Dawn painted the test kitchen in pale gold as So-young slowly entered through the doorway. The air still smelled of burnt sugar and yeast from last night's chaos. There, slumped over the stainless steel counter, like a fallen soldier, lay Uncle Min-woo—his designer suit jacket discarded, silk tie stained with caramel, and his usually immaculate hair caked with flour.
In his clenched fist: one perfect apricot twist.
Thirty-six failed attempts were surrounding him like some fallen comrades who died just to protect the 37th one.
Jeong's mist hugged weakly around So-young's ankles. "His hands remember what his heart forgot," the spirit whispered—though only she could hear it now.
A crash came from the pantry. Dae-ho emerged, arms overflowing with mixing bowls, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something...uncertain. He froze at the sight of his father.
"Is he—"
"Alive," So-young confirmed, pressing a flour-dusted finger to Uncle's pulse point. "Just drunk on failure."
As if on cue, Uncle groaned. His bloodshot eyes flew open when he saw the dough clinging to his $3,000 shirt sleeves. "What in hell—"
"You baked," Dae-ho deadpanned, snapping a photo with his phone. "Badly."
"what do you mean badly?" He groaned.
so-young picked the apricot twist to check and took a bite of it. Politely she asked."Do you want me to teach you?"
Uncle nodded hesitantly.
THE LESSON BEGINS
"Again," So-young ordered, slapping a new ball of dough onto the marble counter.
Uncle scowled. "I have a board meeting in—"
"Your board," Grandfather's voice cut through the kitchen as he appeared in front of the doorway, "can wait." He leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, watching with an unreadable expression as his eldest son fumbled with the rolling pin.
The next hour was a symphony of disasters:
Yeast Explosion
Uncle's "quick proof" technique resulted in starter bubbling over like a science experiment.
Dae-ho cracked with laughter as foam dripped from the ceiling vents
The Great Butter Incident
"Why is it sticking?" Uncle growled, dough gluing itself to his Rolex
So-young sighed. "You forgot to chill the—oh my god are you kneading with your credit card?"
in her mind so-young thought "Did he do cocaine in my previous life? Those lines seem too perfect."
The Revelation
On the 43rd attempt, Uncle's hands finally moved with something resembling a rhythm.
The dough made a sound—a tiny pfft of air releasing—that had him freezing mid-knead.
"It...talked?"
Grandfather's breath hitched. The same sound Seong-ho's dough had always made.
THE DELIVERY
"No way am I—"
"Take them," So-young insisted, shoving a basket of perfect apricot twists into Dae-ho's arms. "Or I show the board your search history."
Grumbling, Dae-ho stormed to Moon & Son's headquarters—only to return pale-faced hours later.
"The receptionist," he whispered, "she had files on us. Medical records. School transcripts. Even—" his voice dropped, "what kind of toothpaste Father uses."
Jeong's mist swirled violently around the discarded dough scraps. They rearranged into an address: Han Tower Sublevel 4.
THE FERMENTATION VAULT
The elevator descended into the building's belly, the air growing thick with the scent of decades-old doenjang. Behind a false wall, they found:
Seong-ho's Journal (embedded in a block of aged soybeans)
1969 Poison Vials (labeled Wellness Formula #1)
A Black-and-White Photo of a young woman in mourning white—her jade hairpin identical to Zhou's gift
The journal's final page:
"When the fifth generation kneads truth into dough,
The cursed yeast will rise,
And the buried sins shall breathe anew."
Jeong's form flickered like a dying bulb. "She's coming."