Chapter 24
Is This What Pavlov’s Dog Felt Like?
Early morning, in the Food Development Division Director’s office.
Siwan lowered the blinds just a little with his finger to peek into the office.
It was empty—except for one desk, where a bag had been placed.
He nodded to himself, then clapped his hands together hard and rubbed them briskly.
On the reception table sat a single lunchbox, almost reverently placed.
Soup container.
Side dish container.
Rice container.
Siwan carefully laid them out and sat down.
First, he opened the rice container’s lid.
Steam rose up, warm and fragrant, as if proudly boasting the technology of Korean thermal lunchboxes.
When the white haze cleared, black rice revealed its enticing beauty.
The so-called “purple rice” foreigners found so fascinating.
“Ohh, miyeokguk* and black rice! That’s romance—pass!”
(*seaweed soup)
He was so excited that he spoke in the tone he used before his eating disorder—something he hardly ever did anymore.
He took a deep breath and opened the side dish container.
Inside, divided into three sections, were: finely shredded beef jangjorim* with thin quail egg slices, stir-fried kimchi, and rolled omelet.
(*soy-braised beef)
In that instant, Siwan’s heart sank.
He suddenly remembered the words he had said to Hana while showing off.
— “Beef jangjorim with quail eggs, stir-fried kimchi, and a fried egg.”
He had said it so confidently—yet here it was, not a fried egg but a rolled omelet.
“Khh, even merciful on top of everything, Assistant Manager Joo Hana!”
She could have easily said, ‘Wrong, try again,’ but instead she had only widened her eyes and replied, ‘Wow, that’s spot-on!’
Thanks to that, he was still able to eat the lunch, so how could he not be grateful?
But actually—
Hana simply wanted to test Siwan’s “amazing ability to guess ingredients and cooking methods by smell” sooner rather than later.
So, although it was rolled omelet, she persuaded herself that it still counted as “an egg cooked in an oiled frying pan.”
And truthfully, her omelet had nothing but eggs in it—no other ingredients—making it harder to guess by smell.
Mercy had nothing to do with it.
Finally, Siwan picked up the most important container of the day: the soup.
Even though he had briefly opened it on the subway earlier, it was still quite warm.
The moment he lifted the lid, a savory, slightly salty aroma of flounder seaweed soup rushed up to greet him.
Everyone has their own eating style.
Some start with rice.
Some with soup or side dishes.
Siwan was the former.
As he scooped up a spoonful of black rice, a thought crossed his mind:
Isn’t rice just rice?
Sure, Hana’s kimchi fried rice had her special touch, but plain rice should taste the same no matter who cooked it—just like the plain, uninspired rice he used to force himself to swallow before.
He brought the spoon close to his nose.
“Hmm… okay, smells fine.”
He took a small bite.
“…!”
It was delicious.
Perfectly cooked rice.
The strange part was—none of the rice he’d eaten before had been badly cooked either.
Hana hadn’t added anything special, nor did it seem like she used a different cooking method.
So why was it that when eating Hana’s rice, his eating disorder didn’t flare up?
He should have been curious and analyzed it… but instead, Siwan thought—
Who cares!
The important thing was that he could eat it.
He could think about the rest after he finished.
With trembling hands, he dipped the rice-laden spoon lightly into the soup.
The rich broth seeped into the grains.
When he took a bite, the chewy rice burst, releasing the absorbed broth, which coated his tongue.
“Ah… it’s so good!”
Siwan felt a pang of sadness.
It was delicious.
So delicious.
And yet… the rice, the soup, the side dishes—they kept disappearing.
Even though he was eating as slowly as possible, they vanished too quickly.
“Ahh… Joo Hana’s lunchbox… I want to eat this every day.”
How could he make that happen?
Would dating her do the trick?
No… dating wasn’t enough.
Even couples didn’t see each other every day.
Dates usually happened outside, and “home-cooked meals” were something you’d only expect for special occasions.
That left only one option.
…Marriage.
The thought made Siwan clutch his head in shame.
