Chapter 46: The Eel Soup Revelation

“Is this the right place?”

Seo Yeon-ho compared the name displayed on the navigation system with the restaurant’s signboard, then looked at Tae-young.

He had expected them to head to a famous blood sausage soup restaurant or a gamjatang place for their hangover. Instead, their destination was an elegant hanok, exuding the refined ambiance of a high-class gisaeng house.

“Yeah. Just drop off the car with the valet and come on in.”

Tae-young was the first to step out of the car.

Seo Yeon-ho followed, wondering if a place like this would even serve dishes suitable for a hangover cure. Still, considering some people cure hangovers with jajangmyeon, pizza, or even hamburgers, a traditional Korean course meal might not be so strange after all.

Upon entering through the main gate, which bore the plaque inscribed with ‘Heerakjae,’ a waiter dressed like a luxury boutique employee assigned them a room. Perhaps due to its elevated location, the panoramic windows offered an unobstructed view of Inwangsan Mountain and the surrounding hanok village.

“Do you come here often?”

Seo Yeon-ho was drawn to the floor-to-ceiling window as if by a magnet. He found it marvelous to behold the very mountain he had climbed yesterday, now spread out before him in a single glance. It felt as though he were standing on an observation deck.

“No. I’ve only been here once.”

As Tae-young settled into his seat, the waiter placed a menu down. Tae-young casually scanned the offerings before turning to Seo Yeon-ho.

“You don’t mind eel soup, do you?”

“I’ve had it before, when I was a kid.”

“Then you can still eat it now. We’ll have the two-person eel soup set meal.”

After placing the order, Tae-young gestured for Seo Yeon-ho to come and sit. ‘I can still see the view while sitting,’ Seo Yeon-ho thought, taking a seat opposite Tae-young. The silk cushion felt exceptionally plush. While not quite as breathtaking as standing, the seated view of Inwangsan was still quite picturesque.

“This seems like a place important people would enjoy.”

“It’s definitely the taste of old-timers. They only accept five reservations a day, which is perfect for stoking vanity. But the food is good.”

It seemed Tae-young had been brought to this restaurant by someone of high rank and advanced age. Had he met with a broadcasting station director or an investment firm CEO? Or perhaps an advertising contract meeting had taken place here.

Though he hadn’t seen the menu, the interior, the decor, and the location alone suggested prices so exorbitant that ordering even a glass of water without a corporate card would feel burdensome.

“They only accept five teams a day, yet you managed to get a reservation.”

“I don’t need a reservation.”

Seo Yeon-ho was curious why Tae-young didn’t need a reservation, but Tae-young’s expression suggested he wasn’t eager to elaborate.

* * * *

*Drrrk.*

The sliding door opened, and a line of waiters entered, carrying small tables and setting them down to arrange the meal. The scene strangely brought to mind a painting of an envoy procession presenting offerings.

After some time, during which Seo Yeon-ho avoided eye contact with the staff by looking out the window and at the ceiling, he heard the sound of the sliding door closing.

‘The side dishes are unusual.’

He had expected a lavish spread for a full set meal, but the dishes presented in the *bangjja* bronzeware were unlike the typical *banchan* found in most Korean restaurants.

‘This looks like sea urchin roe, and that one resembles a shrimp but with a peculiar pattern. What’s that boiled meat that looks like a cross-section of a tongue? It doesn’t seem to be pork…’

Aside from some greens, sauces, and kimchi, everything, from its form to its ingredients, was entirely unfamiliar.

“It’s not poisoned, so eat.”

Tae-young chided him as Seo Yeon-ho eyed the side dishes with a cautious gaze.

‘Indeed, I’ll know what kind of dish it is once I taste it.’

Seo Yeon-ho reached for his spoon but then paused. There was something he absolutely had to confirm before eating.

“Does my daily wage include meal expenses, by any chance?”

Tae-young tilted his head as if to ask what he meant, then frowned sharply. It was clear he had belatedly realized Seo Yeon-ho was asking if they would be splitting the bill.

“Do you think I’d make you pay? When an employer suggests eating together, it means they’re treating.”

“Some people don’t.”

Seo Yeon-ho retorted, recalling Yoon Won-han, the CEO of Cherry Picker.

CEO Yoon Won-han, a former gangster specializing in exploitation, pursued extreme cost-effectiveness. Success was his credit, failure everyone else’s fault. He knew only how to squeeze and extort, never how to give.

One could gauge his stinginess by the fact that he never once provided a corporate card for a company dinner, regardless of whether Glitch held relay fan signing events for months, toured the country for performances, or undertook overseas schedules.

However, the notoriously frugal CEO Yoon once, for reasons unknown, suggested they all go for lamb skewers during their mini 6th album promotions.

The Glitch members were so stunned they debated in the car on the way to their schedule, wondering if CEO Yoon was terminally ill, or if he had regressed in time or been possessed. Yet, despite their talk, their excitement at the prospect of a meal paid for by the CEO was palpable.

