Chapter 2

Or so she thought.

“TABLE 78!”

“On it!” Ha-Yoon called back, her hands already moving with the skill and speed of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of plating. The kitchen was chaos—a symphony of clattering pans, bubbling sauces, and the occasional shouts from impatient waitstaff. But for Ha-Yoon, this was her battlefield, and she was a seasoned warrior.

She grabbed the main dish—an elegant seafood pasta—with practiced ease, the steam curling into the air like a whisper of temptation. Her fingers worked with precision, twisting the delicate strands into an artful swirl, ensuring that the sauce clung to each ribbon of pasta like a lover's embrace. The shrimp, glistening in their buttery, garlicky glory, were arranged with the meticulousness of a jeweler setting diamonds. A final touch—a sprinkle of fresh herbs—and she took a step back, admiring her creation with the same satisfaction an artist felt upon completing a masterpiece.

Gordon Ramsay would weep if he saw this. A single tear of pride, rolling down his cheek in slow motion.

Satisfied, she handed the plate to the waiting server, watching as they whisked it away with the urgency of someone delivering a heart transplant.

And then—finally.

Break time. Blessed, beautiful, holy break time.

Ha-Yoon let out a long, theatrical sigh as she dragged herself to the nearest chair, collapsing into it like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. She melted into the surface of the table, limbs sprawled, her body resembling a corpse laid out for a medieval wake. Her feet throbbed like they had just run a marathon, her arms ached from wielding pans like weapons, and her soul—her very essence—was ready to float into the heavens. If one more customer screamed, “Where’s my food?!” at her like she was some kind of soulless, automated cooking machine, she might actually consider retiring to a quiet life in the mountains. Just her, some chickens, and absolutely no human interaction.

Just as she was about to mourn her suffering with a dramatic groan, a cold can of cola slid in front of her, its condensation beading against the metal like little droplets of salvation.

Ha-Yoon blinked at it, then looked up to see her best friend, Jinju, standing over her, one brow raised, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Oh my god,” Ha-Yoon gasped, reaching for the can like it was the Holy Grail. “You are an angel. A saint. A gift to this wretched earth.”

She cracked it open, the crisp hiss music to her ears, and took a long, soul-reviving sip. The fizzy sweetness exploded on her tongue, cooling her from the inside out.

Ah. Carbonated heaven. A gift from the gods. The nectar of life itself.

Jinju pulled out a chair and plopped down beside her, watching with amusement as Ha-Yoon practically ascended into another dimension. “You okay?”

“Barely,” Ha-Yoon sighed dramatically, wiping a stray bead of sweat from her forehead like she had just survived a war. Then, as if suddenly recalling something life-altering, her eyes widened with excitement.

“OH. I have a new story for you!”

Jinju immediately groaned, already predicting where this was going. “Is it BL?”

“Yes!” Ha-Yoon squealed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “AND it’s so freaking good. It’s called Crimson and Code! It’s about agents and the mafia—super intense, slow-burn, full of danger and betrayal, and the best part? THE TENSION. Oh my god, the tension between Eun-jae and Caesar is insane. I was losing my mind the whole time!”

Jinju rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Of course, it’s BL.”

“But listen!” Ha-Yoon grabbed Jinju’s wrist, eyes sparkling with manic energy. “The author said she’s going to make it into a manga. A MANGA, JINJU.”

Jinju barely had time to react before Ha-Yoon let out an exaggerated, dreamy sigh, pressing both hands to her cheeks as she blushed like a schoolgirl in love.

“I can’t wait to see what Caesar looks like,” Ha-Yoon gushed. “He’s already such a smooth-talking, dangerous, mysterious man in the novel. Imagine how HOT he’s going to be in manga form. UGH. I just know he’s going to have that sharp jawline, messy blonde hair, and piercing eyes that make you weak in the knees. Maybe some tattoos. Probably a suit. Definitely a cigarette between his lips—OH MY GOD, JINJU, I’M GONNA DIE.”

