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The expansive kitchen of the Kim Dokja Company house (that they all promised to live in after the scenarios ended, right?) was usually treated with the same reverence as an SSS-grade scenario zone.
It was Yoo Joonghyuk’s absolute domain, and whoever dared enter without permission risked facing the business end of the Dark Heavenly Demon Sword, or worse, being banned from eating dinner.
Which was why the current situation was causing a minor disaster for everyone involved.
Yoo Joonghyuk was sitting at the kitchen island, wrapped in a blanket that Han Sooyoung had violently forced upon him. He looked like an brooding mountain of fleece. The indomitable Protagonist had succumbed to a fever. He couldn't smell. He couldn't taste. He was basically a culinary master stripped of his skills.
"I am fine," Joonghyuk rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. He made a move to stand, but a pale hand immediately clamped down on his shoulder.
"You are not fine, you sunfish bastard," Kim Dokja replied without much hesitation since the guy was too sick to do anything to him now. He adjusted the collar of his black turtleneck, looking less like a life and death companion and more like a mad scientist about to attempt god tier alchemy. "You haven't eaten in twenty-four hours. If your health drops, who’s going to carry us and all our expenses? You still have games to stream, you know?"
From the doorway, Han Sooyoung paused midway through biting an apple. Her eyes widened in genuine, unadulterated horror and she dropped the apple. It even landed with a comical thud on the floor.
"Kim Dokja, step away from the stove. I am warning you as a friend and a writer, and oh, it seems that my Predictive Plagiarism skill has suddenly come back - DO NOT TOUCH THE GAS."
"Relax," Dokja smiled that breezy, infuriatingly calm smile that usually meant a he was ready to self sacrifice again. "How hard can it be? You just apply heat to ingredients. I’ve watched Joonghyuk do it a thousand times. I’m a fast learner."
"Ajhussi's going to kill us," Shin Yoosung whispered from behind Sooyoung’s coat, clutching Lee Gilyoung’s arm.
"Should we call Huiwon-unni?" Gilyoung muttered back, staring at Dokja who was grabbing a pot and slapped it on the stove.
He ignored the peanut gallery, tying a pink frilly apron (a prank gift from Uriel that Joonghyuk refused to even touch) around his waist. He then turned to the refrigerator with an air of absolute authority.
If there was one thing Kim Dokja possessed, it was a big misunderstanding of his own household capabilities. In his mind, he had survived on convenience store ramyeon and triangular kimbap for over a decade and therefore he understood the fundamental essence of sustenance. He decided on a simple soup.
Comfort food, he thought proudly. Easy to digest.
...What followed was a tragedy.
First, the knife work - Dokja grabbed a chef’s knife, attempting to mimic Joonghyuk’s lightning-fast, rhythmic chopping. It resulted in large, violently uneven chunks of green onion and radish flying across the counter. One piece of radish launched flat onto the counter facing Joonghyuk.
Joonghyuk didn't even blink. He was too tired and too sick to care. He just stared blankly ahead, his glazed eyes tracking Dokja’s chaotic movements with grim resignation.
Next came the seasoning, and because Dokja couldn't find the standard soup soy sauce, he boldly decided to improvise. "A balance of flavors," he recalled reading somewhere. He grabbed a bottle of dark liquid, a jar of what looked like crushed red pepper (ghost pepper flakes...), and a generous scoop of white powder he assumed was salt (It was baking soda).
The kitchen air quickly turned into a chemical weapon.
Han Sooyoung gagged, coughing violently as she dragged the kids backward into the hallway. "That’s it! We’re evacuating! The ugly squid initiated a hidden scenario that tests our survival skills so we are OUT!" The door slammed shut behind them, leaving only Dokja and Joonghyuk in the room.
Dokja, completely immune to his own disaster only due to his sheer focus, stirred the bubbling, strangely purple concoction. It was thick and emitted a faint, ominous hiss. But to Dokja’s untrained eyes, the fact that it was hot meant it was a success.
He ladled the purple sludge into a white ceramic bowl, carefully wiping the rim with a paper towel for "presentation." He carried it over to the island and set it down in front of Joonghyuk with a proud grin.
"Eat up, Joonghyuk-ah," Dokja said, leaning his chin on his hands ans looking at Joonghyuk with a soft warmth. "It’ll make you feel better."
Joonghyuk looked down at the bowl. The soup was quite literally staring back at him. A single jagged piece of radish floated to the surface. If he had his sense of smell back, he probably would have used his regression turn right then and there just to escape this awful meal.
He looked up at Kim Dokja. Dokja’s eyes were bright, devoid of his usual calculating malice or hidden plans. He just looked genuinely happy to be taking care of him for once. It was a look Joonghyuk rarely saw on the man who was always throwing himself into danger to save everyone else.
