They Told Me to Build Good Karma by Selling Side Dishes - Chapter 80

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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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80. Buckwheat Jelly Strips (4)

“So you learned about his past?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”

Hae-tae simply closed his mouth without further comment.

‘They really don’t say much about these things.’

…So they really are close friends.

I pushed the cart forward and stepped out of the Dimensional Space, the boundary dissolving as I returned to reality. The ambient noise of the living world immediately flooded my ears.

‘Where should I set this down?’

I paused and surveyed my surroundings. The ground was out of the question. If the snow melted and refroze, the buckwheat could freeze solid as well.

“The wooden platform is the only option.”

I positioned the cart beside the wooden platform and draped the black tarp across it.

“It’s been a while since the red pepper powder.”
“That it has.”

I carefully laid each bundle of buckwheat onto the black tarp, gauging the interplay between the low winter sunlight and the shadows.

“Here.”

I shifted the tarp to the spot where the sun lingered longest.

“Now I just have to wait for the buckwheat to dry.”
“Waiting is work too?”
“It is.”

I brushed the remaining buckwheat flour from my palm and secured the tent’s edge with a heavy stone to keep it from shifting in the wind.

“Can you hear it drying?”
“Not yet, meow.”

The Dokkaebi transformed back into the shape of a cat.

“What do you mean by hearing it?”
“Why are you taking my form again, meow!”
“We’re not in the Dimensional Space.”
“You should return to your human form, meow.”
“I don’t want to.”

Seeing the two of them about to quarrel, I straightened my back and looked down at the wooden platform below. Bundles of buckwheat lay peacefully bathed in sunlight.

“Dry well.”

I murmured as if speaking to myself. The buckwheat had to dry properly to be processed into something delicious.

Humans could only wait—wait for the buckwheat to dry well, to dry deliciously.

***

When night fell, the neighborhood grew silent as if holding its breath. Hae-tae lay sprawled across the wooden platform, tail swaying slowly as he felt the night air.

“The human world is better at night, after all.”

The Dokkaebi murmured in a low voice and sat down on the wooden platform.

“How have you been, meow?”
“You’ve been cleaning up after the Divine Beings, haven’t you?”
“Cleaning up, meow?”
“You didn’t know?”

Hae-tae stared blankly, clearly unaware.

“They order me around sometimes. Because I made a mistake~?”
“How much of a mistake did you make, meow?”
“Well….”

The Dokkaebi began folding down his fingers one by one.

“Burning the Divine Beings’ clothes, overturning dinner tables, tormenting humans for a while….”
“Why do you hunt like that?”

Hae-tae’s reproach—that he simply didn’t understand—didn’t faze the Dokkaebi in the slightest. He clasped his hands behind his back with perfect composure.

“If I don’t….”
“Meow?”
“Then I have nothing to do. I need to cause trouble to get attention, don’t I?”

Hae-tae heaved a deep sigh.

“When did you come to the human world, meow?”
“A month ago?”
“And you’ve been going to the girl’s grave, meow?”

Hae-tae slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the Dokkaebi. The Dokkaebi’s face, now wearing a human form rather than a cat’s, seemed somehow bitter.

“That’s right.”
“Why do you go there every day, meow?”
“Why do you wait every day?”

At those words, Hae-tae’s tail froze.

“…That’s different from this, meow.”
“What’s different? It’s the same.”

Hae-tae averted his gaze downward.

“Over the course of my life, I’ve seen many children who resembled that girl.”
“….”
“But here’s the funny part.”

The Dokkaebi lifted his head and gazed at the full moon. A smile bloomed naturally on his face as he looked at that round moon, just like the girl.

“My heart won’t settle.”
“….”
“Isn’t it the same for my friend?”

Hae-tae turned his head to the side without a word.

“That’s why.”

The Dokkaebi continued matter-of-factly.

“That’s why I can’t help but grow attached to it.”
“…I don’t know, meow.”
“You’ve never lost anything, so you don’t understand.”

Lost anything. Hae-tae gazed at his pale paws and licked them with his tongue.

“I went to the Girl’s Grave and found wildflowers blooming. So I made a hair ornament for her, and since there were weeds on the grave, I pulled them out.”
“All by yourself, meow?”
“What? Did you think it was pathetic?”

The Dokkaebi asked with a slight laugh. Hae-tae didn’t answer. He simply licked around his mouth with his tongue.

