SMDS Ch 1

“Can you hold this for a moment?”

The fleeting warmth that brushed against his cool hand the instant he was handed an umbrella.

“My hands are a bit full right now.”

That day was as gentle as magic.

👓

Trrrrr.

A loud noise shattered his consciousness. His entire body felt heavy and languid, as if he had been submerged in deep water. Frowning, he groped around with his hand and pulled the phone lying beside him closer.

“…Hello. This is Seo Jian.”

His priority was to stop the loud noise, so he answered without checking who was calling. Realizing this, he tried to clear his hoarse voice, but he couldn’t entirely hide it.

If this was a work-related call, it would be a grave discourtesy. With bleary, sleep-deprived eyes, Jian tried to make out the caller’s name on the screen when a playful voice reached his ears.

— Hello, Seo Jian. This is Jung Sehyun. Did I wake you up?

“No, you timed it perfectly.”

He replied lazily, lifting his body from where he had been sprawled. He had only meant to rest his eyes briefly at his desk, but he had fallen asleep as is, and now his entire body was screaming in protest.

— Yet again, you fell asleep at your desk while working.

The moment Jian let out a groan, Jung Sehyun, as if possessed by a sixth sense, clicked his tongue, instantly picking up on his state.

“…Hmm.”

Jian let out a vague response, and a barrage of nagging poured into his ears. Didn’t you suffer last time because of this? You’re going to ruin yourself. If you’re going to do this, what’s the point of having a bed? Throw it out. No, since you haven’t had it long, sell it secondhand. And so on. The relentless scolding completely chased away the last remnants of his drowsiness.

— Seo Jian. You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?

Still moving his stiff neck side to side and shuffling toward the kitchen to make coffee, Jian glanced around.

“…I don’t see any CCTV in my house.”

— Yeah, right. Just go open the door already.

Instead of questioning the sudden request, Jian turned from his path to the kitchen and obediently headed toward the front door. As he opened it, he paused for a moment. He hadn’t noticed with the door closed, but it was raining outside.

He stared for a while at the ashen sky and the soft, misty rain. He only snapped out of it when a voice came through the phone.

— Look down.

Still gazing blankly at the rainy scene, Jian finally lowered his eyes. About to ask if Sehyun had actually installed a CCTV, he noticed a shopping bag placed conspicuously by the entrance. As he picked it up, Sehyun continued.

— I was going to leave it since you didn’t answer even after the delivery alert, figuring you were working… but in this weather, leaving it outside too long might ruin it. So I called. Look, I know you’re probably not eating properly, so I sent this. Don’t leave a single bite.

The heavy shopping bag gave off a delicious aroma. Jian could guess how much thought Sehyun had put into it, even without him saying so.

“Thanks. I’ll eat well, Sehyun.”

He had lost count of how many times he’d been indebted to him like this. When caught up in work, Jian often skipped meals to avoid breaking his flow. Knowing this well, Sehyun would sometimes take it upon himself to deliver food or, when he couldn’t, send something Jian liked.

— What, you’re getting all sappy over something like this? …Anyway, when’s that project of yours wrapping up?

Embarrassed by the gratitude, Sehyun grumbled and quickly changed the subject.

“Probably in three or four days at the latest. That’s the plan, at least.”

Jian gazed into the air, mentally estimating the workload ahead.

— Then come hang out when it’s done. I’m starting to forget what your face looks like.

“Got it.”

— Now hang up and eat.

“Yeah. Thanks, really.”

— I said stop with the sappy stuff, punk. …I’m hanging up. Get to work.

Sehyun cut the call before Jian could respond. Jian could vividly picture him rubbing the back of his neck, flustered. With a small smile, Jian placed the shopping bag he’d been holding on the table. He fidgeted with it for a moment before grabbing the cigarettes and lighter next to it and heading back outside.

The sound of raindrops rolling off the eaves welcomed him.

“…….”

Leaning against the wall and crouching down, Jian put a cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter. It lit up quickly. He inhaled deeply until his cheeks hollowed, then exhaled, letting a cloud of pale smoke drift like a veil, obscuring his vision. He stared at it quietly, then reached out as if to part the smoke. Rainwater pooled in his open palm before trickling down.

His hand was soaked from the rain, but Jian didn’t pull it back for a long while.

Truthfully, he didn’t have time to indulge in such sentimentality. With a tight deadline looming, he needed to hustle to finish the work on time. He had to eat, jolt his still-foggy brain with caffeine, and sit back down at his desk. Yet, his gaze remained fixed outside.

Rain wasn’t a big deal. It was summer, after all, and the rainy season to boot. Even outside of monsoon season, summer often brought rain. If he got lost in thought every time it rained, his daily life would be severely disrupted. But when it rained on a day when he dreamt of his first love—the moment they first met—his heart couldn’t help but float away.

“…It’s been over ten years already.”

So much time had passed that he couldn’t count it on both hands. All he could recall of his first love, whose name he didn’t even know, was the warmth on the back of his hand and a shadowy glimpse of their appearance. That’s how long it had been. Nowadays, he barely dreamt of them—maybe once a year, if that. This time, it had been two and a half years since the last one.

Wasn’t it time to stop thinking about it? Why did they appear in his dreams just when he thought he’d forgotten, stirring up his heart like this? The emotions Enlightenment surely played a part in those emotions Jian felt back then—fierce and vivid in the face of reality—had long since faded and worn out, buried in oblivion.

Mrow-

A sudden meow broke through his reverie.

Dispelling the face from his dream, Jian turned toward the sound. It was a stray cat that had been coming around for the past two months, peeking in now and then. Unlike usual, its fur was damp and drooping from the rain, making it look pitiful. Standing at the edge of the eaves to avoid the rain, the cat locked eyes with Jian and let out another meow.

The sound was almost reproachful, and only then did Jian hurriedly stub out his cigarette in a portable ashtray, wave away the smoke, and head inside to grab the cat food from the drawer. As he took a step to fill an empty bowl, the cat backed away warily.

Even so, it had grown somewhat accustomed to him. For a creature whose life likely spanned only a few months, not even years, it had probably been through a lot on the streets. At first, it would bristle and flee the moment Jian took a step. But as he kept feeding it without causing harm, it now stayed, albeit cautiously, instead of running.

“I’ll just give you food and leave.”

He quickly filled the bowl and stepped back, and the cat cautiously buried its head in it. Its eyes, however, kept darting toward Jian, ready to bolt if he got too close.

It was impossibly finicky, to say the least.

Crouching down again to watch the cat eat, Jian pulled an umbrella from the entrance and spread it out on the ground. If a gust of wind carried rain under the eaves while he was inside, it might wet the cat’s fur, and he knew how much it hated that.

“Hey, kitty.”

Unable to give it a proper name since he couldn’t take it in, he called it by the meaningless nickname he’d been using. The cat’s ears twitched.

