“Where’s the cafeteria?”
Having finished cleaning the clubroom in a flash, Yang Woobin took off his mask and asked.
“Huh?”
“You asked me to cook. Lead the way.”
“Huh? Uh, oh…”
Despite her demanding request for him to “satisfy her,” Woobin casually suggesting they go to the cafeteria left Ryu Jia flustered instead.
‘…What is this? Why is this guy so relaxed?’
In today’s world, where saying “Men should just cook at home!” would earn you criticism, a man who was good at cooking was a rare sight.
Even rarer was a man who, when asked out of nowhere to cook, agreed without a hint of complaint.
To think someone with bleached blond hair and a tanned, delinquent-like appearance could have that much confidence in cooking…
‘Am I… am I really going to end up being satisfied if I follow him like this?’
Yang Woobin started to appear more and more like something beyond her understanding.
However, Ryu Jia had lived a life far removed from anxiety—a natural-born strong.
Despite having three older sisters, each at least four years her senior, she secured a flawless victory in the succession race with nothing but her innate talent.
She proudly rose to become the heir of the Ryu family, ranked fifth among the world’s most prestigious houses.
‘No, get it together, Ryu Jia. This isn’t even a fight to begin with. This is an initiation ritual to put an arrogant newbie in his place. There’s no reason to be nervous. No matter how delicious his cooking turns out, I just have to say I’m not satisfied.’
With that, Ryu Jia shook her head to rid herself of unnecessary anxiety and reminded herself of her current position.
She was the evaluator, and the one being evaluated was Yang Woobin.
Since it was a perfectly one-sided power dynamic, with no room for objection, Ryu Jia regained her original confidence.
“Let’s go! The cafeteria’s just a little walk away! I’ll buy the ingredients, so go ahead and try cooking something!”
“You’re asking me to make food for the club president, so obviously you should pay for the ingredients. Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”
“Ugh…”
But even with her confidence restored, Ryu Jia still couldn’t win against Yang Woobin in a verbal exchange.
“I’ll make egg fried rice.”
“Huh?”
Having moved to a cafeteria near the clubroom, Ryu Jia put on an apron while Yang Woobin announced the menu and put a pack of instant rice into the microwave.
She couldn’t help but be taken aback.
Because egg fried rice was her favorite food.
‘There’s no way he could know that I like fried rice… so what the heck is going on?’
The dish Yang Woobin was about to cook now had to be something that could satisfy Ryu Jia.
Because only if Ryu Jia admitted that she was satisfied with the food could Yang Woobin obtain the flower blooming in the flowerpot.
In a situation that was, in its own way, quite important with a prize on the line, he had chosen the simplest dish—fried rice.
With so many delicious dishes to choose from, Ryu Jia was curious why he would pick fried rice, so she opened her mouth to ask.
“But why fried rice…? I told you I’d buy you any ingredients you need. Wouldn’t it make more sense to use some premium ingredients and make something even more delicious? Wait. Don’t tell me…”
In the middle of questioning Woobin, a hypothesis flashed through Ryu Jia’s mind.
She paused mid-sentence, curled the corner of her mouth, and let out a sly smile as she asked another question.
“Hey newbie… don’t tell me fried rice is the only thing you know how to make?”
Once that thought settled in, everything started to make sense.
After all, a guy with bleach-blonde hair and a tanned, cocky look turning out to be good at both cleaning and cooking would be called too unrealistic—even in a comic.
But if fried rice was the only thing he could make, the story changed.
Fried rice was an easy dish, and it wouldn’t be weird at all for a tanned blonde punk to know how to make it.
“Kuhuhuhu. I’m right, aren’t I? Huh? Nailed it, didn’t I?”
Ryu Jia silently celebrated as Woobin stood there, saying nothing in response.
“Yeah, that makes sense! You can’t be good at cooking too. Mhm!”
Closing her eyes and nodding, Ryu Jia convinced herself this was justice—a properly balanced world.
Fried rice was her favorite food, and if Woobin could only cook fried rice, then in theory, she might be at a disadvantage.
But that wasn’t the case.
‘You can always tell when someone can’t cook. There’s no way someone like that could make fried rice that would satisfy me!’
Because she loved fried rice the most, she had the highest standards for it.
That was who Ryu Jia was.
Of course, she’d enjoy eating it if it tasted good—but she had full confidence she could still hold back from saying she was satisfied.
“Well then, let’s see if our little newbie, who can only make fried rice, can actually satisfy me. Can he really make a fried rice that meets my—”
“President, I’m going to turn on the stove now, so please step aside.”
“Huh?”
