing a single business card on the counter.
"Sunyang's new clean food initiative," he said. "We'll fund your expansion. In return..." His eyes flicked to where Taehyun was restocking the display case. "You train our next generation."
Grandfather's hands tightened around his cane. "No buyouts?"
"No." A rare smile. "Just partners."
Jeong's mist drifted toward the card, tilting it so the embossed lettering caught the light:
Kang Taehyun
Director, Ethical Sourcing Division
Outside, the first fireflies of summer blinked to life over the Han River. The cameras were gone. The crowds would thin. But the ovens—our ovens—would keep burning.