“If you can’t find a good spot to stay dry later, come under here.”

There was, of course, no response.

He hadn’t expected one, so Jian stood up, bracing his knees. He’d been putting off his work to soothe his unsettled heart, but there was much to do. Shaking off the dampness clinging to him as he dusted his clothes, Jian smiled. No matter how much his heart had been in turmoil, the past scattered like grains of sand in the face of reality.

Of course, the real hero was the cat, diligently eating while keeping an eye on him. Thanks to it, he could shake off his musings more quickly. Once his work was done, he’d have to buy the little thing a treat it would like.

Planning step by step, Jian went inside, polished off the food Sehyun had sent, and sat back down at his desk. He picked up the light, rimless glasses scattered on the desk and put them on. His eyes, now free of faint reveries, were filled only with foreign text.

👓

The rain, which had been falling and stopping capriciously for days, finally ceased completely while Jian sent off files to a client and slept like the dead all day.

The sky, as if it had never been overcast, was a brilliant blue without a single cloud, and the sun blazed fiercely. Heatwaves shimmered over the asphalt, and a news report he glimpsed mentioned tips for coping with the heatwave.

People grimaced, fanning themselves with their hands or wielding parasols and handheld fans, desperately trying to shake off the sticky, oppressive heat clinging to their bodies. By the time Jian reached his destination, he was exhausted from the scorching heat and lingering fatigue.

Stepping indoors, the air-conditioned breeze finally let him breathe.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Jian scanned the bustling lobby. He had called while exiting the subway, and someone was supposed to meet him in the lobby, but with the crowd, it wasn’t easy to spot them.

“…Mr. Seo, Jian!”

He was about to pull out his phone to call again, worried he’d be late, when a voice called out to him. Turning toward it, he saw a man waving enthusiastically, pushing through the crowd toward him.

“Sorry. I meant to get here early, but I’m late. Did you wait long?”

“No, I just got here too.”

The man, red-faced and panting from running, caught his breath. Only after a while did the flush fade from his face.

“You came out here on such short notice. Thanks so much, Jian. I hope I didn’t drag you away from something important?”

“I just finished a project. If I were busy, I wouldn’t have come, even for you, Assistant Director.”

The man was someone Jian had met years ago when he’d been called to a set for last-minute interpreting. Somehow, they’d kept in touch since. When Jian left his company for personal reasons and struggled financially as a freelancer, this man had helped by referring jobs and offering support.

Lately, they’d both been too busy to talk much, but that morning, he’d called with an unmistakably urgent tone.

‘Jian, sorry to spring this on you, but are you free today?’

His voice had been so desperate that Jian, blinking sleep from his eyes, didn’t ask what was wrong but rather where and when to show up. And here he was.

“So I pulled you away from some well-deserved rest, huh?”

“When the Assistant Director calls, I’ve got to show up.”

Even if it had been a dire emergency, Jian wouldn’t have refused his request. He wasn’t shameless enough to turn away the one person who’d reached out when he was at his lowest after leaving the company.

“Besides, what freelancer has a day off?”

“…True. Freelancers have to hustle when work comes in, right?”

“Exactly. I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t called.”

The Assistant Director, who’d been gauging Jian’s reaction, relaxed slightly as Jian continued, his shoulders lifting just a fraction.

“Oh, shoot, look at the time… Jian, shall we head up?”

The moment of ease was brief. Checking his watch, the Assistant Director sighed and quickened his pace. Jian followed, listening to a brief explanation.

He’d suspected as much when asked to come to a cinema, and he was right. They were holding a movie premiere, but the interpreter scheduled for the event had a sudden conflict and couldn’t make it.

“When you said you’d come right away, I could finally breathe, honestly.”

The Assistant Director rubbed his chest, recalling the tense atmosphere on set earlier. The director, being Korean-American, could manage somehow, but the actor, who only knew basic Korean greetings like ‘hello’ and fan-service phrases like ‘I love you,’ was the issue. Stage greetings without an interpreter were impossible. If Jian hadn’t agreed to come immediately, the Assistant Director would’ve been scrambling to cool the heated mood while simultaneously finding another interpreter—ten of him wouldn’t have been enough.

“I’ll do my best not to mess this up for you.”

Interpreting after years away felt daunting. The Assistant Director gave a quick rundown of the plot and the actor’s role, but since Jian hadn’t fully grasped the film’s content, he worried about missing context or intent.

“What mess? I called you first for a reason, you know.”

Patting Jian’s back reassuringly, the Assistant Director told him not to worry.

“By the way, will I need to go on stage for the interpreting?”

Having come through the heat and crowds, Jian was concerned about his appearance. Plus, the fatigue from pulling all-nighters likely still shadowed his face.

“No way. I’m already asking a lot of you; I wouldn’t add that pressure. You’ll use a transmitter connected to an in-ear device, so you won’t need to go on stage.”

“I was worried about my state, so that’s a relief.”

“Why? If you stood over there, everyone would think you’re a rookie actor.”

The Assistant Director pointed to the red carpet, where invited celebrities stood. Watching them smile brightly and pose effortlessly despite flashing cameras was fascinating. To compare himself to such dazzling people was absurd.

“You didn’t believe me just now, did you? I’m dead serious.”

Seeing Jian’s skeptical look, the Assistant Director feigned offense, insisting his words were sincere.

“No, I believe you.”

“That didn’t look like belief.”

As they bickered, they reached the waiting room. David Wilson. Seeing the nameplate on the door, Jian tensed inwardly, but the Assistant Director, catching it, gave his shoulder a reassuring pat to ease his nerves.

“He’s not a difficult guy, so don’t worry too much. We’re short on time, so we’ll just say hi and leave.”

“Got it.”

At Jian’s reply, the Assistant Director knocked and opened the door before a response came. A man with hair clips in his hair, mid-conversation, turned. He eyed Jian warily for a moment but relaxed upon seeing the Assistant Director behind him, realizing who they were.

『Hello. I’m Seo Jian, your interpreter for today.』

『Hey, nice to meet you. David Wilson.』

True to the Assistant Director’s word, he was friendly and welcoming. As an actor, his pronunciation was clear rather than slurred, making him easy to understand. Using the background info from the Assistant Director, Jian briefly discussed the film and role, mentally organizing how to approach the interpreting.

As a plan took shape, his anxiety eased. The Assistant Director, watching, noticed Jian’s improved expression and gave him a pat, grinning as if to say, “Told you it’d be fine.”

“Oh, Minjung, over here.”

He then gestured to a staff member entering with something in hand.

Without asking Jian anything, she handed him a transmitter connected to the actor’s in-ear device and quickly explained how to use it. Jian listened intently, determined not to miss a word. Thankfully, the device wasn’t too complicated. Jian relayed the instructions to the actor, who grinned, tapped his in-ear device, and nodded in understanding.

“Looks like intros are done. Shall we head to the theater and get positioned?”

