The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when the cast and crew found themselves nestled in a cozy corner of Yongdam—a vibrant city hugging Jeju's northern coast.
After a day of filming that had been equal parts laughter and light chaos at the winery, the team had now transitioned to an entirely different kind of set.
One where the stars of the show weren't actors, but sizzling pork belly, glowing charcoal, and the irresistible aroma of Jeju's finest black pork BBQ.
But this wasn't just any dinner. And it definitely wasn't Haesook's bill to pay.
This was the type of dinner—an on-location shoot for the next key scene in the film, taking place at one of Yongdam's most beloved culinary landmarks: Heukdwaeji Master BBQ, a restaurant famous island-wide for its top-grade black pork and old-school grilling charm.
And the best part? No one had to worry about the bill tonight.
The restaurant had agreed to host the entire crew free of charge.
In return, they'd be featured prominently in the film—a mutually beneficial partnership, carefully orchestrated with strategic precision.
At the center of it all was none other than Jaehyun—Jihoon's loyal assistant and appointed "corporate slave."
"He had been quietly pulling strings behind the scenes, Jaehyun had connected dots no one else even knew existed.
Drawing on contacts from his days working under Jihoon's powerful aunt, Lee Boojin, he pitched the partnership to both the film and the Jeju Tourism Board.
The goal went far beyond a simple complimentary dinner.
If everything went according to plan, all Heukdwaeji Master BBQ, the winery, and the film 'Your Name' would become woven into the cultural tapestry of the island—each playing a pivotal role in a larger promotional strategy to elevate both Jeju and the film onto the global stage.
Beyond the cinematic storm, there was this moment—seasoned, smoky, and quietly spectacular.
Laughter bubbled up from surrounding tables.
Platters of pork crackled over grills, bowls of icy makgeolli clinked together, and side dishes formed colorful mosaics across the tables.
The restaurant buzzed with a warmth only earned through hard work and shared meals.
At a nearby table, the day's unexpected guests—SNSD's full lineup of rookie trainees—were finally settling in, their earlier winery antics replaced by giddy excitement and a serious appetite, especially from Yoona and Sooyoung, the group's notorious black holes when it came to food.
Jihoon had introduced them after their dramatic, mock ambush at the winery, where they'd nearly hijacked the shoot with choreographed chaos and questionable acting.
"They're SM Entertainment's next big thing," he'd said proudly, gesturing to the girls.
"Debuting next year. You all will be hearing their names everywhere soon."
A few crew members blinked, unsure. Someone whispered, "They look like a bunch of high schoolers who raided a boutique thrift shop."
Jihoon simply smirked. "Exactly. That's their charm—fresh and innocent."
"And since SM is a partner in our production, they've graciously agreed to let the girls make a cameo in the upcoming restaurant scene."
Their role was brief—just 4 to 5 seconds, tops. No lines, no dramatic angles. Just a simple shot: a group of girls enjoying BBQ in the background, their faces casually framed within the scene.
But the placement was no accident. It was carefully coordinated with SM Entertainment's publicity team.
A quiet introduction. A memory seed. Just enough so that when the debut posters finally dropped, someone might pause and say, "Wait… weren't they in that movie?"
The restaurant, too, was getting more than screen time.
Association with rising stars, cinematic relevance, and a front-row seat in Jeju's cultural campaign—it was a branding jackpot, wrapped in ssamjang and garlic… much like the lettuce wrap Taeyeon was building with great focus.
Back at the table, she let out a dramatic sigh, eyes fluttering shut.
"I think this is the best BBQ I've ever had," she declared, just before stuffing the hefty meat wrap into her mouth.
Sooyoung, expertly juggling a piece of pork in one hand and scooping side-dishes with the other, grinned. "This is hands down the best unpaid gig I've ever had."
Yoona, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk mid-bite, managed to mumble, "Honestly? I could work for Jihoon forever if this is what it's like."
Across from them, Jihoon watched with quiet amusement, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
There was something about this moment—the laughter, the smoky air, the blend of seasoned pork and unseasoned dreams—that just felt… right.
Jihoon sat at the quieter end of the long table, nestled between his so-called Omma, Haesook, and Changwook, the ever-stern executive producer who, despite his intimidating aura on set, was now giggling over grilled mushrooms like someone's tipsy uncle.
Across from them sat two assistant directors, mid-thirties and full of inside jokes, swapping gossip between sips of makgeolli.
The spread before them was just as indulgent as the energy on the other side of the room—bowls of steaming fermented soybean paste stew, platters of perfectly charred pork belly, a chaos of side dishes constantly shifting and refilling like a living organism.