Even Seo Yeon-ho, who typically only smiled for fans or cameras and remained expressionless otherwise, was no exception. His face and demeanor were so bright that everyone he met kept asking if something good had happened.

‘I thought he was a hopeless piece of trash, but he’s still the CEO after all.’

At that time, the Glitch members desperately needed a morale boost. Their first full album’s total sales had plummeted to less than half of their previous mini 5th album’s first-week sales. Despite preparing their mini 6th album with renewed determination, the fans who had left never returned.

The members’ self-esteem was utterly crushed, like a trampled lawn in an empty lot after a rock festival. Even the lowest-ranking company employees treated the members poorly, seemingly convinced they were a lost cause.

It was during this period of intense scrutiny and hardship for Glitch that CEO Yoon suggested a meal. Seo Yeon-ho thought CEO Yoon was finally looking out for Glitch. He wished he had done so before their spirits were broken, yet he began to see CEO Yoon in a different light. Though, after the dinner, he came to despise CEO Yoon even more.

CEO Yoon hadn’t suggested lamb skewers as a company dinner. He merely wanted a photo of himself dining with the members that day.

Having secured enough photos for social media, CEO Yoon paid only for his own lamb skewers and left the restaurant. The members, completely unaware, thought the owner was trying to scam them when they were stopped for unpaid bills.

However, a quick check confirmed the owner’s words were true. The members’ bewilderment and despair upon realizing their CEO had only paid for his own meal and abandoned them were immeasurable.

Perhaps the shock was too great; whenever Seo Yeon-ho brought up the dinner incident, the members would respond, “Lamb skewer dinner? Did we ever go for lamb skewers?” effectively dodging the conversation.

Seo Yeon-ho found his members frustrating, but he also understood their desire to treat the incident as if it had never happened. After all, when faced with an incomprehensible event, forgetting it is often more helpful for moving forward than delving deeper.

This difference in temperament might have also determined the divergent paths of Seo Yeon-ho and the other members. Though all were miserably discarded, the other members, excluding Seo Yeon-ho, returned to Cherry Picker’s fold. They buried the painful and humiliating event in the recesses of their memory, as if it had never occurred.

Tae-young eyed Seo Yeon-ho suspiciously before asking abruptly,

“Did that happen to you?”

Seo Yeon-ho gave a small nod.

“Did he really make you pay for your meal?”

“Yeah.”

Tae-young’s expression, initially skeptical, turned grim.

“That bastard’s completely insane! What kind of gangster-like behavior is that?!”

Seo Yeon-ho flinched, feeling a pang of guilt. This was because CEO Yoon had indeed been involved in that kind of industry. However, Tae-young seemed to interpret Seo Yeon-ho’s reaction differently, his eyes growing serious as if he had witnessed a crime.

“You weren’t just swindled out of your meal money by that boss, were you? Did he perhaps withhold your salary too?”

“Huh? No…”

He answered reflexively, but in truth, Seo Yeon-ho knew little about his financial settlements. His father had managed all his money until he left Cherry Picker.

“‘No,’ my foot. You were definitely swindled, and you just didn’t notice. Those villainous parasites never stop at just one thing.”

It felt unpleasant to be lectured by none other than Han Tae-young, who possessed a significant streak of recklessness. Yet, honestly, everything he said was true, leaving Seo Yeon-ho unable to refute it.

“What’s the company name? Give me the phone number and address. It’d be even better if you told me the CEO’s name. And how long are you going to keep working there?”

Tae-young pulled out his phone and opened a memo app. He looked ready to immediately commission a background check agency if Seo Yeon-ho provided the name.

Seo Yeon-ho fidgeted with the hem of his pants.

If Tae-young conducted a background check, would he uncover Cherry Picker’s weaknesses? While Seo Yeon-ho would be incredibly pleased if Cherry Picker suffered a setback, it seemed unlikely that Tae-young’s investigation would realistically inflict significant damage.

Furthermore, revealing Cherry Picker’s name would be tantamount to exposing his past to Tae-young. Seo Yeon-ho wasn’t yet ready to open up that much to him.

“That was a long time ago. The company probably went bankrupt not long after I left.”

Seo Yeon-ho spoke a wish rather than the truth. In reality, far from going bankrupt, the company was doing even better than when Seo Yeon-ho had been one of their artists. Seo Yeon-ho didn’t believe in karma.

“It’s an old story?”

“Yeah. The place I’m at now treats me well. All the older brothers I work with are good people too. Anyway, if I don’t have to pay, that’s fine. I’ll eat well.”

Fearing Tae-young would press him further about his old workplace, Seo Yeon-ho lifted his steaming bowl of rice and poured it into the eel soup. He quickly mixed the rice into the soup, then scooped a spoonful into his mouth. Tae-young, seemingly wanting to ask more but unable to find the right moment, picked at his own rice grains.

‘This is awkward.’

Seo Yeon-ho felt uncomfortable with Tae-young staring intently at him, barely touching his own meal. He decided it would be best to eat quickly and leave first, so he diligently wielded his spoon. Then, Tae-young suddenly nudged Seo Yeon-ho’s leg with his foot.