Jinju chuckled, shaking her head. “You really have an unhealthy obsession with BL, Ha-Yoon.”

“It’s not unhealthy,” Ha-Yoon huffed, still lost in her fantasy. “It’s my religion.”

Jinju gave her a knowing look. “You need a man yourself. It’s been a while since you dated someone.”

Ha-Yoon immediately recoiled as if Jinju had suggested she eat dirt. “Excuse me? I have men. Eun-jae, Caesar, all the hot MLs in my books—”

“Fictional men don’t count,” Jinju deadpanned.

Ha-Yoon gasped, clutching her chest as if she had been personally attacked. “BL men are superior. Real men could NEVER. Real men don’t have tragic pasts and enemies-to-lovers arcs! They don’t smirk while covered in blood! They don’t pin you against a wall and whisper in your ear—”

Jinju slapped her hands over her ears. “Okay, okay, I get it!” she laughed, shaking her head.

Ha-Yoon crossed her arms with a huff. “Listen, Jinju. If I ever find a real man who looks at me the way Caesar looks at Eun-jae, then I’ll consider dating again. Until then, BL is my life.”

Jinju simply chuckled, sipping her drink. “You do you, Ha-Yoon.”

And with that, Ha-Yoon returned to her daydreams, mentally preparing herself for another shift of cooking—all while planning which BL novel to obsess over next.

Work continued as usual, the kitchen alive with the clatter of pans, the sizzle of oil, and the constant shouting of orders. The dinner rush was always brutal, a merciless whirlwind of heat and movement, leaving Ha-Yoon feeling like she had just run a marathon while dodging knives, fire, and the occasional panicked coworker. But finally, as the evening approached, the chaos began to settle.

Just when she thought she could finally breathe, a sharp voice cut through the air like a whip.

“Everyone, gather up! Now!”

Ha-Yoon turned, still wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, heart sinking at the tone. The entire staff—chefs, waiters, dishwashers—huddled into the main dining area, murmuring amongst themselves in hushed confusion. Her boss stood in the center, arms crossed, his face carved from stone.

“Thank you all for being here,” he began, his voice steady but carrying an edge of fury beneath the surface. “I called this meeting because—” He took a breath, his jaw tightening like a steel trap. “My money in the safe has been stolen.”

Gasps rippled through the staff like a crashing wave. The room instantly buzzed with unease, suspicion darting between wary glances. Ha-Yoon frowned, her brows knitting together.

Stolen? Who the hell would be dumb enough to steal from the boss?

Then, out of nowhere—

“I saw Ha-Yoon put the money in her bag,” Min-Jae’s voice rang through the room, slicing through the tension like a blade.

Silence.

The accusation hit Ha-Yoon like a slap across the face.

“HUUUH?!” she and Jinju exclaimed at the same time, their eyes snapping wide with disbelief.

Her heart lurched, slamming against her ribs. Her? A thief?

She turned sharply to Min-Jae, mouth hanging open in sheer, stunned shock. That smug little snake was standing there, arms folded over her chest, an infuriating smirk barely hidden on her lips.

“Sir, please!” Ha-Yoon protested, her voice rising, hands shaking with anger. “That’s not true! I would never do something like that!”

Min-Jae, that backstabbing, lying, two-faced demon, didn’t even blink. Instead, she tilted her head, feigning innocence.

“Everyone knows how obsessed you are with BL,” she said smoothly, her tone laced with condescension. “I’m sure she stole the money to attend those... fun little events.”

Fun little events?!

Ha-Yoon almost choked on air.

Her blood boiled, rage crackling through her veins like an electric storm.

Her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms, but she barely felt the sting.

Oh, this was war.

“You piece of shit—!” she lunged, her fingers twisting into Min-Jae’s hair, yanking so hard that a shriek erupted from the liar’s mouth.

The restaurant exploded into chaos.

“Let go of me!” Min-Jae wailed, thrashing like a fish out of water, but Ha-Yoon held on tighter, shaking her violently.

