I Only Baked Bread, but I Was Mistaken for the Best - Chapter 106

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

Chapter 106. Broadcast Filming (1)
“Ah! Owner! Over here!”
As I wheeled my luggage out of the airport, I spotted the Junior Writer from Delicious Dining whom I’d encountered before.
She waved enthusiastically in my direction, greeting me with both hands.
“Do you know this human, Owner?”
“Yes. Now stay quiet.”
“Meow. Do you have any idea how exhausting it was getting here? Owner? My nose nearly suffocated from the stench of human sweat.”
Noir complained while rubbing his nose inside his carrier.
Since his weight was under seven kilograms, he could board the cabin with me rather than being checked as cargo.
Though the broadcast company had provided business class tickets, making the journey comfortable, I doubted he’d appreciate that fact.
“You should have just waited at the Witch’s Cottage. Why did you insist on coming along?”
“Meow! It had been ages since I flew through the sky!”
“Can’t witches fly on broomsticks?”
“When are you talking about? Owner. The last time I flew was on an airship in 1937.”
So she hadn’t denied flying on a broomstick.
An airship though… that was ancient history.
“It was the Hindenburg. A most luxurious and magnificent airship, I must say.”
“The Hinden… wait, that was…”
“Do you know of it, Owner?”
Of course I did.
The airship that exploded over New York from a hydrogen-filled disaster caused by a single spark of static electricity.
Regardless of my lack of interest in such matters, I knew the names of major aviation disasters.
“Well, it was thrilling at the time. Though I had to flee to the Witch’s Cottage in the end.”
“I see… yes…”
“In any case, the airplane was quite entertaining too. Meow.”
“I understand. Be quiet now.”
I managed to calm Noir, who was excited about the old stories, and approached the Junior Writer.
She wore round glasses and a cardigan, waving both hands enthusiastically.
“Oh! Did you have a comfortable flight?”
“Of course. It was my first time in business class—quite comfortable.”
“Oh! You never flew business class during your studies abroad?”
“Students can’t afford such expensive seats. Ha ha.”
The tuition for Le Cordon Bleu alone cost a fortune.
Though I worked frantically to help pay for it, my Grandmother was the one who provided the funds.
How could I possibly fly business class under those circumstances?
It was always budget airlines.
“But you came early?”
“Oh! A location scout before filming is essential! That way we can visualize the movement and even imagine the actual shoot!”
I see.
I’d only ever seen variety shows as edited clips on TV or YouTube, never realizing the effort and care that went into them.
From what I heard, it wasn’t just her—several others had come seeking filming cooperation.
“I came to pick up the Owner!”
“So we’re starting filming right away? The others haven’t arrived yet….”
“Yes! We’re having the Owner come first, and the rest will arrive tomorrow.”
Sure enough, there were several more staff members behind the Junior Writer.
It seemed my arrival was also included in the broadcast footage.
“So what should I do?”
“There’s nothing specifically planned. Actually, it’s better if you just act naturally. That’s the concept!”
“I see….”
“If I had to suggest something, places you used to visit often during school… or episodes like that would be nice? Oh! But that’s not mandatory or anything! It’s just good to stop by before heading to school.”
“No, it’s actually more comfortable for me when you give me some direction like this. It’s fine.”
She even waved her hand dismissively, as if worried she’d burdened me.
Anyway, places I used to visit often or episodes….
Then there was one place that came to mind immediately.
“There’s a place that comes to mind. Would you like to check it out?”
“Oh! Where is it?”
“Near the school.”
My heart soared at the thought of enjoying delicious bread again after so long.
And I would also see, for the first time in ages, the person I’d ever met who took the most pride in their bread.
“Shall we go?”
“Oh! I’ll start filming right away!”
And just as the camera lights came on, I took a step toward Paris’s downtown, returning after a long time.
* * *
“Wow… so that happened….”
“Yes. It happened just yesterday.”
As we drove, she kept talking to me about this and that.
