Sihoo cleaned up after Hayoon left, planning to match dishes with eco-friendly containers. He was grateful for Hayoon’s initiative in sourcing suppliers. After tackling the kitchen dishes, he sat on the sofa, pondering which menu items suited takeout best.
Days later, the university’s big event loomed: course registration. On the day, Sihoo and Hayoon prepped 56804 early.
“Let’s go,” Hayoon said.
They headed to a nearby PC café, securing two seats. Hayoon cracked his knuckles. “Listen up. Click fast for the classes you want. We’re acing this registration.”
Sihoo tilted his head at Hayoon’s intensity. “Hyung, is it still that hard?”
Hayoon scoffed. “You’re lightning-fast in the kitchen, but this is different. Afternoon classes get crowded, so we need speed.”
Sihoo smirked at Hayoon’s dramatic expression. So serious.
Unfazed, Hayoon stared at the monitor. “Here we go. Get ready.”
Four seconds to registration.
Three.
Two.
One.
Click, click, click. Sihoo swiftly selected his afternoon classes and hit submit. Success! Good thing I studied the professor schedules. His thoughts were cut off by screams from the café.
“Argh! I’m screwed!”
“Damn it!”
Curses and groans echoed. Sihoo glanced around, puzzled. What’s with them? Turning to Hayoon, he saw him smirking, arms crossed victoriously.
“Hyung? You done?” Sihoo asked.
“Of course. Your hyung’s the fastest at this,” Hayoon boasted. He’d taught freshman Sihoo the art of quick, precise registration. “You’re done too, right? Let’s open the diner.”
“Already?” Sihoo checked the time.
They rushed out. Hayoon glanced at the café counter, muttering, “Heard the food here’s good lately, and it’s true.”
Sihoo spotted the menu, eyes locking on Morning Seaweed Soup. Watching a staff member prepare it, he frowned. Instant soup, just add water and heat with rice? He noted the price—affordable for teens and students—and scanned the café’s crowd before leaving.
At 56804, a crowd gathered, reading the new operating hours notice and whispering.
“The owner’s a college student?”
“So young?”
“He’s barely older than us!”
“Maybe we could be his juniors at Korea U!”
Regular high schoolers were thrilled to learn Sihoo was close in age. Customers cheered the announcement of takeout sales starting soon.
“Finally, takeout! No more nagging at home!”
“Smart move. The tofu steak especially needs takeout!”
Sihoo overheard, surprised. That much demand? Korean dish takeout, especially soups, was in high demand, prompting him and Hayoon to rethink containers.
“Any containers that keep food warm for takeout, hyung?” Sihoo asked.
Hayoon rubbed his chin. “We’ll look into it. But aren’t we bending too much to customers’ whims?”
Sihoo paused, then smiled. “Maybe. But if takeout makes them happy, I’m okay with it.”
Hayoon raised an eyebrow. “Is it about caring for them or just seeing them enjoy your food?”
“Both, right?” Sihoo grinned brightly.
Hayoon chuckled. “That’s so you.”
Spring arrived, with yellow forsythias blooming and pink buds bursting. As new university students buzzed with excitement, Park Jiyoon, a nutritionist at Hosu High near Korea University, struggled to hide her frustration. She prided herself on crafting delicious school meals, but overheard students Juha and Saessang talking.
“So you skip cafeteria food for that diner?” she asked.
The girls nodded sheepishly.
“How good is it?” Jiyoon pressed.
Juha’s dialect was thick. “It’s crazy good. Try it, you’ll love it.”
Saessang translated, “She means you won’t get it ‘til you taste it.”
Jiyoon decided to visit 56804 that evening, but Saessang stopped her. “They don’t do dinner.”
“No dinner?” Jiyoon was stunned. A restaurant skipping dinner service? Either they’re making bank at lunch or they’re filthy rich.
Saessang added, “The owner’s a college student. At Korea U.”
Jiyoon’s jaw dropped. “A student running a diner?”
“Yeah, and the part-timer said they’re open 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. until graduation. No dinner,” Saessang said.
“What year is he?” Jiyoon asked.
“Sophomore,” they chimed.
Jiyoon couldn’t believe it. A sophomore running 56804 while studying? A diamond spoon?
Meanwhile, Sihoo sneezed violently, prompting Hayoon’s frown. “Someone’s talking smack about you.”
“Who’d badmouth me?” Sihoo said, tossing a tissue while cleaning up.
“Your nose sounds stuffy,” Hayoon noted.
“Pollen allergies,” Sihoo said. “May’s the worst.”
“May?” Hayoon asked.
“Since I was a kid, spring’s been rough. Summer, fall, winter—those are fine,” Sihoo explained. “Pine pollen starts flying late April.”
He shivered, checking his phone calendar. “I hope May passes smoothly.”
Hayoon tilted his head. “Was it like this last year?”
Sihoo’s eyes darted. “Last May, I told Kanghoon hyung I was swamped. In high school, I was a zombie in May. Skipped competitions then.”
Hayoon nodded, recalling Kanghoon’s time running 56804 when Sihoo barely showed up. “Allergies are rough.”
“I wish the pine pollen wasn’t so bad,” Sihoo sighed, locking the diner.
Heading to campus, he mused about spring dishes. Perilla leaves, bracken, blanched doolre with spicy sauce… Hayoon shook his head at Sihoo’s distracted look. All he thinks about is menus.
Before entering his lecture hall, Hayoon tapped Sihoo’s shoulder.
“Whoa!” Sihoo jumped.
“I’m more startled,” Hayoon said. “Heading to class. See you later.”
“Okay, hyung,” Sihoo said, finding his own lecture hall.
Click.