Jiyeon was already teetering on the brink of exhaustion when Kang made his grand entrance into the kitchen. He waltzed in with an aura of mischief that should have been illegal at that hour, especially after the chaos of the dinner rush. Jiyeon didn't even have the energy to scold him—though that was her usual instinct. Instead, she shot him a withering glare, which, disappointingly, had zero impact.
Kang, as always, was blissfully immune to common sense.
"Chef!" he announced, like a court jester on a caffeine high. "You'll be thrilled to hear that I have a revolutionary new idea for the restaurant."
Jiyeon's eyebrow twitched. "Unless it involves massaging the stress out of my shoulders, filing my taxes, or suddenly solving world hunger, I don't want to hear it."
Kang ignored the warning signs. He set down a small, covered platter with a flourish that would have made a stage magician jealous. "Behold! My newest creation. I call it 'Apocalypse Pâté.'"