And so Joonghyuk picked up the spoon, dipped it into the sludge whose consistency was close to wet cement, and lifted it to his mouth and swallowed.
The baking soda immediately caused a strange, fizzing reaction on his tongue, while the ghost pepper flakes, completely unhindered by his lack of taste, began to actively burn his esophagus on a purely physical level. It was, objectively, a disaster.
"How is it?" Dokja asked, his voice practically vibrating with anticipation. "Good, right? I think I really nailed the broth."
Joonghyuk swallowed the foaming mass. He kept his expression perfectly flat, a masterclass in stoicism honed over hundreds of regressions.
"It is hot," Joonghyuk said evenly.
"See? I told Sooyoung I could do it," Dokja chuckled a soft, relieved sound. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from Joonghyuk’s heated forehead. "You always cook for us, so you should just sit back and let yourself be taken care of sometimes, Joonghyuk-ah."
Joonghyuk froze slightly at the touch, the warmth of Dokja’s hand a sharp contrast to the chaotic fire burning in his stomach. He looked back down at the bowl that he could have easily thrown away. He could tell Dokja the truth... that he had created a weapon of mass destruction.
Instead, Joonghyuk took another spoonful... And then another... He ate the entire bowl. He chewed the giant raw chunks of radish. He swallowed the fizzy, spicy purple broth, and he did it all without a single complaint, keeping his gaze fixed on the proud smile expanding across Kim Dokja’s face.
By the time the bowl was empty, Joonghyuk’s internal organs were practically withering away, but his feverish skin felt slightly cooler.
"Wow, you were really hungry," Dokja said, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he took the empty bowl away. "Don't worry, there’s a whole pot left. I can make you breakfast tomorrow, too."
Joonghyuk’s left eye twitched slightly. The flu would definitely wear off by tomorrow morning, and with it, his taste buds would return. The thought of tasting that specific concoction while fully conscious every day would be the most terrifying threat he would face after the scenarios.
Before Dokja could turn back to the stove, Joonghyuk reached out from beneath his blanket and grabbed Dokja’s wrist. His grip wasn't tight but it was unyielding.
"No," Joonghyuk said, his voice dropping an octave. "No need."
"No? But you liked it - "
"One meal is enough," Joonghyuk interrupted, slightly pulling on Dokja’s wrist until the smaller man was forced to sit on the stool next to him. Joonghyuk let go of the wrist, only to shift his hand up, his large, warm palm cupping the back of Dokja’s neck, pulling him just a fraction closer. "Stay. You have done enough."
Dokja blinked, his face flushing a faint pink almost invisible. He cleared his throat, suddenly finding the countertop very interesting. "Right. Well. Rest is important too. I suppose I can let you sleep."
"...Sleep here," Joonghyuk said, leaning his heavy, blanket-wrapped shoulder against Dokja’s side. The sheer weight of the protagonist was comforting, a solid anchor in a world that was constantly trying to tear them apart.
Dokja sighed, a soft, fond sound, and relaxed into the hold, letting his head rest against Joonghyuk’s shoulder. "Fine, fine. But only because you’re a patient."
In the quiet kitchen surrounded by the faint scent of burnt radish and chemicals, the protagonist and the sole reader drifted off to sleep... one completely satisfied with his culinary genius, and the other silently praying his stomach lining would regenerate before sunrise.
In a mere hour, the sunfish had quickly recovered. (The ghost pepper and baking soda probably scared the fever away.)
He woke up to the sensation of his taste buds returning to life, which was a relief, though his stomach was still staging a protest over the culinary assault. Beside him, Kim Dokja was still sound asleep with his face buried in the edge of Joonghyuk’s fleece blanket.
Quietly, so as not to wake the reader, Joonghyuk got up. He casted a grim glance at the kitchen that looked like a war zone with radish shrapnel decorating the countertops, a fine layer of white baking soda dusting the floor, and the sink was piled high with scorched utensils.
With the stoic face of a man who had survived 1863 regressions, Joonghyuk rolled up his sleeves and began to clean. By the time Dokja finally blinked his eyes open, groggy and disoriented, Joonghyuk had already scrubbed the counters and swept the floor squeaky clean.
"Joonghyuk-ah...?" Dokja mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "You're up? Already? Are you feeling better?"
"I am recovered," Joonghyuk said shortly, though his gaze softened just a fraction as he handed Dokja a glass of water. "Sit. Do not touch anything."
"I can help clean," Dokja offered, instantly defensive. "I'm the one who cooked, after all."
Joonghyuk physically blocked his path to the sink, stepping in front of him. "No."
Before they could argue further, the front door clicked open. The rest of the Kim Dokja Company shuffled in, led by Han Sooyoung who was carrying three massive plastic bags that wafted the glorious yet unmistakable scent of Chinese takeout.
