The narrow streets leading to Soon Hae's home smelled faintly of roasted beef and sweet soy sauce, reminders of the little shops that dotted the neighborhood. Her legs ached with every step, a dull throb from the hours of drills and sparring she had endured. Sweat clung to the back of her neck, her gloves still in her bag, and her clothes stuck uncomfortably to her skin.
She opened the door cautiously, already bracing herself for her stepmother's complaints. The smell of cooking greeted her, along with the low hum of conversation from the small restaurant close to their home. She forced a smile as she stepped inside, already feeling the weight of expectation pressing down on her.
"Finally," her stepmother said, not looking up from the wok she was stirring. "I was beginning to think you vanished into thin air. Dinner will be late if you don't help."
"Yes, stepmom," Soon Hae murmured, bowing slightly before moving toward the sink to wash the piles of dishes left from the lunchtime rush. Her hands were trembling slightly, though not from exhaustion alone there was still adrenaline lingering in her veins, and the lingering memory of Lu Han's serious eyes made her stomach flutter in a way she didn't entirely understand.
Her father peeked out from behind the curtain of the kitchen doorway, his face pale and drawn. "Hae… you don't look so good," he said softly, worry etching his features. "You're burning yourself out."
"I'm fine, Dad," she said quickly, forcing a smile, though the lie was thin and brittle. "Just tired from training."
He frowned, but didn't press further. Instead, he handed her a small bowl of rice from the counter. "Eat at least this," he said. "Don't skip meals again."
Soon Hae nodded, though she barely touched it. Her stepmother had turned back to the stove, barking orders to the cook about what dishes to prepare for the dinner crowd. Soon Hae sighed quietly, setting the bowl aside as she moved to sweep the floor and organize the clutter from the morning.
The hours passed slowly, her body screaming in protest with every motion. The mop felt heavier than ever, the floor stubbornly refusing to shine despite her repeated scrubbing. Soon Hae's head swiveled constantly, listening for any sign that her stepmother was coming over to inspect her work and sharp words that would follow.
"Slow down there, Hae," her stepmother snapped suddenly, hands on her hips. "The restaurant won't clean itself, and the customers won't be pleased if the floors look like a pigsty."
"Yes, stepmom," Soon Hae replied quietly, gripping the mop tighter. Her shoulders ached, her hands blistered, but she pushed on. She had learned long ago that arguing only earned her harsher chores.
Her father returned from checking the back storage, carrying a small bag of ingredients he had fetched earlier. He placed it gently on the counter, giving Soon Hae a brief, encouraging smile before retreating behind the curtain. It was the only moment of warmth in the room, a fleeting reminder that not all eyes were critical.
Soon Hae's mind drifted back to the academy. The drills, Nana's slyly polite guidance, Fang Yu's teasing, Bai Cao's calm presence all of it swirled in her mind as she scrubbed. Even Lu Han's quiet observation lingered like a shadow at the edge of her thoughts. Why does he always make me feel like I'm under a microscope? she wondered.
A sudden crash from the kitchen made her jump. Her stepmother had dropped a plate, and the sharp sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the small house. "Clumsy!" her stepmother barked, though the words weren't directed at Soon Hae. Soon Hae let out a quiet laugh at the irony, the word striking her differently now after her nickname at the academy.
By the time dinner ended and the last customer had left, Soon Hae's body felt like it had been pulled in every direction and stitched back together haphazardly. She cleaned up the tables, swept the floor again, and finally collapsed onto her bed, muscles trembling and sore.
For a moment, she stared at the ceiling, letting herself drift between exhaustion and thought. She remembered Lu Han's words that morning: Clumsy scared rabbit. The nickname, so teasing yet strangely affectionate, played over and over in her mind. It was embarrassing, yes, but also… oddly motivating. She had survived the day. She had landed hits, kept up with Nana, and even earned a flicker of respect from Fang Yu and Bai Cao.
Her eyelids grew heavy, her body demanding rest. She placed her hands on her knees and closed her eyes, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Soon Hae entered the quiet meditative state that had been her refuge since childhood a momentary escape from chores, expectations, and the constant pressure of the academy.
The room was dark now, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. She imagined herself back in the academy, her gloves snapping against her target, every movement precise, every step confident. She pictured Fang Yu laughing beside her, Bai Cao calmly guiding her, and even Nana's careful, scrutinizing eyes. The visions made her smile faintly, a small comfort against the exhaustion pressing down.
---
In the quiet of the night, the academy's shadow stretched far across the city. Lu Han stood at his window, hoodie drawn up, mask covering the lower half of his face. His parents' words still rang in his ears the insistence that he consider a relationship with Kim Nana, the constant pressure to align personal life with business growth. Anger had boiled inside him all evening, a storm of frustration and rebellion he could not release within the gilded walls of his home.
He waited until the house was silent, then slipped out into the night, moving silently along the rooftops before disappearing into the quiet streets of Seoul. The cool night air bit against his skin, carrying with it the scents of the city street food, gasoline, damp concrete. He kept his head down, mind sharp, alert for any chance of being recognized.
Across town, Soon Hae moved with a similar caution. She had slipped out under the cover of darkness, intent on procuring the necessary medicines for her father again. Her hands trembled not just from the cold, but from fatigue, from adrenaline, from the lingering memories of the day.
Neither of them knew the other was out that night. Their paths, both motivated by duty and rebellion in equal measure, were set on a collision course that neither could foresee.
The streets were quiet, almost eerily so. Soon Hae adjusted the strap of her bag, hoping she wouldn't bump into anyone or attract attention. Her thoughts drifted to Lu Han, despite herself. Clumsy scared rabbit… she murmured to herself, a ghost of a smile on her face. The memory still made her cheeks burn, though the warmth of pride and embarrassment blended together.
She rounded a corner too quickly and collided directly into a solid form.
Hot noodles splashed across the street, landing with a hiss and a cloud of steam. Soon Hae stumbled back, hands raised in instinctive apology, her eyes wide in horror.
Lu Han looked down at his hand, where a streak of scalding broth had landed, searing the skin. His hood fell back slightly, revealing his features, and his eyes were sharp, almost predatory.
"You...!" he began, his voice tight with shock and pain, though he managed to keep his composure.
"I..I'm so sorry!" Soon Hae cried, stepping back. Her face burned hotter than the soup. "I didn't see you! I.."
He shook his hand, staring at the red streak forming, before taking a deep breath to calm himself. Slowly, he straightened, the usual serious mask falling back into place. "Watch where you're going," he said quietly, voice edged with controlled irritation.
"I… I will," she whispered, barely looking up, her heart hammering. Why do we keep meeting like this?
Lu Han said nothing further, slipping past her before she could offer any more apologies. The streets seemed impossibly empty now, and Soon Hae's knees felt weak. She whispered to herself, voice trembling, "Clumsy rabbit… again."
---
Neither of them could have known that this night, these small, fleeting moments, would be the beginning of a tension that would weave through every corner of their lives.
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