“Yep.”

At the Assistant Director’s gentle nudge, Jian offered a final “please take care of me” and stepped out of the waiting room. That’s when a deep navy dress flooded his vision like a night sky.

“Oh my, Assistant Director!”

A bright, clear voice followed.

“Yujin.”

It was actress Won Yujin. Debuting at twenty, she’d never had a moment of obscurity. With countless commercials and a track record of hit dramas and films, she was a household name even to Jian.

“Why’re you alone? Where’s your manager?”

“He went to pick up someone we know. …Oh! I was wondering who it was—our interpreter for today, right?”

Come to think of it, Won Yujin was the female lead in this film. Her face and the title role vaguely came to mind from a poster he’d glimpsed on the way.

“Hi, I’m Won Yujin.”

“Seo Jian.”

“But, Assistant Director, I think he should be debuting instead of interpreting.”

Winking playfully, she seemed incredibly lively. Known for delicate or intensely dramatic roles, this side of her felt unfamiliar.

“Right? A face Chungmuro missed out on. …No, we don’t have time for this. Yujin, Jian’s got to go.”

“Oh no, I was so stunned by our interpreter’s face I blocked the way. Sorry!”

But seriously, I’m genuinely disappointed—don’t you ever think about debuting? Stepping aside, Won Yujin emphasized she was dead serious.

Smiling awkwardly to deflect, Jian was about to move past with the staff when a voice laced with amusement drifted from across the way.

“Yujin, you’re making him uncomfortable.”

The low, languid tone made Jian freeze, his breath catching. It was as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

The low, languid tone of the voice made Jian involuntarily hold his breath. It was as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

“What? Yujin, you referred to our esteemed investor as just ‘someone we know’?”

“Huh? You’re right. Instead of personally greeting our esteemed investor, I sent my manager to pick him up?”

Recognizing the man, the Assistant Director chimed in with delight, and Won Yujin playfully bantered back. All the while, Jian couldn’t lift his head, his gaze still fixed on the man’s shoulder. To be honest, not a single word of their conversation registered in his ears.

“…….”

The warmth that had once touched the back of his hand came to mind. The long, slender knuckles, the face he had glimpsed through the ribs of an umbrella.

Things that had lingered as faint afterimages, quietly tucked away somewhere on the edges of memory, suddenly pushed through and began to grow vivid.

“Are you okay?”

As Jian stood there, unable to breathe, that increasingly clear hand lightly tapped his shoulder. Only then, as if awakening from a spell, did he slowly exhale and gradually raise his head.

“…….”

His gaze traced upward along a jawline, now more defined than before, to the lips, the nose… and finally the eyes. The face that had been shadowed, no matter how much he tried to recall it, was now startlingly clear.

The past, once frozen in monochrome, began to take on color.

Despite the late hour, darkened by ink-black clouds spreading across the sky, the heavens were tinged with ash. Raindrops slashed diagonally in the fierce wind, puddles of muddy water splashed underfoot, and the distinctive scent of rain reverberated in every direction.

That day had been one of unforecasted torrential rain.

Having finished evening self-study, Jian stood motionless under the eaves, staring at the relentless, ferocious rain that showed no sign of letting up. He hadn’t brought an umbrella, and the children who had gathered in clusters were picked up one by one by their parents, heading home. As colorful umbrellas approached and receded, the noisy chatter gradually faded. The rain swallowed the clamor the children had created, replacing it with silence.

Jian stood there, unmoving, until every child had left, then slowly extended his hand beyond the eaves. Fierce raindrops collected in the gaps between his outstretched fingers before falling. A chill clung to his skin like dampness, only to scatter away. The regret of forgetting an umbrella on a rainy day, along with all his troublesome emotions, was washed away with the rain.

After letting his feelings dissipate, the next step was to make a decision.

Waiting for the unpredictable rain to stop was not a wise choice. Nor was it likely that someone would suddenly appear like a savior, or with some kind of magic, to offer him an umbrella. Jian was no longer young enough to expect such miraculous kindness.

Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to wound himself further by holding onto such expectations.

Jian pulled his bag over his head. It wouldn’t keep the rain off, but it was a kind of consolation, in a way. Stepping out from under the eaves, he hurriedly dashed forward. As expected, he was soaked in no time.

If he could just make it to the bus stop… With that thought, he sprinted recklessly across the school courtyard, but his steps suddenly faltered. Stumbling as if he were about to fall, Jian braced for the pain and squeezed his eyes shut, but a strong force gripped his wrist tightly.

Barely avoiding a fall, Jian saw a pair of pointed dress shoes in front of him. Looking up, he saw someone holding a long umbrella, grasping his arm and looking down at him.

“Are you okay?”

Unlike Jian, who was soaked to the bone and looked utterly disheveled, the other’s hair was neatly combed, not a single drop of water on it. His irises were so dark they almost seemed blue, his nose sharply defined, and his lips, at a glance, curved upward as if smiling. Jian gazed, entranced, at the unfairly perfect features until their eyes suddenly met. At the same moment, he recalled that the man had spoken to him.

“What? Yes. I’m fine. Thank you for catching me.”

Realizing this, Jian lowered his eyes to avoid the man’s gaze, carefully shaking off the hand still holding his wrist while adjusting his bag.

“You’re just going to leave like that?”

The question the man posed stopped Jian, who had been about to dart back out from under the umbrella. Jian easily discerned the underlying meaning in his words. The man was likely asking if there was anyone coming to pick Jian up, or perhaps if Jian was alone.

“Yes.”

His reply was simple, unburdened by trivial or tedious personal details.

“Really?”

Jian had expected the usual clichéd follow-up questions, but the response was refreshingly straightforward. That was a relief. He no longer wished to receive pity, which was fleeting and weightless.

“I’m just asking, but are you the last one to leave?”

“Probably… Yes, I think so…”

Jian hesitated briefly before answering the man’s unexpected question.

“Got it.”

Muttering as if to himself, the man glanced between the darkened school courtyard and Jian, then made an unexpected request.

“Can you hold this for a moment?”

“…What?”

“My hands are a bit full right now.”

Though he had just put his phone in his bag, making it hard to believe his hands were occupied, Jian nodded obediently. The man, offering a faint smile of thanks, reached out and handed Jian the umbrella he was holding. Jian flinched for a moment at the warmth that brushed against his cool hand, then widened his eyes at the man’s next action.

“Wait…!”

The man crouched down and placed a hand on Jian’s shoe.

“You can’t fall again like earlier.”

There won’t be anyone to catch you next time, he added lightly, tying Jian’s loose shoelace securely. Despite the muddy water splashing around, his hands moved without hesitation as he knotted the lace. Jian was at a loss in the face of this unexpected kindness. Tying a shoelace took mere seconds, yet it felt like an eternity.

“Done.”

The man tugged the lace tightly once more to ensure it wouldn’t come undone, then stood up.

