Chapter 1
Water bubbles as it boils.
Holding ramen soup powder in one hand and the dried ingredient packet in the other, I simply stare down at the pot.
Amid the rising bubbles, my worries pop like droplets.
This is the last bowl of ramen I’ll be making in the shelter, and I can’t be sure how to cook it without regret.
Ramen, egg, green onion.
The most perfect trinity. The basics of basics. Should I go with the standard?
If that feels a bit lacking, adding a handful of rice cakes could slightly enhance the texture.
Or maybe I should add dumplings to make it more fun to choose what to eat.
Dumplings soaked thoroughly in ramen broth, bursting with juices—there’s nothing quite like it. The wrappers are soft, the filling tender. And since they’re handmade dumplings, the taste is guaranteed.
Or perhaps I could go all the way with fusion by adding ham, cheese, and kimchi.
The oily, salty ham, the rich cheese, and the tangy kimchi would deepen the ramen’s flavor—it would feel like eating budae-jjigae, which isn’t a bad choice at all.
Just imagining it makes my mouth water, and my stomach sends a tingling signal. It’s basically a threat telling me to stop overthinking and just throw something in.
I tap my foot anxiously, biting my lips for no reason, before finally pouring in both the soup powder and the flakes packet at once.
Alright. The end of tuning is the original setting.
We go with the basics. Properly cooked, classic ramen doesn’t lose to any delicacy in the world.
The moment the soup powder dissolves completely, I quickly add the noodles.
Naturally, the noodles are intact. Breaking them would be an unforgivable act.
Using long wooden chopsticks, I loosen the noodles, and when they’re still slightly firm, I lift them out into a bowl.
I briefly consider whether the flavor won’t soak in properly this way—but quickly dismiss the thought.
Ramen seasoning is the most stimulating seasoning in the world.
After making the optimal choice for chewy noodles, I stir the remaining broth in one direction.
A small whirlpool forms in the soup. At that moment, I crack an egg into the center.
The egg slips neatly into the vortex and gathers into a round shape. A poached egg forms, with the whites barely spread.
Adding an egg this way preserves the broth’s flavor, and you can dip the noodles into the soft, slightly runny yolk—a win-win.
Of course, there are many ways to add eggs to ramen.
From simply beating it in to adding a fried egg. Among them, my favorite method is…
The street snack shop style ramen.
First, the noodles are served into a bowl, and the empty broth is used to fully cook a beaten egg.
This method emphasizes the fluffy texture of the egg, and the broth’s flavor seeps into it, making the egg itself delicious.
However, the broth inevitably becomes cloudier.
This method isn’t recommended when cooking ramen meant to have a clean, clear broth.
Anyway, once the egg turns white and cooks through, I add a handful of chopped green onions.
Finally, I add a spoonful of “mi-wan” into the broth. You might worry that adding MSG on top of MSG would be excessive, but it’s not at all.
Just one spoonful of mi-wan makes the ramen cling to your palate better. The flavor that wraps around your tongue is noticeably different.
I’ve tried adding vinegar, fish sauce, ssamjang, milk, curry, ketchup, and more into ramen broth—but mi-wan is the best.
Using chopsticks, I gently poke the egg yolk so it doesn’t break.
I pour the broth and the soft, slightly undercooked egg into the bowl.
The most perfect basic ramen is complete.
“Wow, this looks amazing.”
The exclamation escapes me without thinking. I take kimchi out of the fridge and sit down at the table.
I can feel eyes drawn to the ramen.
Yes, you must have been just as hypnotized by the smell.
But you said you wouldn’t eat any. That I should cook only for myself.
A man’s word is as heavy as gold. A man shouldn’t speak twice with one mouth.
Ignoring the countless gazes, I blow on the noodles and stuff a full bite into my mouth until my cheeks puff out.
The chewy noodles dance between my teeth and tongue before sliding down my throat. I lift the bowl and gulp down the broth.
“Ahhh, this is insane.”
From that point on, I lost myself completely.
A bite of noodles with the bursting egg yolk, a bite with the bouncy cooked whites, a bite with well-fermented cabbage kimchi, a bite of slightly softened noodles.
When I came to my senses, not a single drop of broth remained in the bowl.
Tapping my still-half-empty stomach, I smacked my lips in regret.
I should’ve cooked two bowls. Or at least mixed rice into the broth.
No. I shouldn’t dwell on regrets.
I can eat it anytime, as much as I want in the future.
With determined eyes, I looked out the window.
Outside, gray-white dust was falling like a blizzard.
Now it was time to leave the safety of the shelter and do what I could—what only I could do.
Tying my hair tightly, I stood up. My companions were already waiting at the entrance.
