A Night Above the City

The car moved smoothly through the roads before the evening rush hour hit.

Even when passing over bumps or taking curves, the ride remained steady, making me quietly admire it as I glanced at the back seat.

The executive director, seemingly unaffected by motion, was reviewing documents on his tablet.

After stopping once at a signal near a busy intersection by a large department store, the car passed through the hotel’s main entrance.

The hotel, with its expansive garden, was a place I had once passed by without much thought.

A luxury hotel—the kind I never imagined I’d stay at in my lifetime.

The car curved gently around a large pine tree in the center and stopped at the lobby entrance, where staff were already waiting.

Before I could even move, the manager and employees standing by opened both the front and rear doors.

The executive director gave them a slight nod of thanks and began walking.

I followed behind him awkwardly.

We walked between the staff, passed through the central entrance of the hotel lobby, and crossed the vast carpeted floor.

Glancing up briefly, I saw the ceiling—far higher than I could imagine.

Four or five floors high, perhaps.

At the center of that excessive space hung a chandelier stretching out geometrically.

The best comparison my imagination could manage was sprawling tree branches.

At each end hung large bulbs, catching both their own light and the glow of the sunset streaming through the massive glass windows.

They shimmered softly.

Of course, the rest of the lobby was just as dazzling.

Officially, Executive Director Jung Won-woo held no position in this Hanshin Hotel.

Even so, he occasionally inspected the hotel, the attached department store, and the nearby duty-free shop.

I had heard that this was usually done with Chief Jeon accompanying him.

The businesses were currently overseen by Jung Geonwoo—the same man who had caused a scene earlier that day.

Before that, it had been handled by the director’s third sibling, who had married two years ago.

To the manager and staff bowing before him, the director gave a light smile and waved his hand.

“I heard the renovation is complete, so I came to take a look. I also heard the autumn package is ready.”

“Yes. We had intended to complete the renovation before the summer pool party season… we apologize.”

“That’s not something you need to apologize for. I heard the schedule was delayed due to approvals.”

“No, sir. Please, this way.”

Crossing the large hall, we reached the central elevator, already waiting.

As it ascended rapidly, I thought about the earlier conversation.

It was widely known within the company that Jung Geonwoo’s delayed approval had caused imported luxury materials to sit in customs for an entire season.

As a result, the hotel’s summer vacation season had been completely lost.

Even so, as an older brother, the director only referred to it mildly.

The manager, in turn, accepted the blame without hesitation.

Perhaps that was why Jung Geonwoo grew more reckless by the day.

Entering the restaurant on the seventh floor—the centerpiece of the renovation—I instinctively checked the inside pocket of my jacket.

I still didn’t understand why I was here.

How had Chief Jeon handled this before?

Ahead of me, the director moved through the restaurant, listening to the manager’s explanation without giving any specific instructions.

I had no choice but to follow beside him, maintaining a neutral expression.

“This will be presented as a grill restaurant. The outdoor terrace is decorated with grass and trees, with herbs placed carefully to avoid interfering with the dining aroma. We’ve also prepared private dining rooms in a glass house style.”

“And the menu?”

“We will source ingredients directly. From American prime Angus to Korean Hanwoo, we offer a wide selection.”

“Is that the wine cellar?”

One wall of the restaurant was mostly covered by a semi-transparent black glass door.

It seemed too large for a wine cellar, but the manager responded with enthusiasm.

“Thank you for noticing. It’s a custom-designed cellar, with capacity for around 4,500 bottles.”

“And the autumn package?”

“We’re preparing a fall picnic package, centered around deluxe rooms.”

“Will there be packages linked with wine or this restaurant?”

“We will prepare a program combining dining vouchers and wine.”

Walking a few steps behind, I almost smiled but quickly suppressed it.

“Will prepare” meant it hadn’t been considered yet.

So much for just casually stopping by.