“Thank you, thank you.”

The man grinned and shrugged. Jian tried to hand the umbrella back, but the man refused to take it.

“Even if it’s early summer, you’ll catch a cold if you get soaked like this. Take it.”

“But then…”

“Looks like my impatient little brother stood me up, so I’ve got an extra one.”

The man pulled another umbrella from his bag, playfully waving it as he cut off Jian’s protest.

“I’m not giving it to you, I’m lending it, so you’d better keep it safe and return it. Got it?”

The man opened the new umbrella and turned away, striding off quickly. Jian watched his retreating back, then looked down at the firmly tied shoelace, and finally at the umbrella in his hand.

That moment felt like a tender kind of magic to him.

Enough to make his heart tremble… or to linger in his memory for a very long time.

“…Mr. Seo? Jian?”

It was the Assistant Director’s voice that pulled Jian out of the flood of past memories he was floundering in. Only then did Jian refocus his dazed eyes. All eyes were on him. The man who had thrust Jian back into the past was watching him too.

“What’s wrong all of a sudden? Are you feeling unwell?”

Jian glanced at the Assistant Director, then back at his nameless first love from the past. Over a decade had passed, and the youthful softness had given way to a more solid presence, but that face remained unmistakably the same.

“It’s nothing. Just something that came to mind…”

Forcing his gaze away from his first love and steadying his heart, Jian shook his head as he spoke.

“What’s got you so lost in thought? You’re making people worry.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. If it’s nothing, that’s fine. Jian, let’s head down to the theater now. We need to get positioned and review the interview questions, and we’re a bit pressed for time. …Oh, Yujin, sir, we’ve got work to do, so we’ll head down first.”

The Assistant Director, closely observing Jian’s expression and deeming him fine, glanced at his watch and grew anxious.

“I’ve been holding up busy people.”

The man smiled amiably, stepping aside two paces to let them pass.

“Thank you. …Alright, Jian, let’s go.”

“Yes. …Then.”

“Oh, Jian, was it?”

As Jian moved to hurry past, the man called his name.

“Not exactly the time for introductions, is it?”

“…….”

“I’m looking forward to your interpreting today.”

Unlike Jian, who was shaken the moment he saw him, the man smiled encouragingly, as if he had no recollection of Jian at all. With a small nod, Jian lowered his gaze and fled the scene. If he didn’t, he felt he’d keep staring at the man.

👓

He could hardly remember how he managed the interpreting. When he came to his senses, it was already over. Judging by the Assistant Director’s beaming smile, expressing gratitude and promising to call soon, it seemed there had been no issues with the interpreting, which was a relief.

Despite his protests, they insisted on handing him an envelope, and by the time he left the theater, he was utterly drained. Too exhausted to drag his heavy steps home, he instead headed somewhere else. It wasn’t far, so he arrived quickly.

Glancing at the wooden sign that read “Cheongyeonjae,” Jian passed through a stone wall lined with densely planted bamboo. Beyond it was a café, converted from an old traditional house. As he opened the door, a bell shaped like a blue lantern chime rang brightly, as if shaking off the oppressive heat.

“Wel… Welcome.”

The person who turned at the sound of the bell greeted Jian.

“It’s been a while since you came by.”

“Hello, Haeyoung.”

“The boss hasn’t come in yet.”

“I’m not here to meet Sehyun. I had some business nearby and just stopped by.”

Shaking his head at Yoon Haeyoung, who assumed he was there for an appointment with Jung Sehyun, Jian carefully studied the menu. Normally, he’d order an Americano with an extra shot without a glance, so the sight of him scrutinizing the menu must have seemed unusual, as he felt Haeyoung’s gaze. But Jian was too absorbed in his thoughts to care.

If someone checked his blood right now, caffeine might make up half of it. For days on end, to stay awake or shake off a foggy mind, he’d been pouring coffee into an empty stomach—even this morning.

“…An iced Americano with an extra shot, please.”

Hearing Jian’s order, Yoon Haeyoung’s lips curled as if he’d been waiting, swiftly ringing it up. Jian, fidgeting with his earlobe, held out his card. Glancing at it, Haeyoung shook his head.

“Sehyun’s not even here right now.”

“I’m not good at lying.”

Ever since Jung Sehyun told Haeyoung never to take Jian’s money, this back-and-forth had become routine with every order. And, as always, Jian was the one to back down. With other staff, it might be different, but Haeyoung wasn’t one to budge, and Jian couldn’t afford to waste a busy person’s time. Above all, he lacked the energy to be stubborn today.

As Jian took the buzzer more readily than usual, Haeyoung raised an eyebrow in surprise but soon shooed him to a seat, saying he’d prepare the order. Holding the buzzer, custom-made in the shape of a moon jar to match the café’s aesthetic, Jian sat at his usual spot.

Even after a long absence, nothing had changed. It was a peaceful, serene scene. The sunlight filtering through the lattice windows, the stone wall visible through the gaps, the garden beyond the central courtyard designed to be seen from every angle, and the soft music playing—all of it. Nothing in the arrangement disturbed the mind. So, when he wasn’t too busy to spare the time, he often worked here.

“…….”

But now, his restless heart wouldn’t settle easily. Half-sunk into the plush chair, Jian picked up his phone.

“Who’s that? Oh, CEO Cha? You’d probably know him if you heard, Jian. Floreo, their CEO.”

He’s the one who decided to invest in this film first. Amid the chaos, Jian had asked the Assistant Director who the man was and now typed the name into the search bar.

He knew of Floreo. A subsidiary of Hwawoo, it handled film production, investment, and distribution. When Jian worked at his previous company, they sometimes outsourced translations for films distributed by Floreo. But until Jian left that job, Floreo’s CEO definitely wasn’t him…

If he’d still been doing video translations, would he have learned of the man’s whereabouts sooner? Jian tucked away the fleeting regret and checked the search results.

Articles about Floreo’s activities and issues appeared first. Scrolling down, he saw an interview with a media outlet. Jian spoke the name that appeared in the search.

Floreo’s CEO.

“…Cha Jaehwi.”

Cha Jaehwi, Cha Jaehwi… The name rolled smoothly off his tongue, feeling unfamiliar.

To think he’d learn the name of his first love after ten years, covered in layers of dust—he’d never imagined it. Even now, it didn’t feel real. Everything that happened today felt like a midsummer night’s dream.

But in a way, it was similar to a dream. Today’s reunion was purely coincidental, and they’d likely never meet again. Especially when there was so little connection between them.

“What’re you staring at so intently?”

A voice dropped over Jian’s head as he gazed at the face in the interview.

“Are you seriously checking emails again? Take a break for a few days. How long has it been since you finished your project?”

Grumbling instead of greeting, Jung Sehyun sat in the chair across from him, his expression disapproving.

“When did you get here?”

Looking like he was about to scold him, Jian swallowed his regret, set his phone on the table, and greeted him.