“Are you insane? Marrying someone just to get fed?”
Was he really that selfish?
Marrying a woman he didn’t even like… just for her cooking?
Siwan froze.
Because he realized he couldn’t honestly say he didn’t like Hana.
Whether on the subway or in the office, seeing her made his heart race.
Before boarding the train, his anticipation would peak—because she’d be there, sitting in that car.
Of course, the seat next to her was his seat. If anyone else sat there, he’d feel irritated.
Even after arriving at work, he was always aware of where she was.
Especially when that rookie employee—what was his name, Gu Dong-geun?—hovered around her.
That annoyed him almost as much as seeing someone sit next to her on the train.
Taken together, it seemed obvious—he did have feelings for her.
But there was a problem…
Right now, to Siwan, “Hana” and “Hana’s food” were almost the same thing.
It was entirely possible that his excitement, jealousy, and attraction were not for her, but for her cooking.
Just like Pavlov’s dog, who drooled not because of the food itself, but because of the bell—he couldn’t tell which was which.
“Hmph, fine… let’s hold off on saying ‘I don’t like her’ for now… Ah, what the hell, am I crazy?!”
Siwan shook his head violently to chase away the ridiculous thought.
Calm, rational, cool-headed Do Siwan—that was who he was.
He closed his eyes, trying to recall that version of himself.
…But soon, he thought,
“No one’s watching anyway—who cares. Tsk.”
He slurped the remaining soup from the container until it was gone.
An empty office. Hana stepped inside, holding an orange juice.
She’d given Siwan the lunchbox, but it bothered her that he had nothing to drink.
So she had hurried out to buy fresh 100% orange juice—no additives—for the “patient.”
He was even treating her to lunch later, so a little extra service seemed fine.
She glanced around to make sure no one was in yet, then walked toward the Director’s office.
That’s when someone called her from behind.
“Sunbae!”
That voice—bright, guileless, but prone to butting in everywhere whether wanted or not—
It was Gu Dong-geun.
Hana closed her eyes and sighed quietly.
If she knocked on the Director’s office door now, Dong-geun would start babbling nonsense and bother her.
Tsk, I’ll just give it to him later.
She turned around to face him.
He walked toward her with a beaming smile.
“You’re in early, Sunbae!”
“Mm.”
She gave him a slightly irritated wave, shooing him away.
While he hesitated, she quickly ducked into the Food Planning Team’s partition.
Dong-geun followed right after her, smiling innocently.
“Sunbae, want a morning coffee?”
“No.”
Usually, she’d at least make up some excuse—too sweet, too bitter, too whatever—but this time, nothing.
Despite his cute looks, Dong-geun was persistent.
He seriously believed the saying, ‘No tree will stand after being struck ten times.’
“Sunbae, I heard a new sandwich shop opened nearby—it’s really good.”
“That so? Enjoy.”
“Huh? No, I mean—”
Hana undid her hair and tied it back tightly again—a silent warning to stop bothering her.
Normally, Dong-geun would retreat at that point, but today he was in a hurry.
Because he knew Chae Soo-hwa had her sights on Hana.
And, well… he was the one who had reported it, but still.
Right now, the only thing he could do for Hana was keep her away from Siwan—
If that happened, Soo-hwa might drop her as a target.
The “keep her away” method he had in mind, unfortunately, was “hit on her himself.”
“Sunbae, want to have lunch together later?”
“No.”
Her firm rejection made Dong-geun scratch his head awkwardly.
“Oh, right, you brought a lunchbox, didn’t you?”
“No.”
Technically she had—but she’d given it to Siwan.
Not knowing that, Dong-geun thought this was his golden chance.
Hana not bringing a lunchbox? Unheard of!
He rejoiced inwardly but kept his tone cautious.
“If you don’t have one, I can treat you to—”
“Got lunch plans. I’m busy, so unless it’s important, tell me later.”
“Plans?”
“Yeah. And if you interrupt me with useless chatter one more time, I’ll choke you.”
Her warning was so deadly serious that Dong-geun instinctively shrank his neck.
