What is a holiday break to an office worker?

It is an oasis in the desert and a lighthouse at sea.

It was like a box of Zero Cola that appeared in an empty break room.

An absolute power that, once in the first half and once in the second, gives you the strength to keep living while forging the shackle that keeps you from resigning.

There was a time when I felt that way about holidays too.

When a new year started, I would count how many statutory holidays there were and spend my days desperate to tack vacation onto the holiday.

Even if I worked overtime up to the day before, the thought that I could “get paid to rest for several days” made me happy.

Until just recently, I was busting my eyes out making those guys’ 7th-anniversary banner so I could attach vacation to the Chuseok break.

I suddenly felt dizzy.

That it has physically been eight months of this wretched trainee life. Tears, nothing else.

“Come to think of it... do you guys go home for the holidays?”

“For Seol and Chuseok we each go to our family homes! We stay two nights and come back!”

Lee Cheonghyeon flashed a V with his fingers.

Family home. Fitting for the holidays.

...Wait.

Then do I have to vacate the dorm?

An unexpected crisis.

If I try to book a place for the holidays now, either there won’t be any rooms or they’ll be disgustingly expensive.

The fifteen million won my sister left me... no.

After spending eight hundred thousand, the fourteen point two million left could not be blown on something so futile.

Oblivious to my fluster, Lee Cheonghyeon stuck close and asked,

“Hyung, where is your family home? Mine’s in Seoul!”

“Me?”

I don’t know. The elders in my family all skipped town overnight.

“I... want to stay at the dorm.”

“If you get the manager’s permission, you can stay. But why? Don’t tell me you’re going to practice?”

“No, just. To get some rest.”

Good thing I can stay at the dorm. Otherwise I’d have spent all night searching lodging apps for an empty room.

Then Lee Cheonghyeon looked around and lowered his voice.

“Park Juu might be staying, maybe. He didn’t go even at Seol.”

“Juu?”

“Yeah. Juu has his reasons, so please don’t ask him first about it...!”

After adding that carefully, Lee Cheonghyeon glanced around again, as if confirming Park Juu wasn’t there.

“Got it. I won’t bring it up first.”

“Thanks. Ha, if you hyungs are staying, should I stay this time too?”

“You said you only get two vacations a year. You want to practice even then?”

“I will be off then, sir.”

Then Lee Cheonghyeon bolted.

I have no interest in Park Juu’s private affairs. Even less if it’s family.

So I figured I’d never end up talking to him about this.

Little did I know that in the near future I would be amicably frying skewered jeon with Park Juu.

As the holidays approached, the younger employees would talk about what they were going to do with their time off.

Those a bit older or married talked more about memorial rites and the ancestral table.

“Setting the table for the rites on the holiday is hard labor. I’m already stressed.”

“Does your family hold the rites, Team Lead?”

“We do both the holiday rites and memorial services. I’m sick of it.”

When asked, “Assistant Manager Kim, what will you do over the holidays?” I tended to answer, “See my sister for a bit, then rest at home.”

Until my sister died.

On the eve of the first Chuseok after my sister died, I lay still on my bed and searched how to set the ancestral table.

Even after turning off my phone and lying there, sleep wouldn’t come.

So I stayed up until the mart opened and went right at opening time. I bought piles of ingredients I’d seen in the search window.

I hadn’t known that memorial or holiday foods took that much work.

I hadn’t cooked much, and it hadn’t even been a year since my sister’s death.

For me, seasoned greens and skewered jeon were high-difficulty.

The greens kept losing all their color; the skewers splayed open so that no matter how much egg batter I put on, the egg ran sideways.

By the time I was frying donggeorangttaeng, the whole place reeked of oil.

After wrestling all day with a mountain of ingredients, I finally managed to set a late ancestral table after the sun had completely set.

I had no ritual vessels, so I took out as many plates as I had at home, set the table, opened a 1.8-liter bottle of cheongju, and even poured the drink.

“Sis, you’ve never seen us set the ancestral table at home, right?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Looking at the misshapen jeon made it twice as funny.

A table without a spirit tablet, piled high with macarons and financiers—how could I not laugh at that sight.

“The dessert shops in our neighborhood are mostly closed on the holiday. Next time I’ll buy the macarons in advance.”

I spent a long while tearing open the individual plastic wraps on the desserts.

“I bought them because I figured it’d be a letdown to come for something tasty and find there wasn’t any. If your favorite flavor isn’t there, blame this neighborhood’s macaron lineup. I bought one of every kind they sell, so I’m innocent.”

