Next morning, Lee Fu-jeong woke with a throbbing head.
"Mm~" Rubbing her temples, she groaned, opening her eyes.
A man beside her.
She didn't panic, calmly recalling last night's final moments.
Before passing out, she was drinking with Jin-woo.
Him?
Had to be. Only she and her assistant had the room card.
Without her say, the assistant wouldn't let anyone in.
Jin-woo leaving post-drinks and someone sneaking in? Near zero chance.
So, it was him.
Then what? Did they…?
She remembered nothing. Protection?
"Jin-woo, Jin-woo." Patting the figure facing away, the face that turned was as expected.
"Mm, awake?" He rubbed his eyes, propping himself against the headboard.
"We…" She pointed between them, seeking answers.
He gave a weird smile. "What do you think?"
His exaggerated expression relaxed her.
Plus, she felt fabric at her waist.
"Phew~" She exhaled.
He crossed his arms, smirking. "What, noona worried?"
Flicking her hair, she said coolly, "Not at all. We're adults. If something happened, just a drunken impulse."
"Mm~ Noona's so open-minded!"
Lifting the blanket, he headed to the bathroom in boxers.
His chiseled frame made her chuckle. "Since we're sober, shouldn't we avoid… this? Not great, right?"
Showering with the door open, he poked his head out. "Don't worry. I saw it all last night. This is my compensation."
"Compensation?"
"Mm, compensation…"
Wrapped in a towel, drying his hair, he smiled. "Noona, your figure's great, skin like a teen, but…"
Under her threatening glare, he pressed on. "Your underwear's so dated. Ditch it! It's like grandma's."
"Yah~ Lee Jin-woo!" She hurled a pillow.
He caught it, tossing it back, laughing.
"Seriously, aish. So young, so pretty—why dress like that? Really…"
He grimaced. "Noona, it's a total turn-off."
"Yah, you're dead!" She lunged to stand, then, recalling her state, yanked the blanket back, glaring, shy but fuming.
Tossing the towel, he ruffled his hair.
Finding his clothes in the living room, he dressed and returned.
"All that drinking—called me for good news?"
"Mm, 20 billion. I'll lend it… equity's mine."
"Got it. Three years?"
"Three? Ten."
"Five. Five's fine."
Bargaining, he stopped by the bed.
Under her tense, shy gaze, he leaned to her ear. "Last night, I spared you 'cause you were drunk. Next time, I won't hold back."
Strutting out, he called back, "Noona, send the cash quick. Call it last night's hosting fee."
"Yah~" Lee Fu-jeong was losing it.
Her dignity? Gone. Face? Shredded.
And why the slight ache back there?
[Conquest Path: 69% progress. Staged rewards issued: 2% Samshin Properties shares.]
Hiss~
His shares now hit 3.2%.
The top shareholder's stake was… how much?
At this rate, the hidden family head might summon him soon.
"Three Inches, my funds are ready. We can shoot anytime. Your side?"
"Oh, all… nah, who gets funds in one go? …Don't forget my script fee."
"Haha, knew Three Inches was joking… Cool, drinks next time!"
Hanging up, he cursed, grinning. "Shibal, still treating me like a kid? Aish, our Three Inches is adorable… so adorable!"
At MBC's studio, the silver-gray Land Rover parked quietly.
"Park MC, crew's hitting a team dinner. Join for a drink?"
"Oh, I'll pass. Too beat, wanna head home early."
"Yeah, tiring, huh?"
"Ne, thanks everyone." Park Sun-young paused, then pulled an envelope from her bag. "Use this for drinks!"
"Ooh~ Park MC, kamsahamnida! We'll feast well."
"Ne." Waving, she trudged off, bag slipping from shoulder to hand, swinging.
Beep, beep~
A blaring horn spiked her already sour mood.
"Aish, it's downtown! Horn broken? …Oh, oppa, hahaha…"
Her slump vanished, eyes sparkling.
Dashing to the car, she leaned over the console, head on his chest. "Aaaah, oppa!"
Joy faded to old grievances.
"Lee Jin-woo, why so long? What am I to you, huh?"
"Sun-young-a!" He grinned at her.
She glared, roaring, "Oh, why?!"
"Hungry. Let's eat."
"…Oh!"
Her fire fizzled, meek again.
At a roadside auntie's stall, they parked far off, strolling hand-in-hand into the red tent.
Like any young couple, they called to the busy kitchen auntie, "Ajumma, we're ordering!"
Korean stalls vary. Some are simple carts—kimchi, udon, kalguksu.
Others, like this, are tents with everything, like a fixed diner.
One end: a narrow kitchen. Outside: a bar, fridge, drinks as a divider. Near the entrance: tables for guests.
Winter meant a small stove in the center. They sat close for warmth.
"What'll you have?" The auntie set down a menu, pen and pad ready.
Ordering's the same worldwide.
"Oysters, conch, clam soup."
"Ne~ Enough for two. If it's not, add udon to the soup. Post-drinks, it sobers you up."
"Oh, really? We'll take one."
"No rush. Tell me when you're done; I'll toss one in."
"Ne, kamsahamnida."
As the auntie left, Park Sun-young sighed. "Ah~ Only in places like this do you feel home."
"Ajumma's warm like a grandma, right?"
"Ne. These stalls remind me of childhood."
With grandma, eating, hearing her kind voice: "Sun-young-a, enough food? More kimchi? Seaweed good?"
"Grandparents everywhere worry kids won't eat enough."
"Ne!" She laughed softly.
Soon, oysters, conch, and clam soup arrived.
Oysters, seasonal, plump and fresh, cleaned and marinated in chili sauce.
Paired with pear slices, Cheongyang peppers, and garlic.
Using a sharp spoon, cut the oyster's pillar, scoop it with toppings and juice.
"Wow~" Lee Jin-woo couldn't help it. "So fresh."
Downing seven or eight, he paused.
Seeing him savor it, Park Sun-young gave in.
Trying one, she scooped and ate.
Sweet, crisp—no fishy taste. Addictive.
"How's it?" The auntie, circling, asked warmly.
"Ajumma." Park Sun-young gave a thumbs-up, humming blissfully.
Happiness beyond words.
"Another round. Too fresh."
Handing the empty oyster plate to the auntie, they targeted the conch.
Cooked, served with green onions and chili sauce.
A date-sized chunk, dipped lightly, with a pinch of onions, popped in.
"Wow~" This place was unreal. How so fresh?
He got Southerners' joy.
"Oppa, try the soup."
She offered a spoonful, expectant.
The clear broth, piled with clams, was indescribably vibrant.
Seafood's key? Freshness.
Fresh, any prep shines.
No wonder Southerners kept seafood simple.
Coastal folks swore by boiling. Northerners missed that rich flavor.
The issue? Freshness. Morning catch, noon table.
Versus 2–3 days of transport.
No comparison.
These oysters, conch, clams, and last time's soy crab?
Lee Jin-woo had to say: he loved seafood.
After three oyster plates, the auntie worried they'd overdo it.
Finally, no more refills.
"Ajumma, one udon, kamsahamnida."
"Ne, on me."
"Really~"
Park Sun-young laughed, thanking her generosity.
Udon in half-drunk clam soup, soaking up broth, slurped with chopsticks.
Food could heal. So satisfying!
(End of Chapter)