Before she realized it, Woobin already had everything prepared. In his hands were: one bowl of hot rice, every grain perfectly coated in golden egg mixture, and another bowl filled with scallions, beautifully chopped with uniform precision.
She had been watching the whole time—except for that one moment when she closed her eyes and nodded—and he’d done all that in that tiny window?
A long-forgotten unease began to creep up in Ryu Jia’s chest again.
Then it became a reality the moment Woobin pulled out a cast iron pan, poured in exactly two spoonfuls of oil, briefly stir-fried the scallions, and tossed in the egg-coated rice, beginning to wok it with a smooth, practiced motion.
‘T-this bastard… he’s insanely good at cooking!’
Not a single movement was wasted.
Even the seasoning he sprinkled looked like it had been measured precisely.
As he added that distinct “wok flavor” without burning a single grain of rice, his delicate technique was like a form of art.
Was it even okay to use this level of skill just to make fried rice?
His graceful, fluid movements stopped with perfect timing the moment the rice reached an ideal, fluffy texture.
Sizzle.
“H-Huff… what the…”
The golden, brilliantly shining fried rice was served appetizingly on a white plate.
By ingredients alone, it was nothing more than a simple egg fried rice made with just rice, egg, scallions, and salt.
But the presence it radiated made Ryu Jia feel like her whole body was being weighed down.
“Here, your spoon. Please, go ahead.”
As if bewitched, Ryu Jia accepted the spoon from Yang Woobin and scooped up a spoonful of the fried rice.
Though perfectly stir-fried to a fluffy texture, the rice grains hadn’t lost their moisture and each one glistened like a gem.
“Alright then, I’ll dig in…”
With her hand trembling, Ryu Jia barely managed to bring the spoon to her lips, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth.
She had shut off all other senses to focus solely on taste.
Her instincts told her this fried rice was worth that level of dedication—and so she placed the spoon in her mouth.
Nom.
Scrape.
Scrape.
“…”
“Um, Chief? Why are you scraping an empty bowl?”
“Wha?! What, what do you mean?! My fried rice? Where did my fried rice go?!”
“Where do you think? You ate it all. It’s in your stomach.”
“…What?”
At Yang Woobin’s words, Ryu Jia couldn’t help but doubt her own ears.
Because her last memory was right before savoring what was clearly going to be a delicious bite, eyes closed in anticipation.
But the satisfaction in her stomach and the savory aftertaste of egg fried rice lingering in her mouth confirmed his words to be true.
“W-What is this…?”
Ryu Jia, who loved fried rice more than anything, had just been utterly overwhelmed by a single dish of Yang Woobin’s fried rice—it was enough to flip her entire world upside down.
Fried rice so good it knocked her out?
She had never seen or heard of such a thing.
Why… Why did I pick a fight with a monster like this…?
Was I really just a frog in a well this whole time…?
Faced with a cooking skill that far exceeded her understanding, Ryu Jia trembled and couldn’t even meet his eyes.
She felt that if she dared challenge someone who could make fried rice like this—with only eggs, scallions, rice, and salt—she might never get to taste such a heavenly dish again.
And just as the hierarchy in her heart was about to be set, with Yang Woobin clearly on top—
“So. Were you satisfied?”
“Huh?”
His question snapped her out of her daze.
“O-Of course I was…”
“Oh? You weren’t satisfied? As expected of the top cadet of Answer Heaven. Guess I have no choice then.”
“W-Wait, what?”
What Ryu Jia meant to say was something like: “Of course I was satisfied. B-But hey, newbie, would you mind making me another bowl? If you do, I might even give you my Chief title, hehe.”
A declaration of defeat in the most pitiful, groveling tone.
But his follow-up comment cut her off completely, and just like that, the flow of the conversation had been completely taken over by Yang Woobin.
“This time, I’ll give you a massage. I’m actually really good at it.”
“Eh? W-Wait, suddenly?”
Still reeling from the impact of the fried rice and mentally defenseless, Ryu Jia could only fidget her hands in flustered confusion as Yang Woobin approached.
She couldn’t even put up a proper resistance.
Normally, she would’ve puffed herself up and said something like, “A guy shouldn’t just go around touching women like that!”
“N-No… You can’t… If a man just goes around touching women, that’s a big no-no…”
But now, this weak protest was the best she could muster.
And the moment Yang Woobin’s hands reached their destination—her shoulders—
“Hgiieeeeeeeek♥♥♥”
Ryu Jia was completely and utterly satisfied, right down to the depths of her core.
If I get to know something like this… there’s no going back…♥
It was a dazzling initiation.