The hotel staff must be scrambling—reporting to a rarely-present director while also dealing with his unpredictable brother.

Still, since he only gave occasional instructions, it wasn’t too bad…

Just as I was thinking that, an unexpected instruction came.

“Can the package be launched immediately?”

“Yes, it can.”

“Include wine. Since we’re here, let’s experience the stay tonight as well.”

“Yes, we’ll prepare it.”

Instead of the manager, I nearly questioned it myself.

Several staff members quietly slipped away while circling the restaurant once.

Their movements were so smooth I hadn’t even noticed when they left.

As it was already dinner time, the manager gestured toward the outdoor terrace.

“Shall we escort you to a private dining room?”

“The package doesn’t include private rooms, does it? We’ll dine here.”

“Understood.”

The table prepared for us was right in the center of the spacious restaurant.

Even so, unlike ordinary restaurants, there was no discomfort from passing guests.

The tables were widely spaced, and the lighting was carefully adjusted to a slightly dim level, creating a relaxed atmosphere.

Large vases and flowers occasionally blocked the view between tables.

That would have been the case—if there were other guests.

The restaurant, cleared for the director, was completely empty.

As he pulled out his chair and sat, he looked up at me.

“Planning to sit beside me?”

“…Pardon?”

“Sit across.”

Only then did I move to the opposite seat and sit down.

It wasn’t a conscious decision—I simply followed his instruction.

Even the staff seemed caught off guard, setting my place a moment later.

As I awkwardly followed their lead with the napkin, he looked over the space again and asked,

“What do you think, Secretary Yoon?”

“I’m not familiar with places like this.”

“These packages are meant for practical consumers. Not regular patrons, but people who visit occasionally—like you said.”

“It feels luxurious, and the spacing between tables is nice.”

I couldn’t really explain how good it was, or how an average customer would feel.

This situation itself was far from practical consumption.

What ordinary person dines in the exact center of an empty restaurant?

It was almost overwhelming.

I could see a sign being placed on the glass door in the distance.

Meanwhile, right in front of me, the director behaved as if this place were his own kitchen.

I was the only one feeling out of place.

The chef personally brought out the Hanwoo beef on a tray, explaining the cuts before taking it back to grill.

In the meantime, the appetizer arrived.

On a wide white plate, raw beef lay beneath what looked like perilla leaves.

The chef explained,

“This is sirloin yukhoe with uni, wasabi, and truffle oil.”

I had no idea how to properly eat it.

After some hesitation, I took small portions with my chopsticks.

The director nodded slightly and asked again,

“How is it?”

“It’s good.”

The flavors in my mouth were overwhelming—none were subtle, yet they somehow worked together.

It required deliberate chewing to understand.

It felt like my tongue was being challenged.

Like it was asking, “Are you serious, putting all these flavors together?”

It was delicious—but also confusing.

At home, even sharing uni was something to divide carefully with my sister.

Then came tataki, shabu-shabu, and various grilled cuts.

The director listened to the explanations, nodded, and ate with refined, effortless manners.

I tried to imitate him.

But in doing so, I couldn’t fully savor even the melting texture of the grilled Hanwoo.

When the meal ended, I stood and followed him out—almost instinctively.

We boarded the elevator immediately, guided by a staff member.

Would regular package guests receive this level of service?

I wondered, but didn’t want to make the staff uncomfortable by asking.

So when the director asked again, I simply smiled and said it seemed good.

The next stop was the swimming pool.

Located on the 40th floor, the top level, it had been remodeled into a sky garden for relaxation, with upgraded lanes, a jacuzzi, and a heated pool.

The indoor pool had only a few guests.

Staff politely asked for their understanding, and our group moved along the edges to avoid disturbance before stepping into the sky garden.

Outside, we were at a height I had never experienced before.

The tops of surrounding buildings rose unevenly beyond the glass railing, and the night sky stretched out with scattered lights.

In the heated pool by the railing, a few people swam and took photos.