The wind at the peak of the hill was fierce enough to tear the breath straight out of my lungs, but as I stood there holding the heavy baskets, I couldn't deny the sheer aesthetic layout of the horizon.
I dropped the packages onto the grass, pulled out my thin Samsung phone, and snapped a panoramic shot of the view.
I opened our H-Wnot group chat and dropped the photo into the stream.
The response was almost instantaneous.
Jin-hyun [5:48 PM]: [Image Attached] The photo showed him standing behind a high-end pioneer mixing deck inside a dark, strobe-lit room. He was wearing his crimson Hanyeong blazer over a black tee, headphones slung around his neck, looking intensely cool.
Jin-hyun [5:49 PM]: "Live tracking from the Hanyeong experimental electronic lab. Jeju looks quiet, Mountain. Want me to drop a baseline?"
I stared at the screen, running a hand through my messy hair, which was still a little wet, either because of the shower or my sweat, I couldn't tell. Hanyeong really was a different breed of school. While Kirin focused on commercial perfection of conservatism, the red-blazer fortress below the hill spent its budget on underground indie labs and experimental DJ clubs. I couldn't help but wonder if, in the future, Jin-hyun wouldn't just be the anchor of our rhythm section, but a global electronic icon. A Korean David Guetta with a silver fringe.
Before I could type a reply, another notification popped up.
Leo [5:50 PM]: [Image Attached] I opened it and blinked in total disbelief. The freshman prodigy was sitting on a plush leather sofa inside a neon-pink karaoke room, holding a wireless microphone in one hand and a half-eaten skewer of rice cakes in the other. There were his classmates around.
Leo [5:50 PM]: "The local coin-noraebang near my district has excellent acoustic monitors. We should go here, Hyung. I bet you'll like it."
I stared at the text, letting out a sharp, silent chuckle.
'Wait, isn't that kid supposed to be locked in his room studying for his intensive Korean language proficiency test on Monday?' I thought, thoroughly amused. Then the reality of my own calendar hit my brain. 'Well... I literally have a massive Korean History exam waiting for me on Monday morning with Ms. Choi, and here I am standing on top of a mountain carrying raw short ribs. Ahjahahah, the hypocrisy is real.'
I waited for another thirty seconds, observing the chat screen. The gray text remained quiet. Neither Jun-seo nor Myung-dae answered the thread.
My notifications tab showed a separate, glowing icon from Lee Sora. I stared at her name for a second, my chest doing a slight, nervous twist as the memory of the Hongdae slow dance flashed in my head. I intentionally didn't open the chat. I'll answer her later, I decided, my face heating up. When I'm not currently being hunted by my foster sister.
I pulled up the hilltop photo again, intending to send it to the "DVIR GANG" chat back in Ukraine to show Danylo the volcanic coast, but I paused. Why not just post it on Instagram? I hadn't updated my personal profile in ages. I wasn't exactly the type of person to actively maintain or follow the trends of a curated social media aesthetic, but looking at the violent gold light hitting the waves... well, I was a seventeen-year-old teenager after all. A little bit of long-distance flexing was legally mandatory.
Bzzt.
A primary notification dropped from a separate thread. That was H-Wnot chat again.
It was a message from Myung-dae.
The attached image showed the dark, gray interior of some training room back at Kirin, probably. The afternoon sun was hitting the trophy cases and medals on the shelves, which were similar to those at our Band Club room, and sitting around the low table were the exact same rebel faces from the sports wing—the Taekwondo jocks and the swimmers. They were surrounded by heavy amplifiers and wires.
Myung-dae had left a single, flat comment under the photo:
Myung-dae[5:52 PM]: "Dogs don't interrupt my rehearsals."
A loud chuckle escaped my lips. I expected absolutely nothing less from the Prince of Darkness. Don't tell me they are planning another massive, unauthorized performance stunt like the EXO 'MAMA' staircase raid for the winter transition? I smiled to myself, replying with a quick, simple "ha-ha."
The principal was definitely going to pop a vein before the holidays.
I hoisted the heavy, beast-like picnic baskets back onto my shoulders and started the long trail down the stone steps. It took me exactly ten minutes of careful navigation to reach the flat sand of the beach cove, the sound of the crashing waves growing thunderous.
The setup was already immaculate. The traditional grandmothers had arranged a long wooden table on the black sand, surrounded by heavy blankets. In the center, a deep brick pit held a mound of glowing, crimson charcoal, the raw heat radiating through the cool ocean breeze. Only a few side dishes were missing from the layout.
Mrs. Lee looked up from arranging the porcelain bowls, her anchor-sharp eyes locking onto my flushed face.
"San-gun? Where on earth have you been?"
I shot a dark, highly suspicious glare across the fire pit. Ha-neul was sitting gracefully on a blanket, her posture perfect, completely ignoring my existence while her jaw rhythmically worked through a crisp slice of raw carrot. She looked like the most innocent bunny on Jeju Island.
"Nowhere, Eomeonim," I muttered, setting the heavy baskets down with a dull thud. "Just... got lost a little near the vertical steps. The geography was complex."
"Finally you are here!" Ji-hoon's loud voice boomed from the edge of the pit. He had abandoned his prosecutor suit for a heavy winter sweater, his long legs stretched out toward the heat. He shot me a desperate look. "Come faster, Mountain! Bring the marinated meat out of your left basket. I am legally starving."
As I knelt down to open the latch, I looked closely at Ji-hoon's face. In the flickering light of the red charcoal, his dark, intelligent eyes looked exactly like Grandfather Kim's—the same sharp, analytical baseline of the Jeju bloodline.
The beach was alive with motion.
Mr. Lee was happily adjusting the grill plates, Grandma was shouting instructions from the prep cooler, and everyone was intensely passionate about the execution of the family barbecue. I stood there clumsily, my hands empty, feeling a little bit awkward sitting without any designated manual labor.
I stepped toward the grill, trying to look helpful.
"Abeonim, let me slice the garlic—"
"Ya! San-gun!" Mr. Lee scolded playfully, waving his tongs at my chest. "Just sit down and wait! You carried the crates during Kimjang, your muscle protocol is finished for the day. Relax!"
I surrendered, sliding onto the blanket across from Ha-neul. For the next twenty minutes, I watched the family operate like a synchronized machine. Even Ha-neul was passionately, aggressively chewing on her carrot pieces, her eyes fixed on the sizzling short ribs.
Exactly twenty minutes later, the food was ready. The table was loaded with steaming rice, fresh kimchi, and rows of perfectly charred hanwoo beef.
But as I reached for my chopsticks, my eyes locked onto the glassware set beside my plate.
Strangely... sitting right next to my water cup was a tiny, clear, traditional glass. And an identical one was sitting right in front of Ha-neul. The adults were already raising their own green bottles, Grandfather Kim's eyes sparkling with excitment.
The Jeju winter dinner had oficially begun.