Dispatches from the Graduate School of Ghost Stories - Chapter 7

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Urban Legends and the Graduate School (7)
The Demon’s Table (2)
What Am I?
When Yu Jong-hwa heard the question from the towering kitchen master, his heart began to race. Unable to hide his tension, he looked up at the grotesque creature standing before him.
[Smile while you listen. First, try to keep that fellow in a good mood.]
A terse voice whispered through his earphone, keeping his rationality tethered to the waking world. Appease the urban legend? What did that even mean?
“Yes, Chef! It’s an honor to meet you!”
The kitchen master nodded with satisfaction at his greeting. More precisely, billowing wisps of white fabric shuddered in a gesture resembling approval. Yet he did not step aside, unwilling to yield ground despite the flattery.
‘So, your answer?’
The pressure emanated from him without a word.
[Baal Zebul’s second name is practically a slur. The Lord of Flies, the King of Toilets… something like that, I think.]
‘No wonder he’d be furious.’
[So Baal Zebul isn’t the proper name, but rather Baal Zebul is… well, I’m not entirely certain, so let’s do this instead. I remember that Baal transformed from a deity into a demon in legend. So call him Baal, please. If he doesn’t like it, I regret nothing.]
“Chef, Lord Baal! Great deity!”
Jeon Si-hyun dredged up his memory and offered this strange knowledge. His tone sounded far from confident, but Yu Jong-hwa decided to trust him for now.
He spouted praise and bowed deeply, praying the moment would pass without incident.
A demon, of all things. Learning the creature’s true nature only now, Yu Jong-hwa felt a strange displacement. To him, demons had always been red, horned figments of imagination.
For most Koreans, demons are hardly objects of dread. When they appear in horror films, doesn’t the entire theater lose interest? Yu Jong-hwa had never found their appearance frightening. Until now, he was certain of that.
Yet someone in this world took demons very seriously. The urban legend materialized before his eyes was undeniably threatening.
After a long silence, the kitchen master answered in a light tone.
“Very well.”
The kitchen master moved with fluid grace, taking the center of the stage where the MC had stood. Beyond the dazzling lights, the staff area loomed dark and chaotic—like a kitchen in the hours before a grand dinner service.
Whether some emergency meeting had been called due to the MC’s misfortune, a young staff member came rushing over and thrust what appeared to be freshly rewritten cue cards into the male actor’s hands.
The actor who had suddenly been thrust into the unexpected role of host wore an uncomfortable expression.
Ignoring the pandemonium around him, the kitchen master issued instructions to the staff.
“Shall we clean up this floor first? A fall accident in my kitchen would be quite amusing, wouldn’t it?”
The kitchen master lifted his foot and gestured toward the bloodstained floor.
Was the blood leftover material from a completed ‘dish’? Yu Jong-hwa forced himself not to imagine what lay beneath those Safety Goggles.
A fall accident? A demon concerned about people’s safety?
Yu Jong-hwa felt a contradiction bloom within him and turned his gaze elsewhere.
A staff member carrying a large mop and bucket came rushing over.
Moving as though on ice, he slid naturally over the bloodstains and fell—and with a crisp sound, his neck snapped.
Exactly where the kitchen master’s foot had pointed.
The enormous white mesh netting trembled, releasing the sound of insects scattering chaotically through the air.
Yu Jong-hwa stepped back. He wanted distance—any distance—from the laughing kitchen master.
“Cleaning commences! Contestants, please move to the next area!”
Exhausted staff members appeared shouting. Some carried the dead staffer away; others remained to wipe the blood from the floor.
Yu Jong-hwa was herded forward into line by the guides. Personal interviews with contestants were proceeding even as cleaning continued.
The production crew had set up a dark backdrop in one corner of the studio with a lone chair facing the camera. They wanted the cast to bare their secrets while showing absolutely no regard for privacy.
While contestants were called forward one by one to stand before the camera, Yu Jong-hwa slipped to a corner and thanked the person on the other end of his earphone.
“How did you know what you told me earlier?”
[The internet. You can find anything if you know where to look.]
“Anything helps. Thank you for your assistance. Oh no. They’re making me introduce myself on camera. This is bad. I’m afraid I’ll just recite what I said at my graduate school interview.”
[Good. What did you say?]
“That I grew up under a strict mother and a kind father…….”
[Are you serious?]
“I can’t think of anything else!”
[Why not say you dreamed of becoming a chef as a child but gave it up because your family was poor?]
“The first contestant already said that.”
[The cooking secrets left behind by a grandmother who has passed away.]
“The woman who just went in is telling that story right now.”
[…… They say the secret to lying well is mixing truth and falsehood appropriately.]
“Should I say I enrolled in graduate school but wanted to escape, so I began dreaming of becoming a chef?”
[Well, that would certainly be newsworthy.]
A staff member approached Yu Jong-hwa, who stood with arms crossed, muttering through what appeared to be practice self-introductions.
The staff member, dark shadows pooling beneath his eyes, flipped through his documents and asked in confusion.
“Your name is missing. What should I write down?”
[Use an alias.]
A low voice flowed directly into his ear.
He couldn’t tell whether the wireless earphone’s microphone was remarkably good or whether his former teacher had exceptionally keen hearing.
He tried to come up with an unremarkable, common name, but only ended up realizing he had no talent for naming. After a brief moment of thought, Yu Jong-hwa spoke the name in a somewhat stiff voice.
“Yu Haeng-un… that’s me!”
[That’s really terrible.]
Before he could even finish speaking, a sharp criticism reached his ear. The Staff Member, apparently indifferent to an amateur’s alias, jotted down his assumed name and hurried off to the other production crew members.