“You thought it was pathetic.”
“Hmph, meow.”

Hae-tae shifted his body on the wooden platform.

“I never thought it was pathetic, meow.”
“Then?”
“…I just thought it was remarkable that you go every year without fail, meow.”

The consistency of going year after year without missing once—it inspired awe in me. Hae-tae pressed his front paw firmly against the Dokkaebi’s thigh, his eyes half-lidded.

“You did well, meow.”
“….”
“You worked hard, meow.”

I was simply offering comfort as someone who knew her. Just as Ji-gu had done.

“…This cat is offering comfort too?”
“I learned it, meow.”
“From whom? The previous human? The current human?”
“The current human.”

The Dokkaebi stared at Hae-tae as if taken aback.

“Wasn’t the previous human like that?”
“She was multidimensional, meow.”

Ji-gu doesn’t know. That she was a special human only to him. It was a “specialness” that Hae-tae would never understand, even if he lived for eternity.

“…Multidimensional?”
“The previous human only knew her granddaughter, meow. She ran forward as if she existed only for that, never looking anywhere else, meow.”

She never looked to the side. She never looked back. That was Grandmother Hyang-suk.

“She was the kind of human who would fall while looking only ahead, yet rise again for her granddaughter, meow.”
“There are… humans like that?”

The Dokkaebi asked with skepticism. Hae-tae nodded.

“That’s why it was fascinating, meow.”

That fascination became vigilance, which soon transformed into observation. I kept watching.

Someday she would crumble, someday she would disappear. Grandmother Hyang-suk was neither.

“She seemed different, meow.”
“Hmm~? There are humans like that?”
“There are, meow.”

Hae-tae answered with certainty.

“Then what was this human like?”
“Ji-gu is pure, meow.”

Closing his eyes again, Hae-tae heard the faint sound of buckwheat drying.

“Hae-tae.”
“Meow.”

Hae-tae asked while observing the Dokkaebi’s expression.

“Is there anything you need?”

The Dokkaebi chuckled softly.

“There is~?”
“What is it?”
“Why would I grant it?”

Hae-tae was willing to help if it was something simple.

“It’s fate, isn’t it.”
“…But you drove me out~?”
“That’s only because you kept causing trouble, didn’t you?”

Remembering those days made my temples throb. The Village had been chaotic for quite some time. The humans had been in an uproar because the Dokkaebi had been bewitching them indiscriminately, regardless of gender.

“Think quickly.”
“Hmm….”

The Dokkaebi raised a hand and pressed it firmly against Hae-tae’s head, dragging it across. It wasn’t quite a caress. It was more like simply resting it there for a moment.

“What are you doing?”
“I hope you’ve been doing well.”

Hae-tae rested his chin on his front paws and let out a scoff.

“I’ve always done well.”
“Then that’s good.”

The Dokkaebi continued, barely suppressing a smile.

“It just seems like you’ve met good humans~?”

Hae-tae spoke bluntly.

“You just focus on living well yourself.”
“Don’t worry. I always do well, don’t I?”
“While you’re here… don’t say strange things to Ji-gu.”

The Dokkaebi answered flatly.

“Strange sounds, you say.”
“You’re the problem—you’re always fine one moment, then you pick the weirdest things to say.”
“Why? Does it bother you?”

Hae-tae raised one eyebrow slightly.

“Think whatever you want.”

***

Exactly three days had passed.

▶[I’m doing well at the Company!]

I stretched as I heard the news that Lee Hae-ra was getting along well.

◀[Come by anytime if you’re hungry.]
I can’t provide a meaningful translation for this text. It appears to be Korean characters arranged in a way that doesn’t form coherent words or a standard phrase – it looks like it might be an emoticon or placeholder text rather than actual Korean language content.

After sending the message, before opening the shop in the morning, I headed straight to the Wooden Platform and lifted the tarp to check on the buckwheat.

During the day, whenever I had a break from work, I shifted it slightly depending on the angle of the sunlight. And when night fell, I covered it again.

“It’s completely dry!”

As I picked up the dried buckwheat with my hand, the stems were light and brittle. The husks cracked crisply at the slightest touch of my fingers. The seeds rolled across the tarp with just a gentle shake.

“It’s dried perfectly!”

Hae-tae brought his nose close and sniffed.

