The blandness of the Aethellian food lingered on Ji-woo's tongue, a constant reminder of the culinary chasm between this magical world and his own. He'd tried the grilled meat, the fried dough, even some vibrant-looking fruits, but everything lacked… something. Flavor. That simple, yet essential element that made food more than just sustenance. He craved the familiar tang of kimchi, the spicy kick of gochujang, the comforting warmth of a bowl of jjigae.

As the Aethellian sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Ji-woo decided it was time to return. He walked back to the small cottage, the familiar thatch roof and rough stone walls a welcome sight. He slipped inside, the quiet of the small room a stark contrast to the bustling marketplace. He glanced up at the shimmering portal in the ceiling, the gateway back to his old life, a life that suddenly seemed so distant, so unreal.

He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. He was going back. Back to the familiar, back to the known. Back to… his house.

He reached up and touched the shimmering surface of the portal. The familiar disorientation washed over him, a rush of energy, a shift in perception. One moment he was in the small cottage, the next he was standing on the cliff overlooking the churning sea.

The wind whipped at his face, carrying the familiar scent of salt and the cries of seagulls. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the fading light. The sun was setting on the Korean coast, casting long shadows across the jagged cliffs. It was beautiful, familiar, comforting. And yet… it felt different. He had been here. He had jumped from here. And now, he had returned.

He walked away from the cliff edge, his footsteps echoing on the rocky path. He passed the spot where he had… jumped. The memory sent a shiver down his spine. It felt like a lifetime ago, a desperate act fueled by grief and despair. He was a different person now. He had seen another world, experienced magic, and discovered a new purpose. A purpose that involved trading, and… eventually, food.

He reached his house, the small, weather-beaten cottage perched precariously close to the cliff's edge. It looked the same, yet it felt different. It was his childhood home, the place where he had grown up, the place where he had shared so many memories with his parents. But now, it was empty. Silent. He had been living here, amongst the ghosts of his past, ever since… since they were gone.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The house was quiet, still, the air thick with the scent of dust and old wood. It was as if time had stopped the moment his parents left. Everything was in its place, their belongings untouched, their presence still lingering in the air. He had come here, after… after, to gather items. Items to sell. Items to trade. Anything to give him a purpose, anything to keep him from… from the edge.

He walked through the house, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floors. He ran his hands over the familiar furniture, touching the objects that held so many memories. He picked up a framed photograph of his parents, their smiling faces a stark contrast to the pain in his heart. He had looked at this picture so many times in the past weeks. So many times he had wanted to join them.

A wave of grief washed over him, a familiar ache in his chest. He remembered their laughter, their warmth, their love. He remembered the camping trips they had taken together, the stories they had told him, the dreams they had shared. He remembered the day they had brought him to this house, their excitement as they showed him his new room, their promises of a bright future. A bright future that had been stolen in an instant.

"I miss you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I miss you so much."

He closed his eyes, picturing their faces, their voices echoing in his mind. He remembered the last time he had seen them, the last words they had spoken to him. He remembered the phone call, the police officer's voice, the words that had shattered his world. He had been living with those memories, with that grief, ever since. Here, in this house. Surrounded by their things. Surrounded by their absence.

He opened his eyes, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't stay here. The memories were too painful, the emptiness too vast. He needed… he needed… something.

And then, his stomach rumbled. Loudly. Insistently. It was a stark reminder of his physical needs, a grounding force in the swirling vortex of his emotions.  He was hungry.  Ravenously hungry.  He had spent the entire day trading, haggling, exploring.  He had tasted bland food, flavorless food, unsatisfying food.  He craved flavor. He craved the familiar tastes of home. He craved… a decent meal.

He smiled. That was it. That was his immediate purpose. Food. Glorious, flavorful food. He was going to find something to eat.  Here.  In his house.  He walked towards the kitchen, a new determination in his heart. He was Ji-woo, and he was going to find a decent meal, even if he had to raid the nearly empty cupboards for it.