In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

“We’ve got a problem.”

Today’s main act is Myeong Se-jin the pâtissier.

She won a survival program and now is showcasing various desserts overseas.

The worst possible situation happened: the person who needs to shine most injured her wrist.

“...”

A cold silence fell in the kitchen.

The crew swept their hands through their hair and darted their eyes, Chef Park Jae-woo held Se-jin’s wrist, worry etched on his face.

“Se-jin, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just a slight sprain so I can still mix the dough... ugh!” 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Se-jin reached out to knead again and groaned in pain.

I asked, “How did this happen...?”

“The orders kept coming in and I panicked. Our stock was running low.”

In her hurry she overexerted and sprained her wrist.

With guilt in her eyes she said, “I’m sorry. I ruined everything... we prepared so much...”

Her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Everyone’s expression was heavy.

Bi-ju and I felt her pain and our hearts ached.

It was like spraining an ankle during rehearsal on the day of your overseas showcase.

The audience is arriving, the choreography is set—everything’s falling apart.

“I’m sorry.”

She sobbed and turned away from the camera to wipe her tears, then steeled herself.

“I’ll do my best to fix this—”

“No,” the PD said.

“I know how you feel, but you can’t push yourself. What if you make it worse?”

“But the broadcast—”

“Do you think viewers will like seeing you in pain? They’ll only complain about overwork.”

Yoo Chang-hyun, reading the room, stepped forward.

“Let’s stop and find a solution. Orders are still pouring in.”

“I’ll handle the main /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ menu,” Chef Park said.

“I’m not as good as Se-jin, but I helped develop it so I can make it to a similar quality. The problem is the other miscellaneous items....”

Everyone’s gaze fell on the finished products: Korean-style glutinous rice donuts filled with red bean or pastry cream, shaved ice topped with toasted soybean powder, cute mini fish-shaped buns and macarons.

Se-jin looked despairing.

“Drinks and shaved ice are easy, but the bread items are the issue. Chef needs to make the main dishes and has no time. At this rate we’ll run out of stock in thirty minutes....”

Silence.

A pâtissier’s job may seem delicate, but it demands strength and skill few possess. Shaping dough and bread quickly requires expertise.

The PD asked, “Does anyone have any baking experience? Se-jin can direct from the side.”

Everyone shook their heads, saying they’d only mess it up.

Bi-ju and I exchanged glances.

“Hyung, should I offer?”

“Let’s both offer.”

With that unspoken agreement I spoke up.

“Excuse me.”

All eyes—the crew, the PD, the cast—turned to me.

The PD’s face brightened. “Woo-joo, can you do it?”

“Could Bi-ju and I try? Bi-ju cooks as a hobby and sometimes bakes.”

Bi-ju nodded, determined if not confident.

Chef Park agreed. “Oh right, Bi-ju’s got kitchen experience.”

“And... if it’s not rude, may I help too?”

“Woo-joo? You?”

They looked at me in disbelief as if my hands had never touched flour.

How to explain? Before filming I binge-watched “Pâtissier Korea” at Director Cho’s place and watched famous foreign pâtissiers on MeTube. I’d seen enough to mimic their techniques. I felt it in my body—a tingling network of knowledge. I knew how to move my fingers for dough.

But I couldn’t shyly say, “I have a supernatural ability.”

In half a second I decided.

“My grandmother ran a rice-and-side-dish restaurant and I helped her a lot as a kid. I’m quite familiar with kitchen tools.”

That was true.

And a little justification. “It’s hard work and Bi-ju can’t handle it alone.”

“Woo-joo hyung...”

Bi-ju looked at me, moved. Everyone nodded.

With the team’s ace sidelined, we couldn’t afford excuses.

“Let’s do it,” the PD said.

Yoo Chang-hyun and the four other members would serve while Bi-ju and I joined the kitchen.

“Bi-ju.”

“Hyung.”

“Let’s do our best.”

We gave a small high-five, rolled up our shirt sleeves, and approached the kitchen table.

“What should we start with?”

Se-jin sighed inwardly.

“How did it come to this....”

They’d spent big on this overseas location shoot, and now the most important segment was threatened by injury.

“I’m a disgrace as a pro.”