It seemed to be in interview format.
Since her efforts to make me comfortable were evident, I found myself opening up about various things without realizing it.
The opening of Trèfle de bonheur and the difficult early days.
And I shared a rough account of everything that had led to the present.
I even talked about the incident with the fraudster that had happened recently.
Of course, I didn’t mention the Lumiere bread of truth.
“And I also saw the post on the blog. Owner!”
“Ah. I saw it too. It was shocking.”
The exposé post on the blog of Uni, a self-proclaimed bread enthusiast and power blogger, also became a topic of discussion.
After that, some of the injustice done to our shop was relieved, but the lies that had already spread still hadn’t subsided.
Because of this, driving the final nail with this broadcast was extremely important.
“By the way, it’s already evening.”
“Oh! You’re right. The restaurant won’t be closed yet, will it?”
“It’s fine. They sell alcohol there too, so they stay open late.”
Looking out the window, the streets of Paris’s 15th arrondissement were bathed in the glow of sunset.
Since our destination was near the school, I could even see the blue banners of Le Cordon Bleu Paris campus fluttering in the breeze.
“This is the school I attended.”
“Wow. So you really are a Le Cordon Bleu graduate… My colleagues who started around the same time as me tried your bread and went absolutely wild, saying it wasn’t bread at all but art.”
“Haha. Thank you.”
“Meow.”
Noir, traveling alongside me, yawned as if bored and meowed insistently for me to hurry up with the bread, but I chose to ignore him.
He’d be able to eat soon enough anyway.
Feeling the humidity in the air, I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt.
Looking at the cobblestones beneath my feet, memories of my time here flashed through my mind.
The cold air of 4 a.m. and the screaming muscles of my back as I carried sacks of flour.
Yet those were the days when I was happiest baking bread.
Perhaps that intensity became the foundation upon which I built Trèfle de bonheur today.
“It’s not art. I simply enjoy making delicious bread.”
“Oh, don’t be so modest! Come on, Owner. Since we’re on the subject, I’d love to catch a glimpse of your culinary philosophy. I heard there’s a hidden gem of a restaurant nearby that you treasure?”
Though everything had already been agreed upon, the Writer brought up the topic again since the camera was rolling.
I nodded toward her and asked the driver to stop the car in front of an alley.
In a narrow alley behind the campus, leading toward the Sorbonne.
A place untouched by tourist footsteps, where moss-covered stone walls and weathered street lamps added to its charm.
“It’s still the same.”
“It’s… a bit gloomy, isn’t it?”
“Haha. I felt the same way at first. It’s fine, so follow me.”
Despite the Junior Writer’s assessment that it was gloomy, there were actually quite a few people around.
Most of them were locals living in the area.
How far had we walked along the alley?
At its end appeared a small restaurant with no proper sign, just ‘L’Ombre de la Terre’ written in chalk on a sandwich board.
“Here it is.”
“Oh… what does the restaurant’s name mean?”
“It means ‘The Shadow of the Earth.’ It’s hard to find since there’s no proper sign, but I guarantee the taste.”
The moment I stepped through the door, the tangy aroma of freshly baked rye bread and the rich scent of butter tickled my nose.
Though it appeared to be an ordinary restaurant, the sharp sound of knife work echoing from the kitchen and the flicker of flames proved this was no ordinary place.
“Wow. The atmosphere is amazing. Owner, what’s famous here?”
“Of course, the bread. You absolutely have to try the sourdough tartine here.”
“Huh? I hear a familiar voice?”
A gravelly voice speaking French.
A middle-aged chef who had been wiping a copper pan in the kitchen looked up.
The bald head of the man with deeply set eyes and a sharp expression gleamed as it caught the light.
Ah, so he still shaves his head completely.
He used to say that hair was useless when cooking and would shave every day.
“What?! Am I dreaming right now? Who is this!”
And the moment he spotted me, he set down the pan he’d been wiping and strode toward me with long, purposeful steps.