[Haeng-un? That’s not even a stage name or anything. What is that?]
“It’s my childhood name. My family calls me it sometimes so my luck improves.”
[……Well, I suppose there’s no help for that.]
A childhood name given by his parents—hard to mock in Korea. His teacher’s acceptance carried the weight of a stifled yawn. Yu Jong-hwa, too, felt exhaustion catching up with him now.
Realizing his conversation partner was working late, he hurried to whisper.
“When do you get off?”
The reply came slowly: no matter what, he’d head home once it hit ten.
His watch read 9:20. There was no way this shoot—or rather, this supernatural phenomenon—would end before ten.
“Next participant?”
Yu Jong-hwa, seated before the camera against his better judgment, spoke haltingly.
The professor is asking me to do something completely unreasonable. I don’t even know what I’m doing right now. That’s why I want to escape from here. Cooking is so incredibly fun. Please give me socks, no—a Chef’s Uniform.
“Just let me through this once……!”
“We heard your heartfelt wish.”
The interview had become more awkward than he’d prepared for, yet the listener seemed to approve. The production director’s expression as he was dismissed wasn’t unfavorable.
Yu Jong-hwa stood with the other finished participants, watching as fresh ingredients were delivered in abundance into the Studio.
The mountain of provisions consisted mostly of premium ingredients he’d never even tasted. Some of them might not exist in reality at all.
While he stared at unfamiliar objects whose names he didn’t know, the other chefs were already scribbling cooking plans in their Notebooks. This wasn’t the time for that. Anxiety began to creep in.
“The most important thing is the cooking, but I’m worried—what if that huge judge there decides to turn me into a steak?”
[Does it have to be made well no matter what?]
“Guess so. They said if you win, they’ll put it on the hotel’s new menu. Phew, goodness.”
[Why are you doing that?]
“The man being interviewed right now came here to fulfill his dead daughter’s dream instead. Ah, I really can’t handle this kind of thing.”
[Just become a steak, then.]
His sentimental declaration was completely dismissed.
The food I’m best at making. Yu Jong-hwa spotted a familiar red package among the ingredients.
Thinking of luxury hotel dishes loaded with expensive ingredients, he wore an ambiguous expression, unable to tell whether this was fortune or misfortune.
“Teacher, there’s one dish I’ve actually gotten recognized for by my sister.”
[Does your sister cook well?]
“Not at all. She’s just picky about taste. But there’s one thing—I really do make Ramen well.”
[And?]
“It’s kind of strange, isn’t it?”
The lighting changed again. The broadcast resumed with the introduction of a special judge.
Where the MC had been, now a guest actor who’d been invited stood facing the camera with tension, carefully reading his lines from a Cue Card and extending his hand toward the Stage.
“We welcome the master of a higher realm, the supreme ruler and head chef of the gourmet hotel Gehenna, Chef Baal Zebul!”
Applause erupted again, and the audience members poured out their promised cheers without restraint.
The chef bowed politely at the waist in return, but did not bow his head. This strange figure, without even using a microphone, spoke in a commanding bass that was simultaneously high-pitched, embedding clear objectives into the program’s participants.
“I prefer what is highly rational and efficient. Set aside the broadcast and focus only on cooking. Trying to add entertainment to your amateur-level mediocrity at best. How excessive.”
Completely ignoring the director’s worried gaze, the chef continued.
“Tedious Team Competitions that only breed discord…… such obsolete teamwork nonsense. That’s something only God up there would enjoy. In my Kitchen, you simply follow my instructions.”
At the blasphemous remark, giggles erupted here and there in the audience.
“Time limits and speed challenges…… good. Finishing a dish quickly is certainly a virtue of a chef, but that’s not what I want today. With all your incompetence, rushing about frantically would only produce even more of a mess, wouldn’t it?”
Didn’t they call him a demon? Why does he only speak the truth?
Unexpectedly, this Cooking Survival Competition seemed manageable. He remembered the civil servant who’d explained that this Broadcasting Station was a supernatural phenomenon they could survive if luck was on their side.
“All I want is flavor. If you have time to plate, make another sauce instead! It’s fine if your current level looks poor. Show me the possibility that you can be refined once you come into my hands! Anything will do, any number of people will do!”
This time, a thunderous roar burst from among the participants.
Yu Jong-hwa too felt hope, clasping his hands together in joy. He wanted to leap forward with his arm around the person beside him.
[For a demon, he certainly understands the human heart remarkably well.]
“Huh? Is something strange? I thought he seemed like a pretty decent person. He’s rational and good, you know?”
[A person?]
“Oh no.”
Only then did Yu Jong-hwa realize what was odd about his own words, and he understood that he was already becoming tainted by this supernatural phenomenon. Soon he’d end up fervently worshipping the chef like the other participants.
“Let the Competition begin!”
The Survival Competition didn’t wait for his thoughts to finish. The moment the host’s words ended, a loud ding—sharp enough to pierce the eardrums—rang out to signal the start of the contest.
Amateurs dreaming of becoming professional chefs rushed forward to claim their places in the middle of the Studio.
Yu Jong-hwa also rushed forward with them, positioning himself to seize ingredients.
He grabbed scallions, garlic, cooking oil, red chili powder, and eggs too……. My apologies, just a moment. He took hold of a smaller man blocking his path and, with courtesy and care, moved him gently to the side.
[Have you decided on your menu?]
“Yes!”
He filled the basket to the brim, and finally pulled out two packets of ramen—so familiar to his hands—placing them at the very top.
“I’m going to make ramen!”
Do your best. The male voice that had spoken without enthusiasm cheered him on.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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