“YOU LYING, BACKSTABBING, SNAKE!” Ha-Yoon screamed, yanking her closer. “YOU THINK YOU CAN FRAME ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT?!”

“Somebody stop them!”

Waiters and chefs scrambled to pry them apart, hands pulling at Ha-Yoon’s arms, but she fought against them, her vision blurred with fury. Min-Jae continued to cry like the manipulative little gremlin she was, sniffling and gasping like some tragic victim.

“ENOUGH!” the boss’s voice thundered. The entire restaurant fell into eerie silence.

Panting, Ha-Yoon finally let go, shoving Min-Jae one last time for good measure.

“Ha-Yoon.” The boss pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “If you’re so sure you don’t have the money, then prove it.”

Ha-Yoon was still vibrating with rage, her breathing ragged, her muscles coiled so tightly she thought she might snap. But she rolled her shoulders back, forcing herself to appear composed.

“Fine,” she ground out. “I’ll prove I’m not a thief.”

With stiff steps, she marched toward the lockers, Jinju at her side, throwing Min-Jae a glare so sharp it could slice through bone. Min-Jae followed smugly behind, her arms folded, her lips twitching as if barely holding back laughter.

When they reached her locker, Ha-Yoon yanked it open, fire burning in her chest.

And then—

Her stomach dropped.

Her breath hitched.

Her heart stopped.

The money was there.

Sitting neatly inside her bag.

A slow, suffocating chill crawled down her spine.

No. No, no, no. This was impossible.

She felt the weight of every gaze on her, the thickening air pressing in, crushing her. The shift in the room was almost palpable, a wave of doubt and judgment rolling over her like a tidal wave.

“S-Sir… I don’t know where this came from. I swear, I didn’t—”

“I told you,” Min-Jae interjected, her voice dripping with mock pity. “She’s a thief.”

Ha-Yoon turned, her hands trembling, her vision darkening with rage.

That snake. That absolute demon in human form. She knew it. Min-Jae had set her up.

Her blood roared in her ears, hot and blinding.

“You son of a—” Ha-Yoon lunged again, fully prepared to strangle Min-Jae in front of everyone.

Min-Jae gasped, eyes widening dramatically as she burst into tears. “I—I’m just trying to get justice! Why are you being so violent? You’ve been caught! Accept it!” She sniffled, wiping nonexistent tears from her face.

HA-YOON WAS GOING TO KILL HER.

“ACCEPT WHAT, HUH?!” she bellowed. “I SWEAR, I WILL END YOU, YOU LYING, MANIPULATIVE, FAKE CRYING, BACKSTABBING—”

Jinju grabbed her arms, desperately pulling her back. “Ha-Yoon, STOP! You’re just making yourself look guilty!”

But Ha-Yoon could barely hear her. The injustice of it all burned hotter than fire.

How could she prove her innocence now?!

“I always respected you, Ha-Yoon…”

Her boss’s words struck her harder than any slap could, the weight of them sinking into her bones, leaving her frozen in place. It felt as if the ground beneath her had cracked open, ready to swallow her whole.

“This was the least I expected from you.” His voice was devoid of warmth, sharp and cold like the edge of a freshly honed blade. It was a voice she had once admired—steady, commanding, filled with authority. But now, it was empty, hollow, stripped of anything resembling the respect he had just claimed to have for her. It was as if he was speaking to a stranger, not the woman who had dedicated years of her life to this place, the woman who had poured every ounce of her passion into perfecting each dish, ensuring every plate that left her kitchen was a masterpiece.

Her lips parted, her breath catching in disbelief. No. No, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening.

She had given everything to this restaurant. Her sweat. Her time. Her dreams. She had sacrificed weekends, holidays, and even her own health for this place. And yet, here she was, being accused of something so vile, something so beneath her that the sheer thought of it made bile rise in her throat.

But her boss’s eyes were distant, like he had already washed his hands of her.

“In my office. NOW.”

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