IMFOBO | CH 58 | At the Kiln 1

Grandmother’s kilns stood in a row just beyond the backyard.

Under a slate roof, five earthen kilns stretched out like molehills in a neat line — an unexpectedly striking sight.

When firing earthenware, the kilns could reach temperatures of up to 1,200°C, and the heat wouldn’t fully dissipate until several days later.

In front of one of the kilns, still warm with lingering heat, stood Ryu Tae-san.

It was a surprising place to find him, honestly.

Had the grandmother’s wedding gift also left such an impression on him?

He never seemed like the type to get caught up in sentimentality like that.

“Why are you out here?”

“Just curious.”

He stared at the kiln with an unreadable expression.

Eun-cho quietly stepped up beside him.

It was early winter, and the nighttime chill had hardened the ground, forming a light frost.

Crunch, crunch. The sound of the frozen earth crumbling under her shoes echoed with each step.

“And why are you here?”

“You disappeared.”

“Didn’t you just say you were ditching me?”

He grinned playfully.

The deep color of his eyes gleamed oddly in the firelight.

The languid slant of his eyes gave off an oddly sensual vibe.

“Sensual?” What the hell, Lee Eun-cho, are you out of your mind?

She hadn’t expected the aftershocks of that night to linger so intensely.

If she’d known it would rattle her this much, she would’ve stopped him somehow.

And he, the man who claimed to be especially soft when it came to her, probably would’ve backed down if she’d really said no.

It was strange. So strange.

“Want to take a look at the kiln?”

Eun-cho shook off the thoughts that kept spiraling back to that night and focused.

She motioned vaguely toward the kiln, and he slowly stood and turned to her.

“They all look similar, but this one has a flue hole, and that one doesn’t. The type of kiln used changes depending on what you’re firing.”

She began explaining the kilns, one by one, her voice animated and light.

After all, if a village mutt could learn a few verses from hanging around the local school for three years, she too had picked up plenty growing up under a master potter’s roof.

“If you apply glaze, the temperature needs to go even higher.”

Tae-san nodded with a soft smile, seemingly not bored at all.

Like he found his wife’s enthusiasm adorable.

Then he reached out and lightly tousled Eun-cho’s hair.

She froze as his fingers brushed her crown.

“Go on.”

“The ones your grandmother gave us earlier were glazed earthenware, so they were probably fired in this kiln here.”

Eun-cho’s words slowed.

Tae-san had tugged her close and settled himself onto the high hearth ledge, bringing her with him.

Before she knew it, she found herself nestled against him.

“…Why are we sitting like this?”

“I’m just listening. What’s the problem?”

This? This is you being “just” a good listener?

Tae-san had Eun-cho seated between his legs, his firm arms wrapped snugly around her slender waist.

He smiled gently, his breath warm as it spilled over the nape of her neck.

“It’s cold. Let’s stay like this for a bit. Don’t be so stingy.”

His low voice came from too close — her hearing felt hypersensitive.

“I’m not cold.”

“Your nose is red.”

He wrapped his large coat around her like a blanket and intertwined their fingers.

That brought them even closer, perfectly locked in an embrace.

With his head slightly bowed, Tae-san spoke again.

“Keep explaining. Where do you put the firewood?”

“…In the stokehole on the roof.”

He naturally guided the conversation back to the kiln.

Eun-cho knew she was getting swept up in him again, and still, she let it happen.

The warmth radiating from his body and the lingering heat of the kiln behind them made it too hard to pull away.

His heartbeat thumped steadily against her back. It was oddly comforting.

“Do you chop the firewood yourself?”

“Usually, yes, but…”

Even as he held her like that, Tae-san remained completely calm.

The initial chill had vanished. Between his coat and the kiln’s warmth, she could almost feel herself overheating.

Something was wrong here.

Why were they this close?

Feeling awkward and flustered, Eun-cho squirmed slightly in his hold.

This is driving me crazy. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable.

“Stop squirming.”

“…Huh?”

But then, Tae-san’s voice—until now calm and composed—dropped an octave.

There was a tightness to it, like he was clenching his jaw to hold something back.

Is he… uncomfortable too?

“When you move the earthenware, do you crawl in through that opening? Looks like a tight squeeze.”

He jerked his chin toward the small entrance.

Eun-cho imagined him crawling in like a puppy and let out a small laugh.

