Unexpected Generosity

The ingredients, more plentiful than anticipated, seemed like they might just stretch until tomorrow morning. However, with five young men in their early twenties, all possessing healthy appetites, it was ludicrous to conserve any further. Unless they intended to starve for the remaining three days, action was imperative.

But fishing? That was the proposed solution.

“I don’t really eat seafood.”

My casual murmur drew Yoon Jihyuk’s attention.

Choi Seung-beom heaved a heavy sigh, then pushed himself up, grabbing a bucket. It seemed he was of the mind that if something absolutely had to be done, it was best to get it over with swiftly.

“Let’s go. Fishing.”

“Have you ever fished before?”

“No… but, well, it’ll work out somehow.”

Before any further debate could spark about who would undertake the task, Yoon Jihyuk rose, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Yohan and I will handle the cleanup here, so would you two mind going yourselves?”

“Alright, then.”

No one offered any real resistance. Han Doyoung, however, couldn’t help but badger the camera crew trailing them, asking, “What if we don’t catch a single thing? Are you seriously going to starve us? Really?” Lee Seon, conversely, appeared somewhat thrilled by the novelty of the task. Only Choi Seung-beom’s completely unperturbed demeanor struck me as a little odd.

He almost seemed like a permanent resident of the island.

Chuckling at the fleeting thought, I watched as they soon vanished from view.

“Well, it’s time for us to get to work.”

Yoon Jihyuk stood, dusting off his hands, and carried the pot away. He knelt by the sink, preparing to wash the dishes. It appeared he hadn’t intended for me to help with this task, as he deftly pulled on the rubber gloves himself.

“Yohan! Just bring the dishes over here!”

He scrubbed the pot with gusto, calling out. Since the plates had been scraped clean, leaving no food waste, it was easy enough to carry them over.

Once all the dishes had been moved to the sink, he asked me to organize the remaining ingredients. Heading over to the platform where Choi Seung-beom and Lee Seon had done their prep, I found they had already tidied up as they cooked, leaving virtually nothing for me to do. Ultimately, with no tasks assigned, I found myself aimlessly hovering, simply watching the back of Yoon Jihyuk’s head.

Having dispatched the very last dish, Yoon Jihyuk peeled off his rubber gloves and settled onto the platform. He then patted the spot beside him with his palm, an unspoken invitation for me to join him.

“We’ll have to light the fire again tonight.”

We sat side by side, our gazes fixed on the slowly dying embers of the brazier.

“It’s likely only fish they’ll catch, but what will we do since you can’t eat seafood?”

Fatigue laced his languid, almost drained voice. The question itself dropped off at the end, sounding more like a musing to himself than an actual inquiry. Had that same mellow temperature settled upon me? I found myself murmuring in a similar, subdued tone.

“I suppose so…”

Perhaps it was the unusually bright weather, but strangely, no anxiety stirred within me. Despite the cameras and crew before us, the serene and tranquil atmosphere allowed my body to unwind, as if I had truly come here for a restful escape.

Reflecting upon it, I realized I hadn’t truly rested since becoming a trainee. Having never ventured beyond the city’s confines, this unfamiliar air proved to be a pleasantly stimulating change.

After a long spell of silently observing the brazier, just as the last embers flickered, Yoon Jihyuk tapped the platform with his index finger. I turned my head at the gentle summons, meeting his smiling gaze.

“If we just sit here, we won’t get any screen time. How about a walk?”

From his pants pocket, he produced two ten-thousand-won bills and a credit card.

“I brought these just in case, but this island seems to have fewer people than I expected, so I’m not sure if there’ll be any shops. Let’s look for one. You can’t just starve, can you?”

‘This man… wearing such an innocent, lamb-like expression, yet he was fully prepared to break the rules.’

Expecting a situation that would generate good screen time, the staff didn’t bother to intervene. Even when told they’d have to undergo another item inspection later, Yoon Jihyuk merely smiled nonchalantly.

We walked along the narrow path. Sometimes side-by-side, and when the path grew too narrow, we walked in single file. The flat, discernible stretches of path often broke off, forcing us to traverse areas overgrown with bushes. We followed the faint tracks left by the island’s current residents and those who would never return, across places that were never meant to be formal roads.

The irregularly spaced roofs were uniformly low, and nameless flowers bloomed everywhere. The crisp, clean air offered no hint of stuffiness, making it easier to breathe than usual—though this might just have been a trick of my mind.

Only the scattered utility poles and solar panels served as reminders that this island, which felt so disconnected from the world, was a real place. With each new vista, Yoon Jihyuk let out exclamations of pure wonder.

“It’s so beautiful.”

‘The weather must be amazing. There isn’t a single cloud.’ Just as Yoon Jihyuk, whose slow, languid voice made me feel like drifting off to sleep, seemed to realize that simple expressions of appreciation for the scenery were no longer enough to fill the conversational gaps, we arrived at a white lighthouse.

