Night had quietly settled over the city, casting a soft glow through the dusty rooftop windows.
Jihoon was still sitting on the floor of the small living room, legs stretched out and back resting against the wall.
The room was dimly lit, warm with the scent of boiling broth and something slightly burnt from the kitchen.
From behind the half-open doorway, he could see Yoonjung moving around, her silhouette busy by the stove.
Jihoon chuckled to himself. "So… looks like you won't be living in a European-style villa anymore," he said aloud, loud enough for her to hear.
"You know, with tall French windows and a pot of English black tea sitting on a little silver tray beside you. Reclining on a sunlit chair with a book in one hand and a breeze in your hair…"
He paused for effect, grinning at his own imagination. "Yeah, I can see it now—pure luxury."
From the kitchen, Yoonjung snorted. "No wonder you won at Cannes—you really are good screenwriter," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"But I can't tell—are you admiring my aristocratic aura or just calling me poor?"
She rolled her eyes as she turned off the stove, then carefully carried a small pot of steaming ramen to the table.
She opened a kitchen cabinet, fished out a single bowl, and placed it on the table before sitting down across from him.
"I just moved in," she said, shrugging.
"Didn't have time to buy proper ingredients or utensils. There's only one bowl. You can use the pot lid as yours."
Jihoon blinked, looking at the pot lid like it was a foreign object. "Seriously? What am I—camping?"
He looked around dramatically. "Good thing you have disposable chopsticks. Otherwise, I'd be grabbing noodles with my fingers."
Yoonjung shot him a glare and snapped, "Then don't eat it. Order takeout if you're that picky."
He gave her a mock bow and muttered, "Yes, your highness."
Still, Jihoon didn't complain.
He took the pot lid like it was the finest china, scooped up his share of noodles, and began eating slowly. T
he ramen wasn't anything special—slightly overcooked, just basic toppings—but somehow, in that small, quiet space, it tasted comforting.
If it had been any other guy in his shoes, Jihoon figured they'd probably be thrilled just to eat ramen with SK Yoonjung in her own home—even if it meant using a pot lid.
Maybe especially because of that.
After the meal, sleepiness began to creep in.
The warmth of the food settled in his stomach, and with nowhere else to go for the night, Jihoon simply stretched out on the floor.
He let out a deep sigh, arms behind his head, and closed his eyes, his legs sprawled out like he was back in a dorm room, not a chaebol heiress's rooftop hideaway.
Yoonjung finished washing the dishes and wiped her hands dry on a kitchen towel.
When she walked back into the room, she stopped in her tracks.
Jihoon was lying there, completely relaxed, as if the place was his.
She stared at him for a moment, jaw tightening.
"Seriously?" she muttered under her breath, annoyed at how naturally he made himself at home.
Without a word, she walked over and gave him a sharp nudge with her foot.
"Get up," Yoonjung said flatly, arms folded across her chest as she looked down at him sprawled across the floor.
Jihoon cracked one eye open and grinned lazily. "What? You said I could use the lid, but you never said I couldn't use the floor."
She rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable."
He stretched like a cat, clearly unbothered. "So… what's up? You didn't drag me here just to insult my sleeping habits, did you?"
Yoonjung rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, like she was dealing with a particularly stubborn child. Brushing imaginary dust off her hands, she said,
"I didn't invite you over just for ramen, you know. I asked you to come because I need help composing a melody."
Jihoon blinked. "A melody? Since when are you in the music business?"
"You know I've always had an interest," she replied, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"But this isn't about me composing. It's business."
Jihoon sat up, still trying to read her. "Okay… What business exactly?"
Yoonjung paused, just for a beat, then said.
"It's a film. One that Loen invested in a while ago. The director's wrapping up post-production, but he wants something for the credits—something soft, emotional, to match the tone of the final scene."
Jihoon squinted at her.
"And he asked you to come to me? Wouldn't Sungsoo hyung be the obvious middleman?"
She gave a slight shrug.
"He did reach out—just not to you. He came to me, probably because he knew I had a more... direct line to you. I figured it'd be better if I asked in person."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yoonjung… why are you doing this?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked over to the baggage area where her bag sat. Her fingers brushed the surface before she turned around, a document folder in hand.
"You know I've been planning to step out of the SK family's spotlight for a while now," she said, her voice steady.
"I chose to cut myself off. I didn't want their money, their name, or their control."
Jihoon nodded quietly, listening.
"I took over Loen not because I needed another title," she continued, her tone softening.
"I just needed something of my own—something I could create without anyone whispering it was handed to me by my father. And maybe… maybe it could be a safety net too, in case their divorce finally goes through.."
She paused, then added, "This film… it matters to me. It's the first project where I've had full creative control."
She looked him in the eye.
"And I know you, Jihoon."
"If you compose something for it—even just a short melody—the buzz will build. People will start paying attention. Expectations will rise."
"That's exactly what this film needs… and exactly the fresh start I need."
Jihoon studied the note Yoonjung handed him—a single line from the final scene of the film.
It was quiet.
It was haunting.
It was the kind of line that could stay with the audience long after the credits rolled.
He glanced back at the script. In that moment, everything clicked.
This wasn't a film chasing box office numbers. It was aimed at something higher—critical recognition. This was an awards contender.
It made sense why the director had reached out to him.
Not just because he'd pen widely recognized OSTs, but because Jihoon was a two‑time Cannes Best Screenwriter winner.
His name alone carried weight.
This melody—if done right—could give the film the prestige push it needed.
Judges take notice of nuance. They listen for soul. Jihoon's music could elevate the final moment from quiet poignancy to unforgettable impact.
He looked up at Yoonjung. Her eyes met his, and he could see the hope in them—not just for the film, but for what it represented for her.
This project wasn't just a creative venture. It was proof that she could lead something that held meaning on its own terms.
Jihoon nodded slowly, reverent. "I get it now. I understand what you're aiming for."
Yoonjung then offered him a faint, tentative smile. They didn't need many words.
The weight of the moment hung between them clearly: this melody could be more than music—it could be a declaration of identity and intention.
Jihoon broke the silence first with a grin.
"No problem! Since you invited me to dinner, of course I'll do my best. That's part of the deal, isn't it?"
Yoonjung laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes.
"Well, if you're going to bring that up, then I hope you can work a little faster. The director's breathing down my neck already."
"I figured," Jihoon said with a nod. "I'll get it done as soon as I can. I've got the feeling now. It shouldn't take long."
A flicker of relief crossed her face. She straightened a little.
"When it's done… I'll treat you to a proper meal. A big one."
Jihoon chuckled.
"It's okay, no need for anything fancy. Just treat me to ramen again. I'll even bring my own bowl this time."
Yoonjung rolled her eyes, amused.
"Then I'll hold you to that," she said, half-laughing, half-embarrassed.
Jihoon stood, picking up the script and the note she gave him.
"Alright, I'll head back first. I want to get started while the feeling's still fresh. The sooner I finish, the sooner you can review it."
He bowed slightly, a polite gesture, but with genuine respect.
"Thank you for your trouble," Yoonjung said, bowing back.
As Jihoon turned to leave, she watched him go with quiet gratitude.
She had taken a chance—on the story, on the director's instincts, and on Jihoon.
And maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall into place—just as she had calculated.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Night_Adam, Daoist098135 and Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]