Bottles of rice wine and soju clinked merrily along the table, and laughter spilled out louder with every passing toast.
Though still under the legal drinking age, Jihoon had a cup of makgeolli in front of him—half full and lightly fizzing.
The creamy, tangy rice wine wasn't really his style. Too sweet. Too sour. Too… milky?
Still, he played along, sipping politely when someone made a toast.
Most of the time, though, he found himself playing pour boy for the table—refilling everyone's cup with practiced grace, wrist flick just right, bottle held with two hands like a good, respectful hoobae.
Not because he was the youngest.
Because he liked whiskey. Neat. Dry. With bite.
Makgeolli, for all its cultural charm, was like a confused dessert to his taste buds.
Changwook caught him mid-pour and smirked. "You know, Jihoon-ah, you're too good at that."
"Almost like you've done this a few times before."
Jihoon grinned, pouring him another round. "Occupational hazard. Being a film director means learning to please the audience… in more ways than one."
Haesook chuckled, plucking a perilla leaf and adding some ssamjang replied. "You hear this kid? One second he's calling 'action,' the next he's talking like a 50-year-old bar manager in Hongdae."
Jihoon shrugged with exaggerated solemnity. "I'm just trying to survive, Omma. It's a brutal world out there."
He leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically like a war-hardened soldier. "One wrong pour… and I get cut from the production."
Changwook snorted, waving his chopsticks at him. "You and your damn logic. Don't treat us like fools."
He leaned back, narrowing his eyes with a tipsy grin. "We all know you own JH. If you cut yourself, it'd just bounce back with paycheck with interest."
Laughter bubbled around the table.
Jihoon looked around the table—these adults, this odd makeshift family of creatives, producers, and grumpy professionals now loosened by meat and makgeolli.
This wasn't just a job to them. It wasn't even just a film anymore.
It was a story being written in real time.
Between bites and banter. Between generations. Between sips of too-sweet wine and the dreams they were all betting on.
It had been a long time since the people in this room had felt this kind of ease—this warmth that didn't come from stage lights or production rigs, but from simple, shared presence.
For most of them, life had been nothing but a race.
In Seoul, everything moved fast. Too fast.
From what Jihoon knew from his previous life, Korea had one of the highest suicide rates—not because life itself was unbearable, but because of the relentless competition.
It began in school and followed them all the way into corporate life.
For the SNSD trainees, every day was an uphill marathon—rigid training schedules, vocal drills, dance routines that stretched long into the night.
For the production crew, it was back-to-back deadlines, location changes, and tight turnarounds.
The actors had their own battles too—auditions, public scrutiny, fighting to stay relevant in an industry that never stopped to breathe.
Time didn't wait for them.
And so, in the chasing process, something had been lost.
Family dinners became distant memories.
Laughter, when it happened, was usually sandwiched between rehearsals.
No one really stopped—not because they didn't want to—but because slowing down meant risking being overtaken, left behind in someone else's dust.
But tonight... something shifted.
Here, in this small restaurant tucked into the heart of Yongdam, with smoke curling from tabletop grills and laughter rising above the clatter of soju glasses and sizzling pork, time seemed to finally... slow down.
Maybe it was Jeju—the island had a way of softening edges.
No endless traffic. No harsh studio clocks.
Just the sound of waves in the distance, and the gentle rhythm of a place that asked nothing more than for you to be.
Or maybe it was Jihoon.
From the moment production began, his quiet, almost rebellious way of running things—casual, yet efficient—had reminded everyone that there was a different way to create.
That art didn't always have to come from pressure and exhaustion. That stories could be born not just from struggle, but from stillness too.
Around the table, people from different worlds—different companies, even different generations—shared food, drink, and the rare gift of genuine connection.
Perhaps life wasn't meant to be devoured like fast food.
Maybe it was more like a glass of makgeolli: it starts with a fizzy thrill, then comes the sharp tang of hardship—unexpected, bracing. But if you sit with it long enough, if you let it linger, you start to taste the sweetness buried deep inside.
Maybe, that was the real flavor of life. Not the rush. Not the chase.
And maybe, just maybe, that's why Jihoon had been given a second chance—not to chase life at full speed, but to slow down… and brew his own makgeolli, one mindful, deliberate sip at a time.
[Happy Sunday Guys!]
Just want to add the content above to let those corprate slave out there to slow things down a bit! Either way!
And if you're enjoying the book, please consider adding it to your collection and leaving a comment. Your support really encourages me to keep on writing!
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]