“If it isn’t Seung-hyun, who betrayed our baking association and fled back to Korea!”
“Betrayed? I never even joined the baking association. Besides, that was all Martin’s doing.”
“Our only member disappeared—of course that’s a betrayal! Kha-ha-ha! Come in! Come in! Is the one next to you your girlfriend?”
“Um… Owner? Do you know each other?”
Martin patted my shoulder enthusiastically, flashing a broad smile.
The junior writer looked at us in turn with wide, startled eyes and asked.
Since neither of us spoke each other’s language—I didn’t know French and he didn’t know Korean—I’d have to handle the introductions.
“This is Martin, the owner here. He’s an excellent baker. And Martin? This is Yu Jin, a broadcast writer. Not my girlfriend.”
“Oh! Broadcasting, you say! Did you become a celebrity chef back in Korea?”
“Ah… no, that’s not quite it… Well, something happened…”
Still, since we needed to film and I wanted to catch him up anyway, I told him everything that had transpired.
Martin, always brimming with passion, shifted his expression constantly as he listened to my story.
When I mentioned opening a shop and struggling at first, he nodded thoughtfully, remembering his own past. When I told him business had thrived and we’d expanded, he rejoiced as if it were his own success.
But when I got to the recent incident…
“That’s absolute nonsense! How could such a madman exist! I should have minced him up and roasted him!”
“Please, calm down. This broadcast is meant to overturn that situation anyway.”
“Just tell me! I’ll explain everything! Yu Jin, was it? I’ll tell you all about what kind of person this mad genius truly is!”
“Um… Owner? Could you translate what he’s saying…?”
Perhaps overwhelmed by Martin’s fervent torrent of words.
Yu Jin, the junior writer, looked at me and asked for a translation.
Given Martin’s fiery temperament, we wouldn’t be able to conduct a proper interview in this state.
Perhaps I should first remind myself of Martin’s culinary prowess.
“Actually, she’s a customer. Martin, I came because I know you’re one of the finest chefs I’m acquainted with.”
“Heh-heh. Of course. You won’t find a chef like me anywhere in France. Let’s talk after you’ve eaten.”
Only then did Martin seem to calm down, patting my shoulder before heading back into the kitchen.
Since it was an open kitchen, I could see him cooking with a meaningful smile on his face.
“Wow. He seems like someone truly remarkable…”
“He has seventeen years of experience working at a Michelin three-star restaurant.”
“Michelin? Wow… I could sense it somehow…”
While Yu Jin was filming Martin cook, the first dish soon arrived at our table.
“‘Smoked duck and fig sourdough tartine.’ You always started with this, didn’t you?”
“You remembered.”
“Ah, Seung-hyun, I baked that bread extra carefully just for you—of course I remember. You picky person.”
The sourdough, baked to a perfect crispness.
When I gently pressed the crust with my finger, I felt that delightful, satisfying crackle.
This alone revealed how genuinely devoted Martin was to his craft.
“Mmm! This is incredible!”
The sourdough’s acidity cut through the richness of the duck, while the fig’s sweetness provided a clean finish.
A dish that elevated bread to the main attraction while harmoniously balancing all the primary ingredients.
Martin approached bread differently than I did—I staked everything on bread itself.
“Wow… Owner, this is seriously incredible. The bread isn’t just a base layer—it actually feels like the main character?”
“You have a good eye. Look at this sourdough. See how the crumb structure is irregularly open? That’s proof the natural starter was alive and breathing.”
“This bread fanatic is still the same.”
“Bread fanatic? That’s too much.”
Martin set down the next dish—truffle potato soup with hard rolls—and sat beside me for a moment.
“Too much? The man who wanted to create terroir in bread and actually farmed for it—is he anything but a fanatic? Listen here, Writer. Eat while you listen. Selling rotten bread? Ha. Nonsense.”
Martin pulled one corner of his mouth into a grin as he continued.
“Seung-hyun, let me tell you just how insane this bread obsessive really is.”

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