Saturday came with soft sunlight and no alarms.
For once, I didn't wake up to notifications, calls, or Nova's reminders.
Just the sound of birds and the quiet hum of the city outside my window.
[Good morning, Rin,] Nova said gently. [No meetings today. Soo-ah's message: "Don't bail."]
I smiled. "Yeah, I got it."
[You sound… different today.]
"Maybe I'm just finally breathing."
[I'll allow it.]
We met at a small market near Hongdae—a place full of old book stalls, food carts, and street artists sketching portraits for a few won.
Soo-ah waved when she saw me, her sketchbook already tucked under her arm.
"You actually came," she said, grinning.
"You told me I didn't have a choice."
She laughed. "Fair point."
We spent hours just wandering.
Trying random snacks, browsing handmade jewelry, watching kids dance to music from someone's speaker.
It felt like being part of a living, breathing painting—messy, loud, and real.
"See?" Soo-ah said, holding a cup of tteokbokki toward me. "Life doesn't always need a goal. Sometimes it just needs flavor."
I took a bite. "Spicy goal achieved."
She rolled her eyes but smiled.
We eventually sat by the river, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold.
Soo-ah flipped open her sketchbook and started drawing.
I watched her pencil glide across the page.
"How do you do that?" I asked. "Just… create something out of nothing."
She shrugged. "I don't create it. I just see it, then let my hands catch up."
I leaned back, letting the breeze hit my face. "Wish life worked like that."
"It can," she said, not looking up. "You just have to stop running for a while."
[She's not wrong,] Nova said quietly in my ear.
[You've been sprinting since the day we met.]
"I know," I whispered.
Soo-ah glanced up. "Hmm?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, smiling. "Just thinking."
As the sun dipped lower, Soo-ah turned her sketchbook toward me.
It was a drawing of us—sitting by the river, the skyline behind us.
But what caught me wasn't the detail.
It was the expression she gave me in the drawing—calm, peaceful, human.
"It's good," I said softly. "Really good."
She smiled shyly. "It's called Just Rin."
That stopped me for a moment.
"Just Rin?"
"Yeah," she said. "No business, no stress, no system. Just you."
I didn't know what to say to that.
So I just smiled, and she smiled back.
Later, we walked through the streets lit by rows of soft yellow lamps.
She bought a small silver bracelet from a vendor and handed it to me.
"For luck," she said. "And so you don't forget this day."
I looked at it—simple, hand-made, nothing fancy.
But somehow, it felt more valuable than anything I'd ever bought.
"Thanks," I said quietly. "I won't forget."
That night, as I lay in bed, the bracelet glinted under the lamp.
For the first time, I realized something simple but heavy.
Infinite money could buy the world.
But it couldn't buy this.
The quiet. The laughter. The warmth.
And maybe that's what made it real.