For Jihoon, it was just another evening spent trapped inside the restaurant where he worked. He, who had studied acting throughout his adolescence, endured rigorous training, and attended numerous auditions, coming within a hair’s breadth of signing a major contract for a lead role in a series expected to be a hit, struggled to accept such a monotonous life. It felt like a form of torture, imprisoning him in a never-ending routine.

They said that over time, one gets used to the work rhythms, that gradually they become normal, even comfortable. Some people, during their vacations, even feel nostalgic for the rhythms and environment of their work. But for Jihoon, it would never be that way. He suffered through the daily grind but had no choice but to endure it to survive.

So, whether he liked it or not, every day he left his house, took his bicycle, and pedaled to the heart of the city where the Prestige restaurant stood. It was such a high-end and sought-after place that someone like him could only enter as an employee, never as a customer.

Entering the restaurant before it opened to the public had its own charm. The glossy marble floor, the expansive glass wall overlooking the city, and the modern chandeliers hanging from the ceiling in a color reminiscent of gold created a striking ambiance. His footsteps echoed in the silence as he made his way to the staff locker room at the back.

His colleague Hyewon was just adjusting her bow tie around her neck when he walked in.

“Jihoon! Good evening! How are you today?”

The honest answer to that question would have been that he was probably going to spend the night agonizing over whether it was more urgent to buy a new refrigerator and go without electricity because he couldn't pay the electricity bill, or to pay the bill and risk not being able to store food and drinks because the fridge was broken.

The less honest response was: “Great! And how are you?”

The girl sat down on the bench while Jihoon took off his t-shirt and put on his uniform shirt. “I’m living in a dream world,” she said with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” Jihoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Last night, I watched that drama on TV… 'The Kiss of the Forest Spirit,' and I stayed up really late reading the comments online… We were all so excited on the Naver page for the drama, but when I put my phone away, I still couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about how unfair it is to be single when I could have a boyfriend like Park Minho.”

If Jihoon had shut his finger in his locker door, it would have hurt less than hearing those words from his colleague.

“And I just don't get what you see in that puffed-up Minho,” Jihoon hissed. Was he jealous? Certainly, but his disdain wasn't solely based on envy. Although he had no concrete proof, he suspected that Minho had been the one to frame him in that scandal that cost him his job. However, bringing up those issues with Hyewon was out of the question. People had forgotten both the scandal and him, and perhaps it was better that way. He didn't want to air his personal issues, especially his failures.

“Why do you say puffed-up? He seems like such a sweet guy. I've seen all his interviews, and he really seems like a good person. Did you know he funded a marine life shelter last year?”

“How touching,” Jihoon replied without any enthusiasm. “Maybe they should build him a statue then. Perhaps they should place it in front of the parliament building, so all the prominent foreign politicians can immediately see who the real national heroes are.”

Hyewon crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. “Why are you so bitter today?”

Jihoon shrugged, then gave her one of his bright smiles to show he had nothing against her personally. “Talking about a drama actor. I'm not bitter at all. But speaking of important things, did you check the reservation list for today?”

“Yes, though I wish I hadn't and could live in the illusion that it would be a quiet Thursday evening.”

“Oh no. How many tables are booked?”

“Eighty.”

“Eighty tables on a Thursday night?!” Jihoon asked, astonished. “What's gotten into people lately?”

“Well, whatever it is, there's little we can do about it. We just have to roll up our sleeves and get to work. But speaking of that, Hoseok hasn't arrived yet. I really hope he's not sick, or we're going to be in big trouble tonight.”

Even though the restaurant had a team of ten waiters, only Jihoon, Hyewon, and Hoseok had years of experience in the field. This meant they not only did their jobs but also coordinated the work of the others. If one of them was absent, it usually wasn’t a big problem—unless it was the weekend. Or a Thursday like this one.

Jihoon grabbed the abrasive sponge to polish his black leather shoes, a crucial requirement at Prestige, where even the most minor detail was of utmost importance. For a while, he got lost in his thoughts, which that evening revolved around which appliance store near his home might sell refurbished or used products. Fortunately, Hoseok arrived before Jihoon finished adjusting his tie. He looked flustered, as if he had just run a marathon, which wasn’t far from the truth.

Hoseok panted, "Sorry I'm late! Traffic was insane."