“Just now.”

“By the way, isn’t that coffee mine?”

“It’s mine.”

When Jian asked, eyeing the coffee in front of Sehyun, he grinned mischievously, took a sip as if to show off, and answered.

“Yours is coming soon.”

“…….”

“By the way, you come to my café and don’t even let me know?”

“I had business nearby and just stopped by.”

His heart wouldn’t stop stirring, and he was too exhausted to keep going. He’d planned to rest a bit before heading home. Forcing himself to push away the man’s face that kept resurfacing, Jian responded calmly. Only then did Sehyun glance over Jian’s unusually formal attire.

“What was this business that got you all dressed up?”

“Someone I know asked me to interpret for a movie premiere on short notice.”

“A premiere? What movie needs an interpreter right now… Oh! Is it that one? The one with Won Yujin?”

Sehyun, who had a keen interest in films, quickly pieced it together. His eyes sparkled as he leaned toward Jian. Unfazed by Jian’s slight recoil from the intensity, he pressed on.

“How was it? I’m really looking forward to it. The early reviews were pretty good.”

“Well…”

“What? Was it bad?”

Jian had been in the theater during the premiere, so he’d seen it, but he couldn’t recall much. He barely remembered how he’d managed the interpreting, let alone the film’s details.

“No, it’s not that… I just remembered one translation that could’ve been better.”

Even in the chaos, he’d thought a certain line could’ve been translated more effectively—a fragment of a thought that surfaced now. It wasn’t entirely an excuse.

“What? What was it?”

“A secret.”

“Seo Jian. Is our friendship worth so little?”

Sehyun acted betrayed, saying he’d have stopped Jian from spoiling it anyway, and went on about how Jian owed him for all the food he’d eaten. Knowing it was a joke, Jian let it slide when Yoon Haeyoung approached, perfectly timing her interruption to place a coffee on the table. Jian checked the buzzer hopefully, but it remained silent.

“You could’ve called me over.”

“No need. It’s quiet right now, so it’s fine. Oh, this is on the house.”

Come back often. Placing a soufflé piled with whipped cream in front of Jian, Haeyoung smiled brightly.

“Hey, Haeyoung, you got the order wrong.”

Pointing at the coffee, beaded with condensation, Sehyun continued. I ordered a chocolate latte, he said. Haeyoung, who hadn’t spared Sehyun a glance, finally flicked her eyes toward him. There was no trace of a smile.

“Since you were drinking your friend’s coffee, I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

So that’s why. That smug grin when he said he’d ordered separately—it was to keep Jian from drinking his coffee.

“…Oh. Right.”

Sehyun, lips twitching, nodded without further protest.

“Enjoy your drinks.”

Haeyoung responded curtly to Sehyun but smiled warmly at Jian the moment their eyes met, then walked away. As soon as she left, Sehyun let out a groan and slumped onto the table.

“I don’t even know who’s the boss anymore.”

There was no need to ask what happened.

“Last week, we had a small wedding at the café.”

Sitting up abruptly, Sehyun launched into a detailed complaint without being prompted. In summary: though not as elaborate as a full venue, it required a lot of work, but Sehyun had a last-minute commitment and arrived late, leaving all the cleanup to Haeyoung, the manager.

“I felt so bad I gave her a hefty bonus… Did you see that? Me groveling? I swear, I don’t know who’s in charge.”

His grumbling grew more indignant as he spoke, feeling slighted.

“Be good to Haeyoung. What’ll you do if she quits?”

Taking a sip of the strong coffee, Jian added soothingly.

Cheongyeonjae was a café Sehyun opened two years ago after quitting his corporate job, declaring it wasn’t for him. He’d bought a suitably sized traditional house in a prime location, renovated it, and tailored the interior to match the concept. He’d even gone out of his way to hire a barista whose skills he’d been impressed by at another café, offering generous terms. That was Yoon Haeyoung.

Even to Jian, who wasn’t picky about food as long as it wasn’t spoiled, Haeyoung’s coffee was exceptional. For Sehyun, with his notoriously finicky palate, it was a given. In fact, Sehyun was so accustomed to Haeyoung’s coffee that he couldn’t drink it anywhere else. When he had to, he’d grimace.

Beyond brewing excellent coffee, Haeyoung’s striking appearance helped spread word-of-mouth, making Cheongyeonjae a hotspot soon after opening. Even now, its popularity held strong, largely thanks to her. On top of that, her outstanding management skills ensured the café ran smoothly, making her an indispensable asset.

“…You’re right. Should I give Haeyoung a raise?”

It wasn’t just about the coffee tailored to his taste. Calculating the risk of losing Haeyoung, who was worth a hundred employees, Sehyun suddenly grew serious, tapping the table.

“Or maybe give her a stake? Make her a co-owner?”

Jian’s light suggestion to treat his hard-won partner well had spiraled into Sehyun’s overzealous planning. Shaking his head, Jian sipped the rest of his coffee.

“…….”

Tormented by his self-inflicted worries, Sehyun suddenly stared at Jian—or rather, at the drink he was sipping and the soufflé in front of him. His eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“Now that I think about it, Haeyoung’s not the type to serve unless she’s really free.”

As Jian began to feel uneasy under his gaze, Sehyun leaned forward, speaking in a suggestive tone.

“Maybe…”

He didn’t finish, but the implication was clear enough.

“What are you getting at?”

“It’s been a while since you broke up. If you’re going to date, it might as well be someone reliable.”

Jian hadn’t initially planned to reveal his unique preferences. But hiding his sexual orientation grew tiresome with constant well-meaning matchmaking attempts, and it felt like deceiving his only friend. After much deliberation, he’d confessed, knowing he might not be understood, even bracing for rejection. But Sehyun, far from scorn, had embraced him with overwhelming understanding and remained his friend.

“That jerk deserves to trip and crack his skull somewhere.”

The downside was that Sehyun knew too much about Jian’s past relationships, even the ones Jian preferred to forget. Moments like now, when Sehyun suddenly recalled something Jian had long buried and got indignant, could be awkward.

How had the conversation veered here? Realizing he was the culprit, Jian sighed.

“You went through so much because of that guy… No, forget it. Let’s stop talking about that unlucky jerk.”

Having dredged up the past himself, Sehyun shuddered, declaring it bad luck and dropping the subject. If there’d been salt nearby, he might’ve flung it at the imagined foe. Though Jian had some facts to correct, those memories weren’t exactly pleasant for him either, so he nodded along.

“No matter how I look at it, Haeyoung seems suspicious.”

“Sehyun, I get what you’re hinting at, but you’ve got it wrong.”

“Huh?”

“I mean it’s not what you’re thinking.”

Sehyun, who’d been side-eyeing the counter, widened his eyes at Jian’s unequivocal statement. His gaze held a flurry of questions—like how Jian could presume to know Haeyoung’s feelings. Instead of answering, Jian cut a slice of the soufflé with his fork.