Even though I was muttering to myself, for some reason it felt like I was really talking with my sister.

That day I stacked a tower of macarons on our low dining table. The bright colors were quite a sight.

And after draining the bottle of cheongju, I lay down beside the table and fell asleep just like that.

Making the ritual and holiday tables three times a year, I became someone who could make those dishes frighteningly well.

On holiday mornings and on my sister’s death anniversary, I would wake at dawn, shop without a list, and cook without looking at a recipe.

Right. Getting used to it is good.

I thought that as I savored the weight of the bags in my hands.

But why am I still doing this...!

That’s right.

Having come back across nine years, I woke early, confirmed it was Chuseok the moment I opened my eyes, and out of habit swept ingredients into a cart at the nearest mart.

Saying I was going to set out my sister’s holiday table—when at this point in time she would still be alive. What an act of impiety.

By the time I really woke up, I had already paid for everything.

I considered returning it, but there were refrigerated items, and, as Lee Cheonghyeon said, Park Juu was staying at the dorm, so I carried the bags back as-is, thinking we could at least get into the holiday mood.

Sis, I’m sorry.

Don’t think of it as a memorial table. Think of it as traditional practice so I don’t forget my roots.

“...What is all this?”

“...Supplies for a holiday-special cooking content?”

“Cooking content...?”

At my words, Park Juu peeked into one of the plastic bags. Inside were donggeorangttaeng mix, pollock, and a sack of flour.

He looked between the contents and me with a subtle expression.

I am not about to blurt out, like last time, that I couldn’t go to college because I had no money.

Play it cool.

“It’s the holiday no matter what, so I thought we could at least set the mood. I’ll cook, so you can rest.”

“No. Let’s do it together.”

“Fine by me. Ah, if you hate the smell of oil, I won’t fry the jeon.”

“If we ventilate well, won’t it be okay...?”

“That’s true.”

Thanks to his consideration, we could even make pollock jeon. A smooth start.

While Park Juu turned a whole tray of eggs into egg wash, I chopped and sautéed ingredients.

With this level of skill, I was just about to wonder if I should quit being an idol and get hired as a helper at a side-dish shop, when he finished dusting the flour fine and called me.

“I’ll fry the jeon, so can you coat them in flour and egg first? Wear gloves, and definitely wear a mask. KF94.”

“Why gloves and a mask...?”

“A singer shouldn’t be the one taking the fumes.”

“...You’re a vocalist too.”

I’m temporary vocals and you’re the main vocal.

I handed him the masks I’d bought just in case.

Because he made a point of opening one for me too, the two of us ended up wearing our masks properly indoors as we fried the jeon.

Once we had the knack, even the skewered jeon came out beautifully. Good enough to sell.

Watching me top the donggeorangttaeng with one red and one green chili, Park Juu said,

“Hyung, you... cook really well.”

“Not really. If you want one, have one. It’s low-sodium.”

“Can I eat it before it’s finished?”

“I made it to eat, so what’s the problem. The chilies only look red; they’re not hot.”

I explained the harmlessness of my donggeorangttaeng to Park Juu, who prefers mild food.

Even though I had mindlessly bought a ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) mountain of frying ingredients this morning, I praised myself for not forgetting the essence of an idol and choosing healthy options.

When I set a donggeorangttaeng on a small plate and handed it to him, he waited until the steam stopped rising, then took a cautious bite. His eyes grew a little wider.

“Is it edible?”

“Hyung, this is delicious...!”

“Have two. It’s made with tofu, so it should put on less weight than if it were meat.”

At that, his face lit up. I thought that expression only came out when he talked about rock bands.

Having tried the donggeorangttaeng once, he moved on to taste the skewers and the pollock jeon.

The unseasoned pollock jeon was mild, and the mini skewers with finely chopped ingredients also earned passing marks.

“Do you originally like cooking, Hyung?”

He asked while watching me blanch spinach.

“Not at all. Apart from ritual dishes, I’m not good at other things. Ramen... I cook well.”

The former was something I got good at by concentrating; the latter was something I did so often it became habit.

“How did you end up with just these...”

He spoke carefully. He was curious, but since the topic happened to be foods for the ancestral table, he seemed to be choosing his words.

“I just... like it. And since you said you were staying at the dorm today, I thought I’d make some.”

“I see... Thank you.”

“No. I’m eating too.”

As I took the wilted spinach out to rinse it in cold water, he called me.

“Hyung.”

“What?”

“Hyung... why didn’t you go to your family home?”