She felt crushed, ashamed, apologetic.

She barely dared lift her head, as if everyone was pointing at her mistake.

“I’m sorry.”

She apologized to us, the two idols standing before her. They were busy serving, but now had to bake—no one asked her to injure herself.

Though it wasn’t her fault, she feared botched desserts and customer complaints.

When she apologized, we looked baffled.

“Why apologize, pâtissier-nim?”

“Huh?”

“Injury isn’t something you choose. Don’t blame yourself.”

The leader of New Black smiled. Bi-ju, donning gloves, gave her a gentle smile.

“Right. Someone once told me not to dwell on what’s already happened. It’s harmful.”

“Wait.”

I tilted my head, whispering, “Didn’t I say that?”

“That was you.”

“Don’t quote me like a biography. It’s embarrassing.”

They cracked jokes to comfort her. I felt grateful.

I smiled. “Just give orders, pâtissier-nim. We’ll work like dogs.”

Then Se-jin told us what to do.

But I worried for them.

“This will be harder than it looks....”

Not only physically taxing, but so many small skills—chewy texture, flavor influence—required delicate touch. As I wondered how to guide novices, Bi-ju’s hands moved swiftly.

“Hmm?”

True to her hobbyist claim, she measured ingredients in an instant then whisked precisely. Few flaws—her technique was impeccable.

“I’ll handle the dough.”

It was my turn. While Bi-ju made shaved ice elsewhere, I focused on dough.

Se-jin watched me.

“When mixing dough you push as if doing laundry, then fold....”

I moved a half-beat before she spoke. At first my technique looked awkward, but after one or two times I mixed with confident skill.

“Switch hands left to right....”

Again she spoke just after my hands moved. Sweat beaded on my sideburns but my movements were flawless.

“?”

Se-jin’s mouth fell open.

“On the worktable, pat it....”

Tap. Knead.

My fingertips shaped the dough as if by instinct.

“What the...?”

Chef Park peered in, curious while placing the main dishes into the oven.

“Woo-joo, have you done baking before?”

“No.”

I wiped sweat and gave an awkward smile.

“This is my first time.”

Then I worked the dough like a fifth-year pâtissier. The mismatch between my calm expression and skilled movement left chef and pâtissier staring.

The cameraman filming looked equally stunned.

A soft voice broke the hush.

“I watched ‘Pâtissier Korea’ before we came. I paid close attention to contestants.”

“Does that really work?”

“Well, I was unsure too.”

I stretched the dough and it extended smoothly.

“Oh, it works.”

“...”

“It really works?”

They blinked at my amazement.

‘Why are you surprised?’

Meanwhile they marveled at the dough. Like pizza cheese stretching, its texture shone through although the bread wasn’t baked yet.

Se-jin murmured, “My goodness, that dough is perfect.”

“Well, well, I never...”

Chef Park shook his head and returned to the main menu. Bi-ju came back.

Se-jin turned to him.

‘He’s from the same group, so he must know him well.’

She was about to ask about me when—

“Huh, what’s that?”

Bi-ju’s voice rang with surprise.

“Woo-joo hyung can’t be this good.”

“...”

“So the conclusion is....”

Bi-ju grinned in realization.

“Woo-joo hyung really is good at everything.”

Her point of realization was oddly charming.

When Se-jin tried to advise on another step, it was already done.

“When filling red-bean donuts, hold the dough in your left hand, place the bean paste, then rotate a full circle....”

I’d already done it. A novice would press the paste into the dough like making dumplings, but I twirled my hand to form a perfect ball instantly. Eight-armed spider speed.

‘Was I a dung beetle in a past life?’

We stopped coaching. Instead I gave simple commands: “Knead this,” “Add this,” “Coat evenly in sugar.” It was a perfect synergy. Se-jin directed, I handled strength, Bi-ju polished with delicate touches.

And...

“This is really your first time?”

The results were restaurant-worthy. The cameraman, Chef Park, and Se-jin tasted and gasped in delight.

“We could serve these as is.”

“They’re delicious.”

Se-jin and Bi-ju high-fived, grinning.

“Hyung, they say it’s delicious!”

“Bi-ju, we did it.”