“This should be ready to harvest, don’t you think?”
“Yes. It’s excellent.”

I gathered the bundles of buckwheat to one side of the Wooden Platform and opened the Storage Room door.

‘A flail, a flail….’

To thresh buckwheat and separate the grains from the stalks, I needed a threshing machine. But our Side Dish Shop didn’t have one, so….

“Here it is!”

I found a flail tucked away in the corner where the farm tools leaned.

“It’s really worn out.”

It was something Grandmother Hyang-suk used long ago. The wooden handle, darkened by years of use, had cracked and aged.

I remembered her harvesting beans with this very flail. That’s why I’d checked the Storage Room—hoping to find one.

These days it’s not commonly done, but threshing with a flail…

“Are you really going to flail?”
“Yeah. What do you think?”

I gripped the flail and rested it across my shoulder.

“Should I say it looks cool?”
“Yeah.”

I answered firmly.

“More than cool… won’t it be exhausting?”

Flailing was simpler than I’d thought, but it was definitely physical work. You drilled holes through the end of a wooden handle, drove a pin through horizontally, and hung leather strips from that pin. Then you’d swing it repeatedly, striking the grain heads to knock the kernels loose.

“…Yeah.”

To be honest, it did seem like it would be tiring.

“Should we take it to the Mill now instead?”
“That won’t work.”
“Right.”

If I carried all this buckwheat there, the wind would scatter it everywhere and I’d lose it all. So who would thresh the buckwheat that I’d so carefully dried?

‘Only me.’

“Let me try!”

‘It’s my first time, but…’

I grabbed a bundle of buckwheat and swung the flail in one fluid motion.

Whoosh.
Whick.

With a snap of my wrist, the flail whirled in a wide arc and came down hard against the bundle. The buckwheat kernels scattered with a satisfying crack, tumbling out in a cascade. Like well-dried seeds, they fell cleanly and freely.

[Warm Buckwheat Kernel (S)]
[Warm Buckwheat Kernel (S)]
[Warm Buckwheat Kernel (S)]

At the same moment, the status windows for the buckwheat kernels cascaded across my vision.

‘S-rank!’

A testament to how well they had dried.

“Hae-tae! They dried perfectly!”
“Did they thresh well?”
“Yes!”

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Then we’re good.”
“Excellent!”

I continued threshing without pause.

“The sound is nice.”
“The sound is satisfying.”

Hae-tae and the Dokkaebi sat on either side like spectators.

“One more time!”

I picked up a handful of buckwheat that had fallen onto the tent and showed it to Hae-tae and the Dokkaebi.

“The buckwheat seems to be threshing well, doesn’t it?”
“At this rate, it’s threshing nicely, meow.”

I felt certain now.

‘This is it.’

It was exhausting to do this from morning, but if I made buckwheat jelly noodles with buckwheat like this, it would definitely taste delicious.

I fell into a rhythm—striking, brushing, bundling again, and moving the sheaves.

“I could come do this every time I have a break, couldn’t I?”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve and smiled brightly. Despite it being winter, I didn’t feel cold.

“Is that really human?”

The Dokkaebi asked, watching me.

“Definitely human, meow.”

The buckwheat kernels kept accumulating.

“I’ll finish it all today.”

I caught my breath and set down the flail for a moment. It was time to move the dried buckwheat that I’d left on the Wooden Platform.

“Hey.”

A low voice from behind me snapped my attention back.

“…Cha Beom-seok?”

Why would Cha Beom-seok come to such a humble place? He stood there looking down at me with his coat still on, both hands in his pockets.

“You live like this?”
“Well, that is…”

If someone had entered the shop, Hae-tae and the Dokkaebi would have definitely noticed.

When I casually glanced away, Hae-tae and the Dokkaebi were grooming their fur with their tongues.

‘They knew all along.’

“Where are you looking?”
“…at the cat.”
“But I’m here?”
“Well….”

The sight of threshing buckwheat in the Shop Backyard must have looked quite unfamiliar.

“What is it?”

Solp stepped closer and peered down at the canvas canopy.

“What are you doing right now?”
“…threshing buckwheat.”
“…I know what buckwheat is.”

The question was why I was flailing with a threshing tool now. Solp bent at the waist and picked up a scattered buckwheat grain, rolling it across his palm.

“Did you dry this yourself?”

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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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