Chapter 45: Cooking With Yerin
After a few more reassurances, the kitchen staff reluctantly bowed their way out, leaving the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen entirely to the three of us.
"Alright!" Yerin cheered, yanking a decorative ruffled apron off a hook on the wall and tying it clumsily around her waist over her oversized hoodie. She struck a heroic pose, puffing out her chest. "Executive Chef Yerin is reporting for duty! Tell me what to chop, Master Seth."
[Oho? Lady Nova in a cute apron?] Paige giggled teasingly in my head. [Seth, she’s definitely going to set something on fire. I’m getting the fire extinguisher ready just in case.]
’Don’t jinx it, Paige, I replied mentally, holding back a smirk as I walked over to the giant walk-in refrigerator.
Opening the double stainless-steel doors, I was genuinely amazed by the quality of the ingredients. There were beautifully marbled slabs of A5 Wagyu beef, fresh wild-caught salmon, organic heirloom vegetables, hand-harvested truffles, and exotic spices I’d only ever seen in high-end culinary magazines back when I was working eighty-hour week.
Back in my old life, cooking had been a brutal grind under an abusive boss who screamed at me for every minor mistake. But deep down, I’d always loved the craft. Cooking was about taking raw ingredients, mastering heat and timing, and creating something that genuinely made people happy.
"Okay, team," I declared, setting a massive wooden cutting board on the central island. "Tonight’s menu: pan-seared A5 Wagyu with garlic-thyme butter, creamed truffle mushrooms, garlic-herb roasted potatoes, and citrus-glazed salmon."
"Sounds delicious!" Yerin squealed, rolling up her sleeves with intense determination. "Give me the potatoes! I’ll peel them."
"Are you sure, Yerin?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "Peeling potatoes takes a little technique if you don’t want to lose half the vegetable."
"Psh! How hard can peeling a potato be?!" she huffed, grabbing a vegetable peeler and a large potato with fierce determination.
Beside her, Val silently stepped up to the prep counter. She pulled a crisp white apron from the rack, tied it around her dark fitted jacket with mathematical symmetry, and picked up a high-carbon chef’s knife.
"Young Master," Val reported in her usual stoic, deadpan tone. "I stand ready to execute precision prep work."
"Great. Val, can you dice the garlic and slice the wild mushrooms finely?" I asked.
"Understood."
What followed was one of the most absurd, hilarious, and strangely heartwarming kitchen prep sessions I had ever experienced.
Val was a terrifying machine of pure culinary efficiency. The moment her blade touched the cutting board, a rapid, perfectly rhythmic cadence echoed through the kitchen.
*Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-click.*
In less than three seconds, an entire bulb of garlic had been reduced to paper-thin slices of identical thickness. She moved on to the truffles and mushrooms, her hands a blur as she produced slices so uniform they looked laser-cut.
I stared at her pile of diced garlic, utterly speechless. "Val... that is legitimately terrifying."
"Tactical culinary slicing complete," Val replied without a single flicker of pride, wiping her blade clean on a towel.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the counter, disaster was unfolding.
"Hah! Take that, you stupid root!" Yerin grunted, violently hacking away at a single poor potato.
Every time she dragged the peeler across the potato, she shaved off a thick chunk of flesh along with the skin. By the time she finished "peeling" it, what had started as a large, fist-sized potato had been reduced to a tiny, jagged lump barely bigger than a golf ball.
"Look, Seth! I did it!" Yerin beamed proudly, holding up the tiny, mutilated potato lump like a trophy.
I looked at the tiny potato, then at the mountain of potato she’d peeled away, and let out a helpless laugh.
"Yerin, babe..." I said softly, walking over behind her. "You shaved off seventy percent of the potato."
"WHAT?!" Yerin gasped, looking down at the pile of scraps with wide, betrayed eyes. "No way! The peeler is defective! It’s biased against me."
"Right, right, the peeler is biased," I laughed, leaning down close behind her. I reached my arms around her waist, covering her small hands with mine and guiding her fingers on the peeler. "Here. Don’t press down so hard. Angle the blade slightly, like this, and slide it gently."
The moment my chest brushed against her back and my warm breath fanned across her neck, Yerin’s entire body went rigid.
Her face flushed bright red beneath her mask, her long eyelashes fluttering as she glanced up at me. The chaotic pop star who usually screamed at video games had suddenly gone as quiet as a mouse, her heart pounding so hard I could almost feel it through her back.
"S-Seth.." she squeaked out softly, her voice carrying a sweet, embarrassed tremor. "You’re... you’re too close..."
"Just teaching my girlfriend how to peel a potato," I whispered with a smile, gently guiding her hand as the peeler shaved away a paper-thin strip of skin. "See? Easy."
"M-Mhm..." Yerin nodded rapidly, her face burning hot as she bit her lip, leaning back subtly into my touch.
Beside us, Val slowly set down her knife, her sharp eyes watching the two of us with an unreadable, stoic expression. "Young Master. Lady Yerin’s heart rate has elevated to abnormal levels. Shall I fetch cold water?"
"NO! I’M FINE!" Yerin squealed, snapping out of her trance and practically jumping two feet away, her hands clutching her burning cheeks. "I’m just... experiencing high kitchen temperatures."
I burst into a loud, genuine laugh, shaking my head as I turned back to the main cooking station.
After the prep work was completed, it was time to step into my element. I fired up the commercial gas burners, heating heavy cast-iron skillets until they shimmered with heat. I seasoned the A5 Wagyu with coarse sea salt and freshly cracked black pepper before laying the steaks into the pans.
SZZZZZZZZT!
A glorious sizzle filled the kitchen as the rich aroma of rendered Wagyu fat spread through the air.
I moved with the effortless rhythm of a seasoned cook. Garlic, fresh thyme, and generous knobs of French butter went into the pan as I tilted the skillet, repeatedly basting the steaks with the fragrant butter. In the next pan, I laid the salmon skin-side down before adding a citrus glaze and a drizzle of honey.