“No, there’s a side door you can go through.”

As she giggled, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, the man brushed her hair aside and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

His breath followed, warm and damp.

Feeling a fresh wave of awkwardness, she squirmed again—

“Ugh, I told you not to move so much.”

“S-says the one kissing me!”

It really did seem like Ryu Tae-san was just as uncomfortable, so why insist on staying in this position?

They were far too close for comfort.

“‘Jagi’?” he echoed. “I like that better than ‘oppa.’”

“You do realize I didn’t mean that kind of ‘jagi,’ right?”

“Being too nitpicky? Not very cute.”

Tae-san tightened his arms around Eun-cho’s waist.

Even with the thick padding between them, it only made the space between them feel even smaller.

She could feel him inching his hips back, clearly doing his best to avoid any contact.

It was… commendable, really. But—

…Huh?

And then Eun-cho understood the reason behind his discomfort.

There was something unmistakably firm pressing against her lower back.

Seriously? What guy gets like this all the time?

Did he lie about his birthdate?

I’d believe it if someone said he was way younger than me.

“W-we should get up!”

“Ghk—!”

Eun-cho sprang to her feet with all her might.

In doing so, the back of her head slammed into Tae-san’s chin, producing a nasty crack.

“Oh no.”

“Lee Eun-cho, you…”

It hadn’t been intentional, of course—but seeing Tae-san grimacing and clutching his jaw sent her into a mild panic.

Eun-cho flung open the door to her grandmother’s studio and backed away.

Why did things with this man always end up feeling like a chase scene?

She really might be descended from debt collectors—no wonder she kept giving herself away like this.

“A-are you okay? I’m really sorry.”

Tae-san followed her inside.

The chill from outside slipped in for a second before the door shut again.

Thanks to the lingering warmth from the kiln, the studio wasn’t cold at all.

Was it just her imagination, or did he look especially huge standing there against the door?

Like a landslide, ready to crash down at any moment.

“My jaw’s just a little sore. It wasn’t on purpose, right, Jagi?”

Seriously?

First “Eun-cho-ya,” now “babe” and “sweetheart”—how did he make it sound so natural?

What’s next, honey?

Then again, she wasn’t exactly in a position to judge.

“L-look at this! I made it when I was little.”

She rushed to change the subject.

Pointing toward a neatly arranged shelf along one wall of the studio, she gestured to the small collection of pottery displayed there—teapots and cups, clumsy bowls, all with a handmade charm.

“My grandma’s a master artisan. She’s actually a designated intangible cultural asset. Used to host workshops every weekend before she got sick.”

Tae-san approached the shelf quietly, reaching out to touch the teacup she’d mentioned.

He didn’t spare a glance for the perfectly shaped pieces her grandmother had made—instead, his fingers brushed over the rougher, less-polished cup.

“I made that when I was ten. If you look underneath, there’s a little stamp I carved.”

Following her explanation, he turned the cup over and spotted the tiny leaf symbol carved at the bottom.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

“Eun-cho’s been meticulous since way back, huh?”

He looked at her and smiled—one of those warm, dimpled ones that made her freeze in place, like she’d been caught in a trance.

Why was her face suddenly so hot?

Once again, Tae-san picked out her handiwork from among the other earthenware on the shelf—this time a small jar with a lid.

“Tell me. What was Lee Eun-cho like as a kid?”

“…You’re really curious about something that trivial?”

“I do. For some reason.”

The Eun-cho from a time I don’t know.

At Taesan’s added words, Euncho’s eyes tremble slightly.

There was something unshakably calm and deep in his gaze that asked her, not forced, just gently drew her out.

Come to think of it, no one had ever asked her that before.

“I cried a lot. In secret. Even as a kid, I knew I shouldn’t throw tantrums around Grandma and Grandpa.”

It was a memory buried deep, something she’d never really spoken out loud.

She’d always been afraid—of upsetting her grandparents, of being scolded, of being left alone again.

“I didn’t want to be abandoned. Or left behind.”

She hadn’t meant to get so serious.

She hadn’t meant to darken the mood.

But Tae-san stepped in without hesitation, pulling her gently into his chest.

Before she even realized it, she was in his arms.

“No one’s abandoning you.”

And somehow, those simple words brought a strange kind of comfort.

Enough to melt a small corner of her long-frozen heart.