Alpha Culinary Love Chapter 206 The Pigeon Apocalypse

Jiyeon was already teetering on the brink of exhaustion when Kang made his grand entrance into the kitchen. He waltzed in with an aura of mischief that should have been illegal at that hour, especially after the chaos of the dinner rush. Jiyeon didn't even have the energy to scold him—though that was her usual instinct. Instead, she shot him a withering glare, which, disappointingly, had zero impact.

Kang, as always, was blissfully immune to common sense.

"Chef!" he announced, like a court jester on a caffeine high. "You'll be thrilled to hear that I have a revolutionary new idea for the restaurant."

Jiyeon's eyebrow twitched. "Unless it involves massaging the stress out of my shoulders, filing my taxes, or suddenly solving world hunger, I don't want to hear it."

Kang ignored the warning signs. He set down a small, covered platter with a flourish that would have made a stage magician jealous. "Behold! My newest creation. I call it 'Apocalypse Pâté.'"

Jiyeon pinched the bridge of her nose. "God, give strength," she muttered. "Or at least a legally sanctioned way to commit arson."

Yura, who was sipping on her fourth glass of wine from the safety of the observation corner, perked up at the ntion of arson. "Oh, this sounds promising. Proceed, Kang. If this results in an explosion, I want a front-row seat."

"Traitor," Jiyeon mumbled under her breath, shooting her wife a betrayed look.

Yura's smile was pure, unrepentant wickedness. "Hey, you married . There are no refunds or returns."

Kang, anwhile, was practically vibrating with excitent. "Close your eyes and prepare to be transported to a post-apocalyptic paradise, where flavor reigns supre."

"Post-apocalyptic paradise?" Jiyeon deadpanned. "Is that just a fancy way of saying 'this dish will make you wish for death'?"

Kang lifted the cloche with a dramatic flourish, revealing what looked like pâté. But nestled alongside it was… a cluster of artfully arranged pigeon feathers. Jiyeon's jaw dropped, and for a solid five seconds, she was too stunned to react.

"Oh. My. God." Jiyeon's voice trembled, not with awe, but with barely restrained homicidal rage. "Kang, you absolute imbecile. Are those pigeon feathers?"

Kang bead like he'd just presented the cure for all earthly ills. "Yes! Isn't it inspired? It's a statent about the resilience of flavor in a post-avian-apocalyptic world."

Yura nearly choked on her wine. "A post-avian-apocalyptic world? Kang, are you on hallucinogens? Because that is the only explanation I will accept."

Jiyeon, on the other hand, was seconds away from grabbing a frying pan and testing its aerodynamic properties. "Kang, for the love of every Michelin star in existence, you cannot serve pigeon feathers as garnish. What if soone chokes? What if we get sued by the Avian Rights League? What if I finally snap and murder you, thus ending your reign of terror?"

Kang waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, Chef. They're purely decorative. Besides, I've already tested the dish on myself."

"Wait," Jiyeon said, eyes narrowing. "You ate this?"

"Of course," Kang said, unbothered. "I an, I didn't eat the feathers. I'm not a maniac."

"That's debatable," Jiyeon shot back.

Yura set her wine glass down and leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tell , Kang. Did the 'Apocalypse Pâté' give you any profound visions? Like, perhaps, your own funeral?"

Kang looked thoughtful. "Well, I did have a minor hallucination where the pigeons banded together and chased off a cliff. But I think that was just the adrenaline."

Jiyeon turned to Yura. "Are we allowed to declare him legally insane? Is that a thing?"

Yura tapped her chin, pretending to consider it. "Probably not without paperwork. But we could lock him in the pantry and claim it was for 'culinary research.'"

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Kang, still unfazed, clapped his hands together. "So, are we adding 'Apocalypse Pâté' to the nu, or do I need to tone it down? I'm open to constructive criticism."

Jiyeon exhaled slowly, counting to ten to avoid strangling him. "Kang, let put this as constructively as possible: If you even think about serving that in my restaurant, I will feed you to the pigeons myself. Do I make myself clear?"

Kang sighed, like a misunderstood artist. "Crystal, Chef. But you're stifling my creative genius, just so you know."

"Good," Jiyeon said, crossing her arms. "Keep that genius stifled, where it can't hurt anyone."

Kang slunk away from Jiyeon's line of fire, looking as dejected as a rejected contestant on a cooking show. He mumbled sothing about "unappreciated brilliance," but Jiyeon ignored him, focusing instead on the next task: making sure Kang didn't set anything on fire with his next bout of "creative inspiration."

Yura took another sip of her wine, clearly enjoying the chaos as if she were watching a live-action sitcom. "Well, Jiyeon," she drawled, "if it's any consolation, your stress level is highly entertaining for the rest of us."

Jiyeon shot her wife a glare that could have curdled milk. "You're supposed to be my support system, not the audience laughing at my misery."

Yura raised an eyebrow. "Correction: I'm both. I support you and derive amusent from your suffering. It's called multitasking, love."