"We brought black bean noodles and Murim dumplings," Han Sooyoung announced, stepping into the kitchen. Then she stopped dead in her tracks and wrinkled her nose. "Why does it still smell like a chemical leak in here?"
Her eyes immediately locked onto the stove. There, sitting in the center was the large metal pot. Inside it lay the remaining cold, congealed, deep-purple sludge. It was still faintly bubbling despite the heat being entirely off.
"Ah, you guys are back," Dokja said cheerfully, crossing his arms with immense pride. "You missed out. Joonghyuk was sick, so I made him soup. He ate a whole bowl!"
Silence fell over the room... It was a really heavy and suffocating silence.
"He... what?" Lee Jihye whispered, her eyes darting from the demonic purple pot to her master. She looked entirely horrified, her hands flying to her mouth. "M-Master... I knew you were strong, but I'd think you were going to die from eating something so hideous as...You ate... that?!"
A split second later, Han Sooyoung let out a loud, undignified snort. Then, she absolutely lost it - doubling over and clutching her stomach as hysterical laughter echoed through the kitchen. "He ate it! Oh my god, a bowl of purple sludge forced down the Supreme King's throat! HAHAHAHAH I can't breathe!"
Yoo Sangah stepped up beside her, gently patting her girlfriend's back to keep her from choking on her own laughter.
"Sooyoung-ah, breathe!"
Though she tried to maintain her usual politeness, a highly amused smile broke across Sangah's face. "Well, it's the thought that counts. It was very brave of you, Joonghyuk-ssi."
Lee Gilyoung stared at the pot then looked up at Joonghyuk with a newfound respect. "Maybe the sooty bastard isn't entirely bad," the boy muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "To eat something that horrendous just because Hyung made it..."
"Ajhussi, please promise you will never cook again," Shin Yoosung pleaded, gripping the edge of Dokja’s pants and her eyes wide with genuine concern for the safety of the company. "We love you, Ajhussi, but please, leave the stove alone."
Over by the stove, Jung Huiwon and Lee Hyunsung were standing side by side, studying the pot with the intensity of bomb defusal experts.
"Hyunsung-ssi, what do you think?" Huiwon asked, poking at a piece of burnt radish with a chopstick.
"I've seen military rations left in the sun for three weeks, Huiwon-ssi," Hyunsung said, sounding deeply traumatized. "This is... completely... We might have to throw the whole pot away. The metal itself looks corroded."
Joonghyuk walked over to peer into the pot one last time. Now that his senses were fully restored, the sheer unholy odor of ghost pepper, baking soda, and raw radish hit him with full force. A visible shudder ran down the protagonist’s spine as his jaw clenching tightly.
Dokja frowned, looking at his companions’ dramatic reactions. "Come on, it can't be that bad. You guys are exaggerating. It looked fine last night." He stepped forward, grabbing a clean spoon from the drying rack. "I'll prove it to you."
"Kim Dokja, don't," Joonghyuk warned.
"I'm just going to have a sip, Joonghyuk-ah. I'm the chef, I should know how my own creation - "
Dokja dipped the spoon into the purple abyss, scooped up a generous amount, and popped it into his mouth before anyone could physically tackle him.
Joonghyuk lunged forward with his hand outstretched, but he was a millisecond too late. "You - !"
For a single, agonizing second, Kim Dokja stood perfectly still. His eyes widened. The color instantly drained from his face leaving him a ghostly, translucent white.
The taste hit him like a physical truck. It was a violent assault of aggressive bitterness, a fizzy chemical burning from the baking soda, and a searing apocalyptic heat that immediately choked his throat. It tasted like absolute despair.
Clink.
The spoon clattered to the floor.
Drop.
Kim Dokja also dropped to the floor.
He dropped directly to his knees, his hands slamming onto the kitchen tiles to support himself. Actual genuine tears of pure agony began to sting in the corners of his eyes as he coughed violently, his entire body trembling from the sensory trauma.
"Hyung!!" Lee Gilyoung cried out, instantly dropping to his knees beside him, panicking.
"Ah! Ajhussi, spit it out! Don't swallow it!" Shin Yoosung wailed, hovering over him and frantically fanning his face with her small hands.
Han Sooyoung laughed so hard she fell onto the floor, dragging Yoo Sangah down as well as she pointed a finger at him, weeping tears of joy. "The one and only Demon King of Salvation! Defeated by a single spoonful of his own cooking! Someone write this down! No, I'll write this down!"
Joonghyuk let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh. He walked over, grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and knelt down in front of the struggling reader. He popped the cap and forced the carton into Dokja’s shaking hands.
"I told you," Joonghyuk muttered, his voice low but his hand found its place on the back of Dokja’s neck, gently squeezing to ground him. "Drink."
Dokja chugged the milk like his life depended on it, vowing to never, ever enter the kitchen again.