The minivan on the drive back felt less like a four-wheeled pressure cooker and more like… well, a minivan. The air, once thick enough with unspoken asks to slice with a knife, was now buzzing with a new, giddy energy. Up front, Mom and Vera were chattering a mile a minute, their voices a joyful, overlapping symphony of plans.
"—we could call it 'Vera's Venture'!" Mom chirped, tapping the dashboard for emphasis.
"Ugh, that sounds like a failing spaceship…. No. It has to be warm. Inviting!" Vera countered, her hands leaving the wheel for a terrifying half-second to gesture. "What about 'Cathy's Comfort'? You're the face of this thing!"
"I'll be the face of a heart attack if you don't keep both hands on the wheel, you lunatic!"
It was a good sound. A hopeful sound.
But in the backseat, my own brain was doing a different kind of buzzing, a low-level hum of pure, unadulterated panic. Aunt Lee Da-In. The name kept bouncing around my skull like a pinball from hell, lighting up all the 'You're Screwed' bumpers.
It's one thing to have the cosmic cheat codes to help someone. It's another thing entirely to figure out the fucking user interface, especially when the person on the other end probably thinks of you as the moody little shit who couldn't be bothered to look up from his phone during family holocalls. Old Sael really did leave me a treasure trove of relational disasters to remediate.
I mean, what's the play here? Do I just call her up? "Hey, Auntie, heard your multi-billion-credit media conglomerate is circling the drain. Don't you worry your pretty, powerful head. Your nephew's been mainlining Earth's greatest television hits like they're going out of style. I've got a real humdinger of an idea about a paper company. You're gonna shit."
Yeah, that'd go over like a lead balloon.
It had to be something undeniable. A concept so fucking brilliant, so perfectly surgical, that it would blast through all the corporate red tape and any lingering doubts she might have about her nephew's mental stability. It couldn't just be a show; it had to be a statement. A goddamn good one.
I was so lost in thought, mentally scrolling through a catalogue of television so great it would make this universe weep, that I didn't even notice we'd pulled up to our glorified shoebox of an apartment complex. The engine cut out, and the sudden silence was physically jarring.
"You coming, space cadet?" Vera asked, already halfway out of the car, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. "Or are you trying to mentally calculate the thrust-to-weight ratio of this thing?"
"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, fumbling with my seatbelt. "Just… marinating on a few things."
"Well, marinate faster. Bella's about to inhale all the chili-cheese puffs."
We started hauling the grocery bags out of the back. The movement finally stirred the beast in the passenger seat. Bella yawned, a long, dramatic affair that showed off her tonsils, and pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. "Are we home? I'm starving. Did we get any of those chili-cheese protein puffs? My body is screaming for processed nostalgia."
"Your body is a temple, Bella," I said, deadpan as I hefted a bag full of scientifically-engineered sustenance.
"And we just anointed it with reconstituted soybean paste and artificial cheese flavoring…. The high priests of nutrition are weeping."
She stuck her tongue out at me, snagging the lightest bag. "You say the sweetest things, Sael… It really gets me going."
I grabbed the last few bags and followed the women into the building, the heavy security door swinging shut behind us with a solid, final thud. The familiar, slightly stale smell of the lobby—a unique bouquet of old carpet, lemon-fresh disinfectant, and the ghost of ten different families' dinners—hit me like a wet blanket. It was a stark, depressing contrast to the grand, clean future I was just picturing for us in Pussyville.
As we waited for the elevator, its groaning ascent sounding like a death rattle, Bella nudged me with her elbow.
"You got really quiet toward the end there… Everything okay? Mom and Aunt Vera look like they just won the lottery and decided to use the money to buy a lifetime supply of glitter."
I glanced at them. They were still whispering excitedly, their eyes bright with a shared mania. "Yeah. Just… family stuff. Thinking about how to help Aunt Lee Da-In."
The elevator arrived with a jarring ding and a shudder that suggested it was considering giving up the ghost entirely. We piled in.
Bella leaned against the faux-wood paneling, looking at me with those perceptive, all-seeing eyes of hers. "The scary business dragon lady from New Seoul? What's she need help with? Her stock options need a polish?"
"Her entire TV network is flatlining... Mom and Vera kinda… heavily implied I should be the one to code the damn thing back to life."
Bella let out a low, impressed whistle that echoed in the small space. "Well, fuck. No pressure, right? You gonna do it?"
The elevator doors screeched open on our floor.
"I don't know," I said honestly, following her out into the dim, fluorescents-flickering hallway.
"It's a minefield. I barely know her…. and, she barely knows me. Throwing a Hail Mary TV show at her feels… arrogant. Presumptuous. Like showing up to a sword fight with a… with a really big, untested gun."