Jihoon waved it off, giving him a sympathetic look. "Don't worry, you're here now. We were just about to panic, though."

Hyewon chimed in, "We're really going to need all hands on deck tonight. Eighty tables, can you believe it?"

Hoseok nodded, catching his breath. "Yeah, I saw the reservations list. It's going to be a long night."

"If we're still in one piece, how about grabbing a drink after work tonight? I think there's a new fried chicken and beer place a couple of subway stops from here that stays open late, because there's a big club nearby," Hyewon said.

"I'm in," Jihoon replied.

"I'd even hit the club, to be honest," Hoseok added. "Though I might be too optimistic thinking I'll still have the energy to dance to techno."

"I definitely couldn't manage that," Jihoon said, closing his locker (careful not to slam his fingers in the door, since he wanted to avoid at least that bit of bad luck). "I'm already tired just thinking about staying here past midnight, let alone dancing until morning in a crowded place full of sweaty kids packed like sardines."

Hyewon laughed and placed her dainty hands on Jihoon's slender shoulders. "Don't be such a grump. You know, going dancing every once in a while can be fun."

"It's not an experience I'm eager to have," Jihoon replied.

"You talk like you've never been to a club before, am I right?" Hoseok observed.

"Impossible!" Hyewon exclaimed.

"What's so strange about that? My parents didn't want me out late at night, and when I moved to Seoul on my own... I had other interests, you know. There's nothing that really draws me to clubs."

"You're missing out, Jihoon! Don't you know clubs are great places to meet girls?" Hoseok said, causing Hyewon to roll her eyes.

"Not everything revolves around sex, you know?"

"You say that because you don't understand how a man's mind works," Hoseok replied with an air of authority while finishing buttoning up his uniform shirt. "Jihoon will confirm that us guys have a certain fixation."

It was absolutely true, but Jihoon's fixation had never been on girls. Rather, it was on finding a guy to nail that fixation... He coughed at his own inappropriate thought.

The chatter gradually died down as more waitstaff and colleagues arrived. Soon, the team was complete, the restaurant lights were turned on, and the chefs began heating up the kitchen. In an hour and a half, the place had completely transformed its face and atmosphere. Now, customers sat at the tables, dressed in elegant and expensive attire, celebrating anniversaries, birthdays, or simply wanting to spend time with their loved ones. Jihoon flitted from table to table, delivering menus, taking orders, and serving dishes—all with grace, kindness, and professionalism. No one would ever guess that this job made him more uncomfortable than it appeared because he was really good at it, and the owners were more than happy to have him on the team. The discomfort Jihoon felt was... of a different kind.

While moving between tables, Jihoon often overheard snippets of the diners' conversations. Sometimes, to make the time pass faster, he would imagine linking what he heard from one table to another, creating an imaginary discussion that was often quite amusing. That evening, however, he overheard something peculiar and intriguing.

A short man with chubby cheeks and a faint goatee was talking to a lanky fellow wearing large tortoiseshell glasses.

"I've got three of them," the man said, mimicking the action of someone taking photos with his hands. "Click, click, click!"

"Are you sure about what you've got?" the other asked.

Jihoon couldn't hear the rest as he had to deliver the dishes he was carrying to the other side of the room. He guessed they might be journalists, possibly quite well-known if they could afford a place like Prestige. It was more common to see celebrities, from politicians to singers and prominent sports figures. Last year, even a world champion of a popular online game had dined there.

When the shift ended, it was almost one in the morning. Despite their initial plan to go out, eat fried chicken, and have a beer together, it was clear everyone was too exhausted to extend the night any further.

"Let's postpone it to Monday," Hoseok suggested. 

Monday was usually the least busy day.

"Great idea," Hyewon agreed.

"Sounds good," Jihoon added as they left the locker room and headed out of the restaurant. Meanwhile, the trainee waitstaff were still inside cleaning up.

After saying goodbye to his colleagues, Jihoon walked towards his bicycle.

The evening hadn't been special at all; in fact, it was just like so many others before it and likely just as many to come. Jihoon thought of himself as a hamster trapped in a wheel, forced to run and run until his life abruptly ended.

"What a drag," he muttered, starting to pedal home.

A billboard, towering at least 20 meters above, showed Park Minho holding the lead actress from the romantic drama that had the South Korean public glued to their televisions.

N/A 

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