“Dorothy, it’s time to go.”
He extended his hand with a gentle, smiling gaze.
I took his warm hand and, with my other hand, turned the front door knob.
Click—the door opened with a welcoming sound, and bright light poured in.
“[23,040 new confirmed cases reported. Epidemiological investigation ongoing. Patients with high fever accompanied by tinnitus and hearing loss are being transferred to Disaster Special Headquarters 1,588…]”
I woke up to a familiar notification sound, but closed my phone before finishing the message. I couldn’t afford to waste my precious battery on this.
For the past week, electricity has only been supplied for two hours a day. Water runs for only one hour a day. Rolling blackouts and water shortages have begun in earnest.
“Ugh… I should just sleep more.”
I pulled the musty-smelling blanket over my head.
I had a rare pleasant dream.
It was a dream from before the catastrophic infectious disease began.
I tried to return to the dream, forcing my eyes shut again. My powerless muscles felt like they were melting away.
It had only been two months ago. April, when we enjoyed the warm spring breeze under a blue sky.
The disaster that began with blooming cherry blossoms took spring away completely before the petals had even fallen.
It started in the middle of Seoul.
A woman in her fifties suddenly grabbed her ears, ran into the middle of the road, spun around, and caused a multi-car collision involving four vehicles.
At first, it was thought to be odd behavior or a mental illness. But the next day, her entire family was brought to the hospital.
They showed unexplained ear pain and high fever accompanied by delirium.
The hospital suspected the family had been poisoned by eating hallucinogenic toxic mushrooms.
Even the hospital had never seen such symptoms before and could not provide a definitive explanation beyond the mushroom theory.
Despite all efforts, the family’s condition did not improve. The disease had already progressed beyond treatment.
Within three days of hospitalization, all members of the family died.
They suffered from ear-piercing tinnitus until, just before death, they lost their hearing and finally fell into eternal sleep.
After that, patients and medical staff with the same symptoms began appearing in hospitals.
Only then did the authorities realize the severity of the situation and name the unknown illness.
An unidentified virus causing “abnormal tinnitus.” But people called it the “Scream Disease.”
The name came from medical staff interviews stating that patients screamed until their throats went hoarse once the tinnitus began.
Authorities quarantined the hospital that was the origin point of the “Scream Disease” and tried to prevent its spread, but it was not enough.
Two days later, cases appeared in Daegu, the next day in Busan, and the following day in Jeju.
Soon, it spread to all regions of the country except remote mountainous areas.
It wasn’t just Korea. The entire world was screaming simultaneously.
People, terrified, locked themselves inside their homes. Everything came to a halt in an instant.
The streets were empty except for stray cats, ambulances transporting patients, and soldiers.
A disease with a one-in-five fatality rate.
Two million confirmed cases and four hundred thousand deaths. These were numbers from a week ago, so the current count was likely higher.
My mother was the 2,023rd confirmed patient of this horrific disease.
Fortunately, she was detected early and treated. Though she suffered permanent hearing loss as a side effect, she survived.
The key to treating Scream Disease is lowering the fever. If a fever above 40°C persists for more than five days, survival becomes unlikely.
My mother miraculously recovered on the fourth day when her fever subsided.
A week ago, I even received a message saying she had improved enough to be discharged.
I live alone, so I don’t have to worry about catching it, but I was concerned about my father and younger brother living with her.
As of this morning, she had no fever, so things were still okay—for now. Each day made my heart tremble.
Grrr—
My stomach growled, and my body rose on its own.
My appetite had long disappeared, but the hollow hunger that felt like my stomach was sticking to my back was hard to endure.
“…I want ramen.”
I stared blankly at the now-empty shelf that used to be filled with ramen, then shifted my gaze to the relief supply box.
A small bag of chocolates, a box of biscuits, two cans of fruit juice. That was all the food left.
Fortunately, relief supplies would be delivered tomorrow. Hopefully not just more biscuits, chocolates, canned goods, and juice.
“I wish there was at least a cup of ramen…”
Muttering my wish, I picked up a piece of chocolate. As the rough texture melted into a rich sweetness on my tongue, I felt a slight surge of energy.
But it vanished almost instantly.
Another emergency disaster message arrived. This time, it said relief supply deliveries would be delayed. There was no estimate for when they would arrive.
“Damn it… something’s not right.”
Feeling uneasy, I opened a search engine and looked up the message. The internet was slow, but searches still worked. News articles reported delays in relief supply distribution nationwide.
The comments section was, as expected, a mess.
[What is the government even doing…]
[Haven’t eaten anything for days…]
[Apparently relief supplies are being looted…]
Among the many comments that began like that, one stood out.