Seeing Jian’s response, Sehyun soon adopted a resigned expression and leaned back in his chair. Though Jian was generally mild-mannered, Sehyun had learned over the years that once he clammed up, he wouldn’t speak unless he wanted to. And while Sehyun wanted Jian to meet someone good, it didn’t have to be Haeyoung.

Dropping the matchmaking, Sehyun studied Jian instead. He’d noticed earlier, but Jian looked thinner. His already delicate face seemed on the verge of vanishing.

Sehyun clicked his tongue lightly. He didn’t need to look closely to know how Jian had been living. Probably skipping meals to save time, chugging coffee instead. Though Jian had gotten better since his early freelancing days, Sehyun couldn’t help worrying, especially after seeing him collapse from overwork before. Call it meddling, but caring for Jian was practically a habit.

“Is there something on my face?”

Jian, who surely knew that wasn’t why Sehyun was staring, touched his cheek and asked.

“No, I was just wondering if a panda escaped from the zoo.”

Are my dark circles that bad? Did I look this rough to my first love after all these years? Jian rubbed his eyes, but no color came off on his fingers. Noticing Jian, unusually conscious of his appearance, a flicker of curiosity crossed Sehyun’s face.

“What’s with you, caring about your looks? Something’s up, isn’t it?”

The curiosity was fleeting. In his teasing tone, there was an unmistakable spark of interest that he couldn’t quite conceal.

“Please, this time, find someone good. A good person, okay? Someone really good.”

At the obviously playful remark, Jian withdrew the hand that had been touching his eye and countered.

“Sehyun, I don’t think you’re one to talk. You, of all people…”

“Hey!”

Just as Jian knew the ins and outs of Sehyun’s colorful romantic history, Sehyun was equally well-versed in Jian’s past relationships. Even the ones Jian preferred not to bring up. As Jian started to mention one of those, Sehyun, quick to catch on, waved his hands frantically to stop him.

“Isn’t our Jian hungry? Let’s go grab some food. I know a place that makes killer kimchi jjigae.”

The abrupt change of subject was obvious, but Jian decided to go along with it willingly. After all, he’d only brought it up to deflect Sehyun’s meddling.

“Alright. Lunch is on me.”

Even if that weren’t the case, being with someone else would help him think less about the person who kept creeping into his consciousness. Wasn’t that why he’d come to the café in the first place?

“Hey, don’t state the obvious.”

Grumbling about all the times he’d diligently sent food to Jian’s place, Sehyun’s complaint was a kind of consideration. With a smile, Jian downed the remaining half of his coffee in one go and stood up.

Behind him, the bell chimed brightly.

👓

Sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, stinging his eyes.

Jian started to bury his face to block the sudden light but opened his eyes at the sound of a groan. He saw Sehyun, still asleep, his brow deeply furrowed as if the light was bothering him, twisting his body uncomfortably.

“…Oh.”

Seeing Sehyun sleeping so soundly brought yesterday’s events flashing back like a panorama.

The plan to have a quick lunch with him and head home to rest had, predictably, gone awry. Sehyun had clung to him, insisting that it had been ages since they’d seen each other and that they couldn’t just eat and part ways so coldly. Jian had resisted, citing exhaustion, but it was futile.

Alone, his wandering thoughts made his mind noisy, but overcoming Sehyun’s stubborn determination, who had no intention of letting him retreat, was nearly impossible.

Not that they did anything extraordinary. As always when they met, they ate, drank, and exchanged pointless conversation—that was it.

After moving between a few places, the drinking session, which stretched late into the night, culminated in Sehyun’s insistence on drinking while enjoying the night view, leading them to Jian’s rooftop room. Sitting on the platform, drinking convenience store liquor, they both got drunk and fell asleep at some point.

Recalling the empty bottles, Jian’s head began to throb.

“…….”

Pressing his temples, Jian looked at Sehyun, still tossing and turning to avoid the piercing sunlight, then adjusted the slightly open curtains to block more light before heading outside.

The summer morning was warm, but it was bearable compared to the midday heat.

Glancing around, Jian noticed remnants of yesterday on the platform—things they hadn’t cleaned up, like liquor bottles and beer cans. Before tidying them, he checked the bowl under the awning. To his satisfaction, the new food he’d switched to seemed to suit the cat’s taste, as the bowl was completely empty. Maybe next time he’d mix in some treats. With that thought, he filled the empty bowl with fresh food.

Only after completing his morning ritual of feeding the cat did Jian turn to the platform. He roughly gathered the scattered bottles and cans, then sat on the edge, putting a cigarette in his mouth.

As he patted his pockets for a lighter and realized he hadn’t brought one, he glanced at the door but remembered Sehyun was still asleep. Instead, he opted to chew on the filter.

Sitting cross-legged at an angle, Jian idly fiddled with his phone. Just as he resolved to open the search bar, a notification popped up with a ding.

It was a message about payment for a recent job.

Jian scrolled through it impassively before opening his banking app instead of the search bar. He transferred money in two parts. After paying off some debt and putting money into savings, what remained was just enough for this month’s rent and living expenses. Despite taking on demanding jobs with decent pay, this was all he had left.

Though he’d managed to put a bit more into savings than usual, so perhaps it wasn’t “just” that.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel his musings were a luxury. Jian rubbed the screen gently, then opened his email. A few translation requests greeted him in his unread inbox.

Skimming them, most seemed like quick jobs. After checking deadlines and fees, he sent acceptance replies for the ones that didn’t overlap with his schedule, then put the phone down.

“Not hot out here?”

A scolding voice came from above before Jian could lift his head, and a lit lighter appeared in front of him. Jian tilted his head toward it. After lighting Jian’s cigarette, Sehyun took one from the pack Jian had left on the platform, lit it, and sat beside him.

“You’re up?”

“My stomach’s burning… Ugh, I’m dying. Let’s smoke this and go get some hangover soup. By the way, how are you so fine? Oh, I drank most of it here, didn’t I?”

No wonder my stomach’s fine—I drank enough to make it weird if it wasn’t. Seeing the empty bottles Jian had gathered, Sehyun’s face showed clear disgust.

“Ugh, looking at those bottles makes my stomach worse…”

“I told you to stop drinking.”

“But the night view was too perfect to stop.”

Lighting his cigarette, Sehyun scanned the view below the rooftop. If he loved night views so much, a rooftop bar would’ve been better. Or even his own place wasn’t bad. Yet, for some reason, Sehyun was particularly fond of the scenery from this rooftop room.

“What did he say to make you go through the hassle of finding a place?”

Years ago, when Jian, living as a housemate at Sehyun’s, expressed his intent to move out, it was quite out of character. Sehyun had been displeased, saying moving out would only bring hardship and repeatedly tried to sabotage the plan.