Chef Park chuckled at Se-jin’s astonished face.

“You feel embarrassed, right?”

“Yes... My first attempt was a total mess. How did the first batch turn out like this?”

“Lucky for us.”

“Right. We only think it because the result is so good. I’m so relieved.”

Se-jin’s grateful eyes turned to me and Bi-ju. She whispered, “Woo-joo, what do you think he is?”

“Seriously. Mistaken for a local, and his baking vibe like a thirty-year craftsman. I’ve seen European masters make desserts with that expression.”

“That’s right! That cookie-baking grandfather’s look...!”

Now she recalled where she’d seen it. Each time I baked my expression shifted like those seasoned masters.

“Um.”

I asked, “So we can serve these as is?”

Everyone nodded. Instantly the kitchen’s cold tension warmed.

Especially...

“We’re saved.”

The PD’s eyes shone with gratitude toward New Black.

“I’ve come for the bread...!”

Yoo Chang-hyun tiptoed into the kitchen and looked surprised.

The atmosphere was so warm. The PD smiled broadly, the cameraman popped a thumb up as he nibbled a bun.

‘What’s going on?’

Se-jin, ice pack on her wrist, passionately lectured as if passing on her know-how. The two apprentices sweated profusely, kneading or shaping cookies.

Chef Park welcomed him. “Chang-hyun, try one.”

“Huh?”

“They made these. Taste one.”

He looked at the tray of glutinous rice donuts and desserts—so cute, so fragrant. He bit in.

‘...Oh!’

Sugar melted on his tongue, a sweet rush to his brain. The camera captured his wide-eyed “oh.”

“This is... good. No, it’s delicious.”

“Right? Hard to believe they made these.”

“They did?”

Yoo Chang-hyun whistled as he learned the story.

“One’s a novice, the other watched TV and it’s their first time, yet this came out?”

“That’s correct. I don’t fully get it either.”

“Did you film all this?”

The cameraman made an OK sign. Yoo Chang-hyun chuckled.

“It’ll blow up when this airs.”

Stunned but relieved it went well, Yoo Chang-hyun carried the tray, chuckling, ‘These guys can do anything.’

They were weirdos with knowledge in every field. And the strangest of all was Woo-joo—from languages to dough skills.

“He works so well. Incredible.”

I finally understood why Yeo Hee-yeon kept mentioning the member Woo-joo at drinking parties.

And the members seemed aware of their leader’s odd talent.

“...Bi-ju hyung is one thing. Woo-joo hyung baked this?”

When asked what the missing leader was doing, Yoo Chang-hyun pointed at the pretty desserts. The members regained composure.

“It was Woo-joo hyung.”

“Am I weird? Why am I not amazed?”

“It’s just Woo-joo being himself.”

They calmly began serving with peaceful smiles.

Meanwhile the guests enjoying desserts felt bursts of joy with each New Black member’s approach.

“Delicious. So good.”

“Perfect, really. Korean-style desserts taste amazing.”

“The flavor’s a bit different than before?”

Some were discerning, but most happily enjoyed cakes and shaved ice.

Yet their attention soon shifted.

“Where did those two go?”

“I want to see Wu Jianmin’s face.”

Guests who felt visual delight at the serving members now missed the two absent. They grabbed a passing server.

“Excuse me, where are the other two?”

The tall server tilted his head. The guests described their heights with hand gestures.

“Cute guy, handsome guy.”

He nodded gravely as if he understood, then answered.

“Jianmin is making bread.”

“Huh?”

His sharp eyebrows pointed to the desserts on the table.

“The bread you’re eating. Jianmin made it.”

“...?”

“Enjoy the bread.”

From his fierce brows to his sturdy frame, his macho vibe wowed the guests.

“Cool.”

“So manly... my type....”

Nearby someone watched him intently. The fair, sharp-featured member caught him and scolded like a bird pecking.

He nodded at her remarks. With heavy steps and a serious face he returned to work, and the guests gasped.

A huge shadow loomed over them. In their wide eyes they saw his slightly drooped brows.

“I’m sorry. I’m dumb at Chinese. I’ll be kinder.”

His cute, funny Chinese made the guests burst out laughing.