The lighthouse keeper, who had been standing outside, noticed us and his eyes widened.

“What are young folks like you doing all the way out here…?”

Then he spotted the production crew trailing behind us and let out an “Ah!” of recognition.

“Right. They said something about filming.”

The lighthouse keeper scratched the back of his head and guided us up the lighthouse tower. Unlike its clean exterior of white walls and a blue roof, the stairs inside bore the indelible marks of time. I wondered if there was any point in climbing these stairs when there seemed to be nothing specific to see inside. Despite my doubts, I ascended to the top.

An emerald sea unfolded before my eyes.

“Wow.”

The exclamation escaped me naturally. Yoon Jihyuk, his eyes sparkling, gazed at the same breathtaking view.

He then stepped back, widening the distance between us, and framed me within a small rectangle formed by his thumbs and forefingers. He even closed one eye, as if truly taking a photograph.

“It suits you well, Yohan.”

His excited tone, expressing regret at not bringing a camera and suggesting a photoshoot by the sea later, felt peculiar somehow.

The way he spoke, as if our long-term collaboration was an absolute given.

Leaning against the railing, he glanced at the camera and then asked, “How have things been lately?”

For a moment, the thought that all his kind gestures since our arrival on the island might not have been genuine strongly dominated my mind. I quickly suppressed the confusion, asking, “Pardon?” in a clipped tone.

“You joined us a little late, so it felt a bit awkward, but now it seems like you’ve really settled in. You’re expressing your opinions more these days, and you’re leaning on us too.”

‘I really like that.’ His drawn-out, languid words lingered persistently in my ears.

“If you ever face difficulties or hardships in the future, I hope you’ll tell us instead of struggling alone. Understood?”

With that, he gently stroked my hair, as if addressing a younger sibling. The stares of the staff, agonizing over how to capture this scene more movingly, and the camera lens’s movements, seeming to lick at us, felt palpable on my skin.

What kind of answer should I give in such a situation? After a moment of deliberation, I finally managed to speak.

“Hyung.”

My voice was strangely hoarse. I cleared my throat a couple of times and continued.

“I’m glad you’re the Leader.”

These were words I’d probably wanted to say to someone I’d known longer than Yoon Jihyuk. Words I’d kept inside for a long time but hadn’t properly conveyed. The person before me seemed quite surprised by this, stiffening for a moment. I knew instinctively that his reaction, at least, wasn’t for the broadcast.

“Right,” he murmured to himself, blinking rapidly. He looked a little flustered.

“But what if we can’t find a store even after coming all this way?”

Yoon Jihyuk changed the subject very unnaturally. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“What does it matter? We saw something beautiful instead.”

“That’s true. Shall we come again with the others tomorrow?”

The lighthouse keeper, who had been observing us from among the staff, stepped forward and interjected.

“Oh dear. Were you looking for a store? Of course, there aren’t any, my young friends. A store only thrives if there are enough people to spend money.”

At his words, the staff chuckled knowingly. These people knew all along but just let us wander around, didn’t they? It was absurd.

“The talk about nearly fifty people living here is from the old days. Nowadays, there are only about thirty left. There were few to begin with, so how could anyone run a business here? This place will soon become unmanned. Because no one visits.”

His words lingered in my mind like a burr. ‘Does that mean something without visitors has no value?’ I was someone who knew how to read the atmosphere, so I held back the question that suddenly came to mind.

Yoon Jihyuk had already regained his usual composure and asked the lighthouse keeper brightly, “But you must have some groceries stocked up, right? Even without a store, you’d probably hoard something every time you go to the mainland.”

The lighthouse keeper replied, a bit taken aback, “Uh, yeah, I do.”

“We’ll pay extra, so could you share a little with us? He can’t eat seafood, so he’s going to starve for a few days.”

Yoon Jihyuk said this casually, grabbing my hand and lifting it. The lighthouse keeper scratched his cheek, pondered for a moment, then grumbled, “There’s not much, so don’t get your hopes up,” and gestured for us to follow.

As we walked in a line, the staff whispered among themselves.

“Shouldn’t we stop them?”

“Ah, but we can’t let him starve, can we? Especially since he’s not feeling well.”

Our steps led to the lighthouse keeper’s residence, not far from the tower. He muttered something as he went inside, then emerged with a rubber basin filled with various items.

There was a bit of napa cabbage, canned ham, some dried shredded squid that had clearly been opened, and snacks like hardtack and rice crackers. Frozen dumplings and a few eggs also prominently occupied space.

“It’s just me living alone, so this is all I have.”

Yoon Jihyuk, receiving the basin with an embarrassed expression, pulled out bills from his pocket and tried to hand them over. The lighthouse keeper made a face and waved him off.

“Put it away. Put it away. Buy some ice cream when you go to the mainland.”

‘It’s nice to see young people for a change, after always seeing old folks.’ Despite his words, the elderly man’s face was filled with evident affection for the island.

We didn’t refuse, bowing respectfully before heading back the way we came.