Come to think of it, Jian had already spent six seasons here, and this year marked the end of his lease. It was time to start thinking about renewing or finding a new place.

The inconvenience of climbing up and down was a downside, but since he mostly worked from home, it wasn’t unbearable. The heat and cold… he’d more or less adapted. And there were small but notable perks. Despite being close to the station, it was on the quieter side of the busy area, making nights peaceful, and moments like these on the rooftop were only possible because of this place.

Most crucially, finding a place in Seoul with better conditions for this deposit was impossible. Moving to the suburbs was an option, and that didn’t seem bad either. Unlike when he first got this place, freelancing now meant he wasn’t tied to a specific location.

“The view here is really something else.”

Unaware of Jian’s thoughts, Sehyun, with a bird’s nest of hair, sprawled on the platform, letting out an admiring sigh. Jian had no intention of sharing his musings. If Sehyun knew, despite his love for this view, he’d insist Jian move in with him instead of agonizing over it.

Sehyun was a great housemate. He never brought partners home out of consideration for Jian, and when staying out, he’d let Jian know in advance so he wouldn’t wait up. Knowing each other’s likes and dislikes meant conflicts were rare. But understanding preferences also meant they’d known each other long enough to be keenly aware of each other’s circumstances.

As a result, Jian received a lot of kindness from him—like absurdly low rent. Though Sehyun saw it as a small gesture, Jian often felt burdened by his inability to reciprocate.

“By the way, Seo Jian, are you worrying about something?”

Rolling around, Sehyun now lay on his side, looking up at Jian. His expression, stripped of humor, was quite serious. The problem was that his disheveled, hungover appearance undermined the gravity.

“You’ve been oddly out of it since yesterday.”

“…Me?”

Though he couldn’t see his own face, Jian asked, touching his cheek.

“Hmm. Just a feeling?”

Sehyun’s intuition was famously sharp when it came to things he cared about, and it was strikingly accurate now. Jian thought he’d been acting normal, but Sehyun had keenly sensed something off.

“Is something really up?”

“It’s not exactly that…”

Jian took a deep drag on his cigarette.

“I guess I just ran into someone unexpected.”

He let the words slip out with the faint, scattering smoke, saying it still felt surreal and disorienting.

Sehyun’s face showed confusion as he mulled it over, then suddenly changed. Grabbing Jian’s shoulders, he stared at him with wide, intense eyes.

“Ow. Why all of a sudden…”

“Did you run into that jerk?”

Sehyun’s abrupt question made Jian swallow his plea to let go. Sehyun didn’t know Cha Jaehwi, so he wouldn’t call him that. Nor would he refer to someone Jian met without knowing who it was. He wasn’t rude enough to speak that way about a stranger. As Jian pieced it together, he quickly realized who Sehyun was directing such hostility toward.

“Why would I run into him?”

There’s no connection left. Jian had cut it all off. Even if they did meet, that person no longer held enough significance to unsettle him.

“…Really?”

As Jian firmly shook off the hands on his shoulders, Sehyun realized he’d gotten carried away, scratching his cheek awkwardly as he asked.

“Alright then. So who did you meet to make you like that yesterday… Huh?”

Expecting to press for a satisfying answer, Sehyun suddenly let out a dazed sound, looking over Jian’s shoulder. Turning, Jian saw the cat, part of its morning routine, warily eyeing them.

“What’s that little cutie?”

Hearts practically sparkled in Sehyun’s eyes. Jian belatedly recalled that Sehyun loved cats—or really, any furry animal.

The cat, wary of the stranger, flattened its ears but, sensing that Sehyun, sitting quietly beside Jian and making a fuss, wasn’t a threat, cautiously stepped toward the food bowl under the eaves. It kept glancing their way, ready to bolt at any moment.

“Seo Jian, is that the one you feed? You’ve got such a cutie and didn’t tell me?”

Worried the cigarette smoke might drift toward the cat, Sehyun snatched the one Jian was holding, stubbed it out, and rapid-fired questions. He wasn’t really expecting answers—his eyes were glued to the cat, unwilling to look away. If the cat had shown even a hint of less wariness, he’d have closed the distance in a heartbeat.

He’d said they’d get hangover soup after finishing the cigarette, but judging by his state, it didn’t seem likely until the cat was out of sight. The word “hangover” seemed erased from his mind, so Jian decided to wait instead of urging him.

“…….”

Leaving the captivated Sehyun behind, Jian stood slightly as his phone vibrated.

It seemed like a reply to the emails he’d sent earlier. Knowing Sehyun would scold him for overworking if he saw, Jian glanced at him.

“…Hm?”

Contrary to Jian’s expectations, it was a message from the Assistant Director, whom he’d been indebted to yesterday.

[Jian, you’ll owe me a big one soon, so have your card ready.]

Owe him a big one? Jian tilted his head, puzzled by the cryptic message. Moments later, an unfamiliar eleven-digit number appeared on the screen. Perhaps the Assistant Director, grateful for yesterday, had recommended him for something, but the suddenness was disconcerting, gratitude aside.

Jian had his own schedule to manage. And he couldn’t take on every job.

Swallowing a sigh, Jian pressed the call button. Whatever it was, since the call had come, it was only right to answer, confirm the details, and decline if it was truly unmanageable.

“This is Seo Jian.”

—Hello, Seo Jian.

The voice on the other end sounded slightly unfamiliar over the phone but was unmistakably one he’d heard before. Jian froze.

—I know it’s rude to call so suddenly, but I contacted you as soon as I got your number.

“…….”

—We met at the VIP premiere, but since we didn’t get to introduce ourselves yesterday, you might not remember.

As if he could forget.

—I’m Cha Jaehwi from Floreo.

The moment he heard the name, Jian’s grip on the phone tightened unconsciously.

👓

Floreo CEO’s office. Checking the day’s schedule, Yang Junghoon let out a deep sigh. After attending the premiere yesterday, the boss was likely in a foul mood, and today’s schedule was packed with interviews, meetings, and conferences, leaving no breathing room.

“Hmm…”

Adjusting the interviews and meetings seemed tricky, but the conference wasn’t urgent and was internal, so it could probably be pushed to tomorrow or the day after.

Of course, in the years he’d served his boss, Cha Jaehwi rarely let emotions show in his demeanor. Especially when in a bad mood, he was more likely to conceal it thoroughly, so there wasn’t much need to proactively adjust the schedule. Still, as a secretary, Junghoon wanted to be prepared.

Why attend a VIP premiere when they’d already gone to an internal one as an investor? Sure, the lead actress was a friend, so it made sense to go. …By the way, Won Yujin is stunning on screen, but in person, she must be so beautiful it’s hard to meet her eyes. Having missed both the internal premiere and yesterday’s, a personal event, Junghoon’s curiosity only grew.

“Busy with something this morning?”

Lost in scheduling and stray thoughts, Yang Junghoon jolted at the voice above him. Cha Jaehwi, now standing close, looked down with a faint smile.

