The doorbell’s chime drew Sihoo to the courtyard.
Creak.
He opened the gate, but no one was there. Only a lone delivery box sat on the ground.
Sihoo glanced up at the cloudless, vibrant blue sky. “Chilly… but nice weather,” he murmured. “Two years already…”
He carried the box inside.
Rip.
Unpacking the contents, Sihoo paused, lost in thought. Two years ago, his parents’ death had shattered him. The shock left him with temporary aphasia and loss of taste and smell. Without the ability to taste, pursuing a career as a chef seemed impossible. In a society where a college degree opened doors, Sihoo resolved to attend university. After a year of intense study, he enrolled at Korea University.
Balancing work at 56804 with his studies, the pain dulled, and his senses slowly returned. He also learned that Yoon Kanghoon, the diner’s owner, and Joo Hayoon were seniors at his university. “That was a surprise,” Sihoo recalled. “They’ve been even kinder since. I’m grateful for them.”
Snapping out of his reverie, Sihoo pulled cleaning supplies from the box.
Rustle. Clatter.
His hands stilled. He glanced from the living room to the kitchen, where his mother’s silhouette seemed to linger, vivid yet untouchable. At the dining table, fleeting visions of his younger self eating with his parents flickered like ghosts before vanishing.
“Phew,” Sihoo sighed, his gaze drifting to the calendar on the clock.
Buzz.
His phone’s vibration broke his thoughts. It was Kanghoon, the owner of 56804 and his university senior.
“Hey, boss,” Sihoo answered.
“Don’t call me boss—call me hyung,” Kanghoon teased. “Got a minute?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“You’re on the weekend shift, right?”
“Uh… actually, I was going to tell you today—I can’t work this weekend.”
“What? You know weekends are busy!”
“I know, hyung, but… it’s my parents’ memorial.”
Silence hung on the line. Then, Kanghoon’s voice softened. “Already? You’ve got to go, then.”
“Thanks.”
“Prepare well and be safe.”
Click.
Sihoo smiled faintly at the phone. Always a kind boss, a kind senior.
He unpacked the cleaning supplies and slipped on a mask. The empty house gleamed with dust motes dancing in the sunlight streaming through the window. Sihoo glanced at his parents’ room, sealed for two years. Steeling himself, he decided to clean it.
At the door, he took a deep breath and turned the handle.
Click. Creak.
The door groaned, unopened for years. Sihoo’s pupils trembled as he peered inside. Dust coated the floor and furniture, though less than expected. Spiderwebs clung to the ceiling.
Creak.
He flung the door wide, grabbing a broom and dustpan. Slipping on slippers, he stepped inside.
Poof.
Dust swirled. Sihoo opened the windows, letting autumn’s crisp air flood the room. Dust particles danced in the breeze.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rhythmic sweep of the broom echoed for a while. As the room grew cleaner, Sihoo felt a quiet calm settle in his heart. He hadn’t dared open this door in years. Surveying the tidied space, he exhaled.
“Ah… I should clean that too.”
Click.
Opening the wardrobe, he saw his parents’ clothes. His nose stung with emotion. After organizing the wardrobe, he pulled open the dresser drawers and stepped into the living room.
Creak.
A sound made him turn. He’d forgotten that pulling out all the drawers could unbalance the dresser. It tilted forward.
Thud.
Sihoo caught it just in time. If it had fallen, the clothes and items inside would’ve spilled, a nightmare to clean. Cold sweat trickled down his back. “That was close…”
As he righted the dresser, he noticed the wall behind it. “Huh? What’s that?”
The wallpaper looked cracked, as if split. This house, bought by his parents before he was born, was old—maybe the walls were giving way. Sihoo tilted his head, touching the crack. A faint breeze seeped through.
“Wind?”
He moved the dresser aside and felt along the wall.
Scrape. Scratch.
The wall shifted slightly under his touch. When a finger-width gap opened, he felt a distinct breeze. Cautiously, he slid the wall like a sliding door.
Rumble.
A space wide enough for one person appeared. “Whoa…”
A pitch-black void yawned before him. He pulled out his phone, flicking on the flashlight.
Flash.
A staircase emerged faintly in the darkness. Amazed that such a space existed in his parents’ room, Sihoo stepped onto the stairs. After about twenty steps, he shone the flashlight around. The space below was roughly the size of the bedroom, eerily dust-free.