Bella stopped at our door, digging in the pocket of her impossibly tight jeans for her keys. She looked over her shoulder at me, a soft, understanding smile playing on her lips.
"You helped me," she said simply.
"And I was a Grade-A, premium, five-alarm mess... You didn't have to do that. You could've let me crash and burn. But you didn't. That's just… who you are now, Sael. You see a problem, and you just can't help but whip out your big… brain… and try to fix it." She found the keys, jangling them triumphantly.
"And it's really, really hot."
She said it so matter-of-factly, like she was commenting on the weather. Then she pushed the door open and disappeared inside, leaving me standing alone in the grimy hallway with a dumb look on my face and a bag of chemically-enhanced groceries in each hand, my mind pleasantly, productively blank.
Well. Hell. When you put it like that.
The apartment was its usual beautiful disaster zone. The second we crossed the threshold; the news of the restaurant plans exploded out of Mom and Vera like they'd been corked for a decade. Nadia emerged from her room, a slow, beautiful smile spreading across her face as she was caught in the euphoric whirlwind. Emily poked her head out of her doorway, her usual reserve replaced by intrigued curiosity.
Before I knew it, the simple "put the groceries away" mission had spontaneously combusted into a full-blown, impromptu celebration. Vera commandeered the kitchen with the authority of a four-star general, declaring she was going to "practice for the new menu" using the sad, artificial ingredients we'd bought as a "culinary challenge."
What followed was a glorious riot of noise and smells—the aggressive sizzle of something hitting a pan, the rhythmic chop-chop-chop of a knife, Mom's loud, unfiltered laughter as she tried to find a pot that didn't have a mysterious burnt-on stain.
I found myself conscripted to "potato" peeling duty, which was a cosmic joke because the "potatoes" were these weird, waxy orbs that felt like they'd been grown in a vat of plastic. I stood at the counter, scraping away, just listening to the beautiful chaos.
"It'll be called 'Vera's Kitchen'!" Mom announced, practically pirouetting as she set the table.
"Absolutely not!" Vera yelled back over the roar of the vent-hood.
"It's 'Cathy's Corner'! You're the goddamn sun this planet orbits!"
"We're both the suns, you magnificent idiot!"
"Language!" Nadia chimed in with a musical laugh, expertly arranging mismatched glasses for drinks.
It was loud, and warm, and messy. It was family. And for the first time since I'd crash-landed in this body, it felt like we were all looking at the same horizon. We were a team. A slightly dysfunctional, overly emotional, and incredibly, devastatingly attractive team, but a team nonetheless.
As we all crowded around the table to eat—a miraculously delicious feast Vera had somehow conjured from the culinary garbage we'd provided—the conversation inevitably circled back.
"So," Nadia said, taking a delicate sip of water. "Cathy tells me you're considering the Lee Da-In situation."
I nodded, shoveling a forkful of suspiciously convincing "beef" stew into my mouth.
"Yeah. Still running the numbers…. It's a big ask."
"She is a good woman," Nadia said, her voice taking on that gentle, matriarchal tone that made everyone listen.
"She has always been kind to this family. A steady hand. Even when Johnson…" She trailed off, a familiar shadow passing over her beautiful features before she shook it away with a slight tilt of her head.
"She sent money, after... When things were very dark. She did not have to. She asked for nothing in return."
I stopped eating. The faux-stew turned to ash in my mouth. That was a piece of the puzzle I didn't have.
The old Sael's memories were a black hole of teenage narcissism, too self-centered to hold onto a crucial piece of intel like that. Aunt Lee Da-In wasn't just some distant, rich relative. She'd been a lifeline. She'd helped. She'd been family when it counted.
It fundamentally changed the math. This wasn't just a cold corporate transaction anymore. This was paying back a kindness. This was honoring a debt. This was family.
I looked around the table at their faces—Mom, beaming with hope; Vera, flushed with culinary triumph; Nadia, serene and strong; Emily, quietly observant; Bella, winking at me as she stole a roll off my plate. All of them, in their own way, were counting on me. To get us out of this city. To build them a new life. To protect this beautiful, chaotic thing we had.
Helping Aunt Lee Da-In wasn't a distraction from that mission. It was part of it. Strengthening that connection, bringing a powerful, grateful ally firmly into our orbit... it was just smart. And it was right.
"Okay," I said, the word coming out quieter than I intended, but with a new, solid weight behind it.
Everyone stopped talking and looked at me.
"Okay what, honey?" Mom asked, her fork paused halfway to her mouth.
"I'll do it," I said, a slow, confident grin spreading across my face as the perfect idea locked into place with brutal, crystalline clarity. A show about a family. A messy, complicated, fiercely loyal family. About ambition, betrayal, and cooking the most goddamn delicious food anyone has ever seen.
"I'll help her our… probably, give Aunt Lee Da-In a show. I think… I know just one or two….".