“Is there a change in today’s schedule?”

“Sir, sir!”

“You’ll fall if you’re not careful.”

As Junghoon shot up from his chair and stumbled, Cha Jaehwi quickly reached out to steady him. Regaining his balance, Junghoon calmed his flustered heart but couldn’t hide his puzzlement.

Though Jaehwi wasn’t one to show emotions, he also wasn’t the type to smile like that when in a bad mood. And that voice—if a voice could have an expression, it would be smiling.

A premiere making him happy? The only scenario would be if the translator got replaced. But the one the distributor insisted on, who’d made it past the internal premiere and with the release date set, wouldn’t be swapped out now.

“Mr. Yang?”

Or maybe something happened after the premiere to put him in a good mood… Junghoon, running through possibilities with no clear answer, snapped back at the call. Recalling Jaehwi’s earlier question, he straightened up.

“No, sir. I was just double-checking today’s schedule.”

“The first item today was a meeting, right?”

“Yes. A meeting with the production division is scheduled in an hour.”

Jaehwi nodded, glancing at his watch.

“By the way, Mr. Yang, do I have any immovable commitments in the next week or ten days?”

“I’ll check and let you know.”

“No need to report formally. Even if there’s something immovable, I might need to adjust depending on the situation, so please handle it as you see fit.”

Suddenly? Junghoon barely swallowed the question. Then he realized. Jaehwi wasn’t asking about immovable commitments out of curiosity—he was notifying Junghoon that a situation might arise requiring adjustments.

“Understood.”

Junghoon didn’t know what prompted this, but Jaehwi was reasonable, so he’d surely give at least a day or two’s notice—not an hour before demanding a reshuffle. Clinging to his boss’s track record of sensibility, Junghoon silently prayed such a scenario wouldn’t arise.

“…Though it probably won’t come to that.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Let’s make today count.”

With an enigmatic smile, Jaehwi, having delivered his instructions, resumed his steps.

“Sir, wait.”

Junghoon called out impulsively, immediately regretting it. But having spoken, he couldn’t back down with something trivial.

“Did something happen yesterday?”

Reading the intent behind Junghoon’s question, Jaehwi’s lips curved upward.

“Who knows.”

With a playful smile and a deliberately vague reply, Jaehwi passed Junghoon and entered the room. A faint “ah” of exasperation came from outside before the door closed, muffling the sound.

Humming, Jaehwi brewed coffee. The loud machine filled the air with a rich aroma.

Junghoon’s confusion wasn’t surprising. Until yesterday, Jaehwi had been smiling but not in high spirits.

The film was one he’d loved at first glance, investing without hesitation. He’d even recommended an audition to Won Yujin, who was considering a break after a drama. Each time he checked in, it remained promising, needing only a perfect finish. But the translator chosen by the distributor marred that finish with a blemish.

It wasn’t a glaring mistranslation that would be endlessly discussed online. If anything, it was a matter of nuance. But believing a film’s perfection lies in details, that subtle difference gnawed at him. If not for someone pressuring him to remember who he’d tirelessly traveled abroad to shoot for, Jaehwi wouldn’t have bothered with the VIP premiere.

Here we go, dwelling on regrets again. After the director’s brief introduction, as darkness fell in the theater, Jaehwi’s gaze drifted downward.

The light from the screen made it hard to see, but it was unmistakably the interpreter he’d briefly met in the waiting room. His pale complexion stood out, but Jaehwi remembered him as strikingly refined. He was likely watching the film intently for the upcoming stage greetings.

Seeing him stand upright, Jaehwi’s only thought was that during the screening, he could flexibly sit in an empty seat instead of standing and tiring his legs—a fleeting observation.

Though he was the kind of person who could be called beautiful, Jaehwi wasn’t a casting director or scout, so there was no reason to linger. About to look away, he noticed the interpreter tilt his head. Then again. The slight movement was subtle but striking to Jaehwi.

Perhaps he was stretching from standing too long, but the timing was intriguing.

From then on, Jaehwi watched Seo Jian instead of the film. Even during the stage greetings. Jian’s interpreting, relayed through the host, was concise and clean. He knew how to paraphrase the actor’s words, sometimes tactfully, sometimes humorously. It wasn’t flawless, but nothing grated. Considering he was a last-minute hire, it was impressive.

As soon as the premiere ended, Jaehwi cornered the busy Assistant Director, asking about Jian—what he was doing now, if he was affiliated anywhere.

‘Jian? He did video translation a few years back but switched to publishing translation.’

Sensing Jaehwi’s interest, the Assistant Director’s eyes lit up, rattling off Jian’s past projects as if he were his manager, ignoring the cleanup. Until the director dragged him away, Jaehwi memorized everything—mostly independent films submitted to festivals.

Some had hit screens, others hadn’t. Declining an afterparty invite with finesse, Jaehwi spent the night tracking them down—buying those released and sourcing festival-only ones through contacts.

At dawn, as the final film’s credits rolled, Jaehwi was calling the Assistant Director.

Groaning from a hangover, the Assistant Director perked up when Jaehwi asked for Jian’s contact, eagerly sharing it. Staring at the unfamiliar eleven digits, Jaehwi decided it wasn’t too early to call and pressed the button.

‘…Oh, yes. Hello. This is Seo Jian.’

His voice, hesitant from the sudden call, came through. Jaehwi hadn’t heard it during the stage greetings, but it was pleasant, fitting his refined appearance.

‘May I ask why you’re calling me…’

The calm follow-up question carried a hint of unmasked surprise, tinged with curiosity. It seemed the Assistant Director hadn’t given him any heads-up. Understandably—it would’ve been awkward to explain. The Assistant Director likely sensed Jaehwi’s interest had positive intentions but didn’t know specifics. Misjudging and mentioning it could’ve led to embarrassment.

‘Could we meet?’

Jaehwi cut to the chase without elaboration. Silence followed. He waited patiently until Jian replied that he’d check and get back to him.

When would the call come?

Holding a mug in one hand while looking at his phone, Cha Jaehwi’s eyes reacted as if on cue when a buzzing vibration signaled the arrival of a message. Checking the contents immediately, his eyes curved into a long, satisfied arc.

“Mr. Yang.”

“Yes, sir. Do you have any instructions?”

Cha Jaehwi set the mug down and stepped outside. Having only just entered the room, his quick exit drew Yang Junghoon’s gaze briefly to the wall clock.

“If there’s any schedule that can be adjusted within the next two days, rearrange it and let me know. Oh, and do it now.”

“What? Yes. I’ll check right away.”

Leaving Yang Junghoon to dive into the schedule, Cha Jaehwi glanced at the message again.

[Hello. This is Seo Jian. Please let me know a convenient time and place, and I’ll come to meet you.]

He rhythmically tapped the message with his finger, as if the words were spoken aloud. A spark of interest gleamed in his eyes.