“Uh, I’m going to eat well.”
Ann, speaking in her awkward Korean, leaves the statement “that was good.”
I don’t know where she learned it, but seeing she can handle simple conversations, it seems she has learned quite well.
I’ve heard that everyday phrases can seem difficult to foreigners.
Especially with expressions like colors described in various ways—red, crimson, dark red, bright red—and terms like “to be overwhelmed.”
Anyway, after a little mouse commotion, peace returned to the house.
Having just finished an early lunch at 11:36 a.m., thoughts of “What should we do for the next three hours?” crossed my mind.
Like the unpredictable flow of conversation, a mascot exchange ceremony suddenly began.
‘It looks cute like this.’
As I set it in my hands after shedding my prejudices, I thought it resembled a hamster—just with a little longer tail and not chubby.
The sensation of gently squeezing it with my fingers was a bit stiff, but if I stroked it in the right direction, it felt soft.
The Gomteng with its stiff fur looked significantly different from a real doll.
If it looked this realistic, carrying it around might be a problem.
Thinking about it, I couldn’t help but feel that a stuffed bear would be much better…?
An ample amount of time remained until three o’clock.
Patting my full stomach, I rolled around in my room, eagerly waiting for the clock to strike three, chiming along with Ann’s remarks.
“Why are you hiding that you’re a magical girl?”
“Huh?”
After a while of chiming along in the conversation, a sudden question flew at me.
When asked why I was hiding being a magical girl, well, why is that?
Certainly, in America, magical girls are treated like celebrities.
It’s common for their real names to be known, and I’ve heard they are treated almost like second-tier celebrities.
In Japan, it’s not to the point of revealing their real names, but I know they perform on stage using their magical girl names after transformation, like idols.
Looking at the examples from nearby countries, the culture of magical girls in closed-off Korea…
“Uh, well….”
I had always thought it was obvious, but now that the question had popped up, I couldn’t provide an immediate answer.
Because in comics or animations, it’s necessary to hide one’s identity?
But even the origin country, Japan, is in that state too?
‘Really, why is that?’
I brought my finger to my chin, stumped for words.
Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with it being known, right?
If the identity of magical girls became known to the public like in America, what would happen?
First, people around me would learn about my job as a magical girl.
What kind of reactions would there be around me?
I imagined a hypothetical magical girl K in my mind.
Let’s say she’s around middle or high school age.
“Hey, hey, Sky! Do that thing!”
“Uh… what again?”
“Hurry! Do it!”
“By the name of love and justice…!”
“Ah hah hah hah!”
‘Oh my….’
Just imagining that humiliating scenario made my dignity feel crushed.
Maybe if a monster appeared, I might be cut some slack, but among close friends, it would be obvious ridicule.
No. At least in Korea, it wouldn’t work.
It would be one thing to reveal the transformed appearance like in Japan, but unmasking the identity before transformation would be social suicide.
Not to mention that if the transformation spell is as embarrassing as mine…
Perhaps, those who have been magical girls since childhood would definitely balk at revealing 95% of their info.
Thinking of various aspects, I uttered the conclusion I had drawn up in my head.
“Uh, maybe a suicide prevention campaign…?”
“What?”
An awkward explanation that summarized many aspects left her tilting her head in confusion.
Time passed, and it was an hour before the promised three o’clock.
No matter what, since a foreigner came all the way to Korea, I couldn’t just let her taste only one meal of chicken, so I pulled out a frozen chunk of meat from the freezer.
They say simplicity is best, and there was the thinly sliced pork belly.
Turning on the induction, I placed the frozen chunk of meat onto the frying pan.
The meat, which had shrunken and hardened, gradually flattened out, and the cries of the sizzling meat filled the air.
Even with the hood turned up to the max, the aroma of the meat began to build up in the house.
As the smell intensified, I flipped the meat with long chopsticks and hurriedly opened all the windows in the house.
“What is this?”
“It’s called samgyeopsal…”
“Sam-gyeo, sha?”
Ann, tilting her head and mimicking the word “samgyeopsal,” clearly wouldn’t understand it if it was translated directly.
Help me, translation machine.
In clumsy letters typed with the other hand that was grilling the meat, I attempted to input the word meaning “pork belly.”
