The sun cast warm golden light over the storefront of Baby Chocolat Paradise, illuminating the delicate handwritten menu Mirae had written earlier that morning. It was the grand opening of the extended café space—a dream once quietly folded into chocolate molds was now a living, breathing reality.
Inside, the air buzzed with nervous energy. Staff members rushed between counters, making sure each glass display was filled with Mirae's signature creations: plum soju truffles, roasted green tea pralines, and a brand-new line of floral bonbons inspired by seasonal blossoms. Soft jazz played in the background, calming the otherwise bustling energy.
Mirae stood in the middle of it all, dressed in a soft cream blouse and apron, her hair tied back neatly. Her eyes scanned every detail—the seating arrangements, the lighting, the fresh lavender at the tables. She had imagined this moment for so long, but now that it was real, her heart beat with a cocktail of pride and vulnerability.
Doekyom came up behind her, a small clipboard in his hands. "Guests are already forming a line outside."
She turned to him, nerves flickering in her eyes. "What if it doesn't live up to the hype?"
He gave her a reassuring smile. "You've already exceeded expectations, Mirae. This is just the beginning."
Before she could answer, the bell over the door rang and the first customer stepped in—a young girl, maybe six or seven, holding her mother's hand. Her eyes lit up as she spotted the chocolate counter.
"It smells like magic in here!" the girl exclaimed.
The mother chuckled. "We've heard so much about this place. My coworker said your chocolates made her cry."
Mirae blinked in surprise. "Cry?"
"In a good way," the woman clarified. "She said it reminded her of her grandmother's kitchen. You've stirred up something powerful, Miss Kang."
Mirae smiled, bowing slightly. "Thank you for coming. Please, take your time."
As the café filled with more customers—some old regulars from the early days, others newcomers drawn by the buzz—Mirae found herself floating from station to station. She helped serve signature drinks, explained flavor pairings, and offered complimentary samples to shy first-timers.
In one corner, Doekyom spoke with a local food journalist, subtly guiding attention toward Mirae whenever he could. His pride in her was palpable—unspoken but visible in every gesture, every glance.
Then, just before noon, something unexpected happened.
A woman in a tailored navy dress walked in, followed by a quiet entourage. Cameras clicked immediately—she was a well-known culinary critic, notorious for her harsh reviews and seldom-given praise.
Mirae's breath caught. "That's Yoo Sena," she whispered to a staff member.
Yoo Sena approached the display case, eyes scanning the offerings. Her expression was unreadable.
"May I try your 'Midnight Sea' truffle?" she asked coolly.
Mirae stepped forward. "Of course." She gently placed one on a ceramic dish and presented it. The truffle had a dark chocolate shell filled with sea salt caramel and a dusting of edible black sesame ash.
The critic took one bite.
And paused.
Mirae held her breath.
Then, Yoo Sena looked up, her gaze locking with Mirae's. "You understand restraint," she said. "And emotion. That's rare."
With that, she turned and left, her entourage silently following.
Doekyom appeared at Mirae's side a moment later. "Was that a compliment?"
"I think… it was," Mirae said slowly, still stunned.
As the afternoon sun filtered through the windows and laughter filled the café, Mirae finally allowed herself to believe it—this wasn't just a good day.
It was the start of something extraordinary.
The café settled into a quiet rhythm after the lunch rush, the buzz of excitement now replaced with a gentle hum of conversation, the clink of teacups, and the soothing jazz melodies echoing from the speakers. Mirae stood behind the counter, watching it all with quiet satisfaction.
She had survived the grand opening—not just survived it, but owned it. Yoo Sena's rare compliment still echoed in her head like a warm, steady drumbeat.
As she turned to check on a fresh batch of raspberry ganache, she caught sight of Doekyom sitting near the window with a young couple. They were laughing, tasting his favorite lavender eclairs. She smiled to herself; he had a way of making people feel like they belonged, as if this world of chocolate and warmth had always been their home.
A soft knock came from the staff door.
It was Jinah, one of the part-timers, holding out a sleek envelope. "This just arrived by courier. It's marked urgent."
Mirae dried her hands and took it, noting the elegant gold seal. Her breath hitched.
It was from Choi & Park Global Confectionery Group—the international company that had once rejected her application as an apprentice years ago. She hadn't spoken of it since. She hadn't needed to.
With cautious fingers, she opened it. Her eyes skimmed the letter inside. Then she read it again. And again.
"We are pleased to invite you to represent South Korea at the World Chocolate Artisans Expo in Zurich this autumn…"
Mirae's legs nearly gave out.
Zurich. A showcase of the world's best artisan chocolatiers. A place she had only dared to dream of when she first left culinary school in shame, her father's scandal still fresh in the headlines.
Now, they wanted her.
Doekyom must have seen her expression, because he was at her side in an instant. "Mirae? What is it?"
She handed him the letter with trembling hands.
His eyes danced across the page, and then—like sunlight bursting through clouds—he grinned.
"They're inviting you," he said. "This is… Mirae, this is huge."
"I don't understand," she murmured. "Why now?"
"Because they finally see what I've always seen," he said. "You're not just talented—you're unforgettable."
Tears welled in her eyes, a rush of disbelief and pride and fear swirling together. "Doekyom, I—I don't know if I'm ready."
"You don't have to be ready," he whispered. "You just have to believe."
She looked up at him, their faces inches apart. In his gaze, she saw the journey they'd taken—the pain, the rebuilding, the small moments that stitched them together.
"I'll only go if you come with me," she said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could second-guess them.
His brows lifted. "Zurich?"
She nodded. "We started this dream together. I want to keep chasing it that way."
He smiled—wide, honest, and a little stunned. "Then I'm already packed."
They both laughed, relief and joy washing over them in waves.
Behind them, the café door jingled again, another customer entering. But for that moment, the world faded, leaving only the taste of sweet possibility on the air.