𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐀-𝐂𝐇𝐀

Ch.22

The next afternoon, I arrive in front of Dooshik's house, holding a basket of fruit. As I set down the fruit, a part of me hesitates to release the grip on the wine bottle, but I shake my head and reluctantly let go, muttering, "This wine is not easy to let go."

I carefully place the wine down, only to quickly snatch it up again. I glance at the fruit and ask myself, "Will fruit be enough?" I give myself a small slap on the cheek, put the wine back down, and decide to leave.

However, something draws me back, and I find myself kneeling once more. I hug the wine bottle close to my chest, conflicted. "This is killing me," I whisper, reading the spicy, fragrant, and sweet description on the wine label.

Just then, I hear someone calling my name make me shout in shock . I turn to see Chief Hong looking at me, eyebrows raised. I meet his gaze and raise the wine glass, a silent invitation to share a drink.

Upon entering his house, I had anticipated a typical messy bachelor pad, but to my surprise, it was clean, well-organized, and even featured some antique items. My attention was drawn to a wine while he was busy slicing fruits in the kitchen.

"Your place is really nice. I initially thought it might be a stinky bachelor pad," I remarked as I looked around. He chuckled and responded, "Don't judge a book by its cover. That's being prejudiced."

Observing the room further, I inquired, "Why do you have so many books and players?" He explained, "I've collected them, hoping they might be worth something someday." I nodded and quipped, "It may seem fancy, but it's essentially a collection of junk," which elicited a scoff from him.

My attention was suddenly captured by a photograph that I had seen at a studio before. I pointed to the boy in the photo and asked him if it was him. He looked at the picture and nodded. "You were cute here; how sad things have changed," I commented. He sounded offended as he called my name, but his attention shifted to an old man in the room.

"Is he your grandfather?" I inquired. He confirmed, "Yes, he died when I was in middle school." I quickly apologized for the insensitive question and changed the topic by asking about his parents. He shared, "They died when I was six," evoking a sense of sadness for him.

Shifting our focus, he requested me to fetch the glasses, and I complied, placing them on the table. As we sat down, he began eating. Observing the wine, I muttered to myself, "This might be a good wine." I poured myself a drink and also poured some for him.

Noticing his puzzled expression, I explained, "This particular wine is from the Rhone region in southern France. Since it's a vintage, it should be decanted." He looked at me blankly, prompting me to elucidate, "Decanting involves pouring wine into another vessel without disturbing the sediment."

Before I could continue, he cut me off, taking the wine from my hands. "Old wine like this might lose its scent if you decant it. I uncorked it as soon as we got in," he said. I raised an eyebrow and questioned, "Are you well-versed in wine?" He shook his head and replied, "I just picked up something."