[Pork Belly] -> [돼지 뱃살]
Reciting the pronunciation given by the translator, I managed to pout it out in cheap Korean-style English.
“Uh… pork belly.”
“A-ha! Pork belly!”
Fortunately, Ann’s exaggerated applause showed that the pronunciation given by the translator was correct.
As the surface of the meat began to gain a brownish color, I fetched two sauce bowls from the shelf, scooping a generous spoonful of ssamjang in one and sprinkling coarse salt in the other.
There was no need for lettuce or perilla leaves. Just steamed rice, pork belly, and the two kinds of sauces.
From a foreigner’s standpoint, it looked quite simple.
Perhaps feeling like she was being served poorly, she glanced at the remaining chicken on the table.
But once she tries dipping it into the magic sauce, the response will change.
“Oh, this sauce…!”
As expected, Ann opened her eyes wide and covered her mouth in awe, holding the fork with the other hand.
Though Westerners typically don’t enjoy plain white rice, her rice bowl was completely empty, filled with grilled pork belly.
Even while washing the dishes, I felt a sense of pride, having merely grilled the meat.
After the two meals, true freedom arrived at three o’clock.
The farewell to her, who had to cram a week’s worth of conversation before we parted ways.
Just before she left my house, grabbed by the suit guy, we kept the conversation going, asking what that sauce was she had dipped the meat in.
“Ssamjang.”
“Sam… jang.”
It was only after she left that I realized a fact.
I could have input “samgyeopsal” straight in the translator without needing to put in “pork belly,” and it still yielded the same translation in English.
It’s surprising how well the translation machine can handle even casually used expressions in Korean.
I wondered if it functions better than I expected, the translator.
‘It still smells too strong to close the windows…’
As the time approached for Siyeon to come home, I felt a rising anxiety.
Even though I had aired out the house for a while, the smell hadn’t completely dissipated yet from the fully opened windows.
I hoped Siyeon wouldn’t remember me as a sneaky person who had ordered chicken and grilled meat while she was unaware that a foreigner came over.
It felt wasteful to throw the leftovers away, yet an excessive amount for the person who just finished eating.
The only remaining option was one.
“I’ll finish everything left over.”
“Really? No matter how I see it, that’s too much…”
“Hurry.”
With that brief and concise urging, the Gomteng finally clung to the chicken box.
The smell of the cold chicken had long since settled.
Next, there needed to be a way to eliminate the lingering odors of the meat.
I ultimately brought out some air freshener and sprayed it around the house.
Sprays of powdery mist scattered along with my busy actions as I triggered the freshener.
The intense scent of the artificial air freshener briefly covered my nose.
As I continued spraying in a frenzy, I didn’t even hear the sound of the front door opening and closing…
“…What are you doing?”
“Uh?”
I accidentally met eyes with Siyeon, who had just come in.
It was an unusual occurrence to spray air freshener in the house.
The next thing Siyeon’s gaze landed on was the box of chicken on the table.
“O-oh, huh.”
Even the mumbling of the Gomteng munching on the chicken.
So, the fact that I had ordered chicken was exposed.
Immediately after, I heard Siyeon take a short breath suspicious of the air freshener.
“Did you grill meat too?”
“Uh, yeah…”
The rich aroma of pork was mixed in with the scent of the air freshener.
She’d sniffed it out and began to interrogate me.
I started to shrink back like a guilty person, averted my gaze, yet couldn’t help but peek at Siyeon’s face.
It was almost dinner time at five o’clock…
Though it felt shameless, I initiated the conversation.
“Uh, should I order something? Or do you want me to grill some meat?”
“…Nah, I’m good.”
Siyeon walked straight into her room, bag in tow.
She pretended to be indifferent, but she must have been really upset.
Fidgeting, I felt the anxiety of being left alone in the now-empty spot.
“Uh, should we stop eating now?”
“…It’s already late; just eat.”
“Y-yeah…”
In the solemn atmosphere, only the sound of the Gomteng munching on soggy chicken skin rang out.
That night, Siyeon rarely came to my room and said,
“Don’t wake me up; I’ll get up on my own.”
“Oh, really? Okay… I got it.”
I wondered what she was going to say, but it was just a brief notice that she’d wake up by herself.
From that day on, even the conversations that were little more than hints in the morning were suddenly cut off.
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