His heart pounded, a thrill like discovering a childhood toy. Looking up, he saw light filtering down the stairs. A faint glow spilled from one corner of the dark.
“What’s that?”
Curiosity pulled him closer. His hand brushed something—wood, by the feel of it.
Clunk.
He pushed gently, but it didn’t budge. Feeling for the edge, he slid it like a door.
Rumble.
The door opened. Blinding light forced him to shield his eyes. “Oof…”
His eyes, accustomed to the dark, took time to adjust. Slowly, shapes emerged.
Sihoo rubbed his eyes. “What the…”
Beyond the fully opened door lay a field, like those in the countryside. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
“Am I still dreaming?”
Muttering to himself, he glanced around. Behind him was the basement of his parents’ room. Ahead, a field stretched out. He reached out cautiously. Warm air brushed his fingertips.
“It’s… warm?”
He stepped forward.
Crunch.
The feel of soil confirmed this was real. He pinched his cheek.
“Ow! Not a dream. What is this place?”
Sihoo crouched, touching the earth. The cool, distinct texture of soil grounded him. In the basement of the house he’d lived in since childhood, this was surreal.
He scanned the field. Crops looked recently tended. His eyes widened at a nearby plant. “Wait… is that a potato?”
He examined the leaves, then carefully dug into the soil. A potato emerged.
“What? Is this a potato? Why’s it so big?”
No one answered his question. The potato was the size of three adult fists combined. He brushed off the dirt, inspecting it closely.
Sniff.
He smelled it, turned it over. “Is this some other plant?”
Puzzled, he set it aside. Nearby, another familiar plant caught his eye. Bending down, he studied the leaves.
“Sweet potato vines?”
He tugged gently. With a rustle, a cluster of sweet potatoes emerged.
“What the—? These are huge! Are these really sweet potatoes?”
They were as long and thick as an adult’s forearm. He wanted to explore more, but the oversized potato and sweet potato demanded confirmation. Clutching them, Sihoo returned to the basement.
Buzz.
His phone vibrated. A message from 56604—Kanghoon.
[Shinhan Bank Deposit: Yoon Kanghoon, 500,000 KRW. Use it for your parents’ memorial. Couldn’t send much. See you this afternoon.]
Sihoo quickly typed a reply, then emerged from the basement. He placed the giant potato and sweet potato on the kitchen counter and prepared to head out.
That afternoon, at 56804, Sihoo, Kanghoon, and Hayoon sat together after their shift. On the table were squid, Sihoo’s spicy shrimp, peanuts, and beer glasses. As usual, the trio shared a light drink to unwind.
“Sihoo,” Kanghoon said, his expression heavy. “I’m planning to close the diner soon.”
“What? You’re quitting?” Sihoo’s eyes widened, half-laughing. “Hyung, you’re joking, right?”
Kanghoon’s words weren’t a joke. He planned to sell 56804. His gaze was serious, locked on Sihoo’s.
Sihoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Tch, nothing’s wrong,” Kanghoon said. “It’s just time to settle things.”
“When?” Sihoo pressed, voice tight.
“Two months from now.”
“Two months? That’s so sudden—”
After a pause, Kanghoon grinned. “How about you take over the diner?”
Sihoo fell silent. Kanghoon continued, “You’re great at Korean cuisine. You could run this place.”
Hayoon chimed in, half-teasing, “Hyung, he doesn’t have the money!”
Sihoo, head lowered, spoke faster than usual. “Like Hayoon hyung said, I don’t have the funds. I’ve learned diner food from you, but my strength is Korean cuisine.”
Kanghoon leaned back, arms crossed, voice low. “I’m selling, but I’d love for you to take it, Sihoo.”
“I’d hate to see this place, with all our memories, go,” Sihoo admitted. “I’d take it if I could.”
“Exactly,” Kanghoon said. “I’m not selling for money. I’m weighing options. You’ve got time—think it over.”
Sihoo pondered Kanghoon’s words. Seeing his expression, Kanghoon added, “Don’t worry too much. I’d never leave you to fend for yourself.”
Sihoo’s eyes reddened at Kanghoon’s words. A sudden thought struck him. Why is he so kind to me, a stranger with no blood ties?
A faint warmth stirred in Sihoo’s once-cold heart.