The morning of her departure, the air in Seoul was crisp and filled with anticipation. Mirae stood at the entrance of Baby Chocolat Paradise, the café that had once felt like a quiet dream, now a living, breathing symbol of her journey. Her suitcase was beside her, passport tucked into her bag, and her team stood in a line in front of the glass doors, offering nervous smiles and tight hugs.
"Text us when you land," Sena said, handing Mirae a travel pouch filled with snacks and lavender hand cream.
"And don't forget to breathe," chimed in Minhee, the youngest assistant, eyes wide with admiration.
Mirae smiled. "I'll be back before you know it."
She took one last look at the shop, now glowing with warmth even in her absence. A part of her felt like she was leaving a child behind—but another part knew this was exactly what she'd built it for. Growth. Flight.
The drive to the airport was quiet. Mirae stared out the window, replaying memories like a silent movie: the first day of the café's opening, her first burnt batch of truffles, her first laugh with Doekyom, their accidental kiss in the rain, the moment he left.
Switzerland felt like both an end and a beginning.
At the airport terminal, Mirae moved smoothly through check-in, her documents carefully organized, her specially packed chocolate samples wrapped and temperature-controlled in insulated containers. Every detail was accounted for—except her own racing heart.
On the plane, she sat by the window, her seat bathed in soft morning light. As the plane lifted off the ground, she clutched the edge of her coat and whispered softly to herself:
"This is for us. For me."
The flight was long, and though she tried to sleep, her mind kept drifting. When the plane finally began its descent into Zurich, Mirae pressed her forehead to the cold windowpane. Snow still lingered on the mountains, and the landscape looked like a painting—crisp, elegant, precise.
She had made it.
At baggage claim, a tall woman holding a placard with her name greeted her. "Kang Mirae? Welcome to Switzerland. I'm Emilie, your liaison for the Expo. We're so pleased to have you here."
Emilie's warmth and professionalism helped Mirae settle her nerves. They drove to the hotel near the event venue, where the other finalists were also staying. Mirae recognized a few of them from international chocolate circles—Michel Leclerc from France, Yuki Nakamura from Japan, Alessio Romano from Italy. All masters. All stars.
But she didn't feel out of place.
As she unpacked in her hotel room, placing her tasting slate into a protective display case, she caught her reflection in the mirror.
Gone was the unsure chocolatier who once feared failure.
In her place stood a woman ready to take on the world—one handcrafted chocolate at a time.
The next morning, Mirae awoke to the soft chime of church bells outside her hotel window. Zurich greeted her with gentle light, the streets below quiet and orderly. She had breakfast alone—just a cup of dark coffee and a slice of buttered bread. Her appetite had vanished beneath the weight of expectation.
At 9 a.m. sharp, a shuttle picked up the finalists and transported them to the Zurich Culinary Exhibition Center. It was a grand, glass-paneled building on the edge of the Limmat River, modern in structure yet surrounded by old-world charm. The air buzzed with anticipation, and inside, the atmosphere was electric.
The main exhibition hall was massive. There were booths showcasing the world's finest chocolate craftsmanship—from sculptural displays of cocoa animals to new-age flavor infusions using algae and saffron. The finalists' preparation area, however, was tucked behind a velvet-draped curtain, guarded and serene, accessible only to competitors and a select few Expo officials.
Each chocolatier had been assigned a personalized station equipped with top-tier tools, ingredients, and climate control. Mirae's station was near a wide window, overlooking a tranquil garden where snowdrops bloomed despite the cold. It calmed her.
She unpacked her tools, placing her utensils with almost ceremonial precision. The Journey of the Heart trio was safely stored in a temperature-regulated box, each piece nestled like a treasure in dark velvet. Every flavor had been tested, timed, and rebalanced over and over back in Seoul.
Just before noon, a tall man in a sharp black suit approached her.
"You must be Kang Mirae," he said in accented English. "I'm Lukas Alder, head of the Expo committee. I've been looking forward to your work."
"Thank you," Mirae said, bowing slightly. "It's an honor to be here."
"Your concept," he added, glancing at her flavor brief, "is poetic. Personal. That kind of vulnerability is rare in this industry."
Mirae didn't know what to say—only that she'd never considered not being personal. It was the only way she knew how to create.
After he left, Mirae found herself in a quiet pocket of time. No one hovered. No distractions. She pulled out her sketchbook—the one she used to plan her original recipes—and began sketching the plating layout again. It was already finalized, but the act of sketching soothed her nerves.
Just then, a voice called softly from behind her.
"I knew you'd come."
She turned.
Standing at the edge of the curtain, holding a visitor's pass, was Doekyom.
Mirae froze, a dozen emotions clashing in her chest.
He looked almost exactly the same—tall, warm-eyed, slightly disheveled from travel—but something in his expression had shifted. He looked… proud.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, breathlessly.
"I came to see your finale. I had to."
She laughed, almost disbelieving. "You flew to Switzerland?"
Doekyom smiled. "It's a long story. But yes. I couldn't miss this. I told you, remember? I want to see you shine."
And just like that, her fear melted.
With him there, she wasn't just a competitor in a foreign country. She was Kang Mirae—chocolatier, dreamer, builder of beauty from sweetness and memory.
And now, she wasn't alone.