Before Jiyeon could respond, a loud clatter echoed from the pantry, followed by a muffled "Oops." Jiyeon's eye twitched again, her patience thinning faster than a cheap chef's knife. "Kang, if you've broken anything—"

Kang popped his head out of the pantry, holding a suspiciously tilted jar of pickled radishes. "It's fine, Chef! Just a minor—um—displacent of items."

"Displacent?" Jiyeon repeated, voice rising in disbelief. "Did you rearrange the pantry or summon a tornado in there?"

Kang gave a sheepish grin. "Depends on your perspective."

Jiyeon groaned, massaging her temples. "This is why I drink."

Yura, ever the instigator, offered Jiyeon her wine glass. "Want a sip? Or the whole bottle? You look like you could use it."

Jiyeon waved the offer away. "No, thanks. If I start drinking now, I'll never stop, and then we'll have a whole other problem."

Yura shrugged. "Suit yourself. But watching Kang's antics sober is a choice, and not a wise one."

Kang erged from the pantry, this ti with a jar of sothing that looked suspiciously gelatinous. "Chef, I had another idea! Hear out: 'Pickled Chaos Jelly.' It's avant-garde, it's bold, and—"

"No," Jiyeon said flatly.

"But—"

"Absolutely not."

Kang slumped. "You never even let finish."

"That's because I value my sanity," Jiyeon retorted. "And our custors' taste buds."

Kang pouted, clutching the jar like a child with a forbidden toy. "Fine. But one day, the world will recognize my genius."

Yura snorted. "The sa day pigeons learn to tap-dance and pigs take up synchronized swimming."

Jiyeon finally cracked a smile, despite herself. "Thank you, Yura. As always, your unending sarcasm is the glue that holds this circus together."

Yura gave a mock bow. "At your service, my dear."

Before the banter could escalate into a full-on roast, the door to the kitchen swung open, and in walked Min-Seo, Yura's mother, looking effortlessly elegant and entirely out of place in the chaos that was Flavor of Seoul's kitchen. She wore a perfectly tailored pastel pantsuit, her hair swept into a graceful chignon. The contrast between her serene presence and the culinary bedlam was almost comical.

"Oh dear," Min-Seo said, taking in the scene with a bemused smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting sothing… explosive?"

Jiyeon straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron. "Min-Seo! No explosions, just… mildly contained disasters."

Yura leaned back in her chair, a grin spreading across her face. "Mother, you've arrived just in ti to witness Kang's newest atrocity: 'Pickled Chaos Jelly.' It's about as edible as it sounds."

Min-Seo's eyes widened with polite concern. "Oh dear. That does sound… intriguing?"

Kang's expression lit up, taking Min-Seo's comnt as a complint. "See? Soone appreciates innovation!"

Jiyeon interjected swiftly. "She's being diplomatic, Kang. That's her polite way of saying, 'Please don't poison .'"

Min-Seo chuckled, but her gaze softened as it landed on Jiyeon. "Actually, I ca to speak with you, Jiyeon. I noticed you haven't been getting much rest lately. Your father and I worry, you know."

Jiyeon felt her heart warm at Min-Seo's concern. The older woman had always treated her with kindness, like family, even when Jiyeon felt like she barely had a grasp on the whirlwind that was her life. "I'm fine, really," Jiyeon assured her. "Just a few late nights. Nothing I can't handle."

Min-Seo tilted her head, a knowing look in her eyes. "Even the strongest need rest. And from what I hear, you've been juggling quite a lot."

Yura, ever the pot-stirrer, chid in. "She has. Kang's been doing his best to accelerate her inevitable breakdown."

"Hey!" Kang protested. "I contribute in positive ways too!"

Jiyeon snorted. "Sure. You contribute to my therapy bills."

Min-Seo stepped forward, her presence calming the room. "How about this: Jiyeon, you co over to our place for dinner tomorrow. Let soone else take care of you for once."

Jiyeon opened her mouth to protest, but Min-Seo's gentle yet unyielding expression left no room for argunt. "I… that sounds wonderful. Thank you."

Min-Seo smiled, satisfied. "It's settled then. And Kang?"

"Yes, ma'am?" Kang stood up straighter, as if bracing for an order.

"Try to make sure the restaurant doesn't descend into chaos while Jiyeon is away, hmm?"

Kang's face fell. "I'll try. No promises, though."

Jiyeon sighed. "Min-Seo, you're asking for a miracle."

Yura laughed, standing up and wrapping an arm around Jiyeon's waist. "A miracle indeed. But in this kitchen, miracles are in short supply."

The laughter that followed was warm and genuine, a brief reprieve from the relentless whirlwind that was Flavor of Seoul. And though Jiyeon knew the chaos would resu the mont Min-Seo left, she also knew she had a family—an odd, sotis infuriating family—who had her back.

As the evening wound down and the kitchen slowly returned to sothing resembling order, Jiyeon found herself smiling. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. Even if Kang's "Apocalypse Pâté" continued to haunt her nightmares.