The heatwave draped itself over Seoul like a wet blanket, pressing down until even the flies gave up buzzing. At 3 PM, the bakery's air conditioning whimpered and died with a sound like a deflating soufflé.
Dae-ho lay sprawled on the tile floor, his cheek pressed to the cool stone. "I'm melting," he announced to no one in particular. "Tell Mother I died bravely."
I flicked a drop of sweat at him. It sizzled on the tiles between his fingers.
Jeong's mist hovered near the ceiling fan, swirling in the sluggish air like cream stirred into iced coffee.
The Melon Inspiration
The solution came from Mrs. Park's granddaughter, little Hana, who toddled in clutching a half-eaten honeydew melon bigger than her head. Juice dripped down her wrists as she offered me a bite.
"For the bread auntie," she said solemnly.
The melon was so cold it made my teeth ache—she'd clearly just pulled it from her family's fridge. The sweetness burst across my tongue like a water balloon filled with sunshine.
Taehyun, who had been fanning himself with a baking tray, perked up. "We could—"
"No," Dae-ho moaned from the floor. "No hot ovens. I forbid it."
I licked melon juice off my thumb. "Who said anything about baking?"
The Experiment
We raided the kitchen like pirates:
Overripe melons from the discount bin
Coconut milk Grandfather had been saving for curry
A suspiciously fancy ice cream maker Taehyun "borrowed" from Sunyang's test kitchen
Jeong's mist curled around the blender as I pulped the melon flesh, his presence cool against my sunburned shoulders.
"It needs texture," Dae-ho said, then promptly dumped in a handful of puffed quinoa he'd been snacking on.
Taehyun, ever the perfectionist, stirred in a pinch of sea salt and lime zest. "To make the sweetness sing," he said, sounding far too pleased with himself.
The mixture churned while we sat in the walk-in fridge, our legs dangling over sacks of flour, passing around a tub of red bean paste like contraband.
The Creation
What emerged was neither bread nor ice cream, but something gloriously in-between:
Honeydew Snow Buns
Outer shell: Frozen coconut-melon foam, light as sea spray
Center: Chewy mochi-like dough (kept pliable by rice flour magic)
Surprise: A single candied kumquat hidden inside like a golden secret
Dae-ho bit into one and made a sound that should've been illegal before noon. "It's like… eating a cloud that loves you back."
Even Grandfather, who considered "cold bread" an oxymoron, ate three in succession without a word.
The Firefly Moment
We took the batch to the park at dusk, handing them out to neighborhood kids. Hana clutched hers with both hands, her eyes wide as the snow bun began to glow faintly green under the fading light.
"It's magic!" she whispered.
Taehyun coughed. "Actually, it's chlorophyll from the melon rinds reacting with—"
I elbowed him. "It's magic."
Jeong's mist twined around our ankles, brighter than I'd seen it in weeks.
The Sweetness Spreads
By week's end:
The high school baseball team declared our snow buns their official lucky charm
Mrs. Park's book club staged a sit-in demanding weekly batches
Taehyun's sternest Sunyang board member was spotted licking crumbs off his tie
But the best moment came on Friday, when Mother—who never indulged in sweets—took a tiny bite… then promptly stole the last two from Grandfather's plate.
The Rooftop Feast
That night, we dragged blankets up to the bakery's roof. The city lights shimmered below us like a second galaxy as we passed around:
Snow buns wrapped in banana leaves
Iced barley tea with honey
A single perfect peach that Taehyun produced from his backpack like a magician
"For balance," he said, slicing it with his pocketknife. The juice ran down his wrist.
Dae-ho, already on his fifth bun, flopped onto his back. "I take back all my complaints about summer."
Jeong's mist settled over us like a second blanket, cool and light. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, real fireflies blinked on and off, keeping time with our laughter.