YEAR 2015
Daegu's evening light always fell softest on the old street behind Suseong Lake, that narrow stretch where twilight lingered like a lazy cat, neon signs hummed under their breath, and the air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts mixed with city dust. It was the kind of street everyone forgot existed until they needed something quiet… or something strange.
At the very end of that street sat a narrow bookstore with a faded wooden sign that read:
환장서재 — Manhwa & Book Store.
Time didn't just slow inside.
It hesitated.
Tall wooden shelves leaned like sleepy giants, their spines packed with glossy manhwa, new releases lined up proudly beside old, yellow-edged volumes that smelled like nostalgia and ink. A tiny heater hummed in the corner where a fat grey cat slept like it paid rent.
The bell above the entrance jingled.
Then jingled again, louder, the violent kind of jingle that suggested the door had been kicked open by someone who had never learned the concept of "gentle."
A girl stumbled in, breathless, hair wild, uniform half-untucked like she'd either outrun a hurricane or was the hurricane.
Haena.
She never entered places.
She stormed them.
Her loud footsteps reverberated against the wooden floors. The middle-aged shop owner, Man-ho, flinched so hard the manhwa display wobbled. The cat shot her a betrayed glare and bolted to safety.
"Were you startled?" Haena asked, already flinging her bag onto a chair like she owned the place.
"Of course. It's Haena," Man-ho muttered with a tight, fake smile that almost cracked his jaw.
"You don't sound too glad," she said, narrowing her eyes before abruptly leaning forward. "Where is it?" Her grin stretched mischievously.
Man-ho stared at anything that wasn't her. Ceiling. Counter. His own hands.
Suspicious silence.
Haena's gasp burst out like a firecracker.
"No way."
She sprang from her chair with zero regard for subtlety and marched into the main aisle.
That's when she saw him.
Headphones plugged in.
Hair falling perfectly over his face in a way that felt illegal.
Aura calm enough to make monks insecure.
Reading the most aggressive, villain-drenched manhwa as if it were a soft romance about two shy introverts learning to hold hands.
He looked like he'd blend seamlessly into the squads of performative, aloof "mysterious boys" people on the internet were obsessed with.
Haena wasn't intrigued.
Just offended.
She had waited a whole week for the new release… only for some random dude to get his hands on it first?
"Excuse me!" she called out.
Nothing.
She marched to him and tapped his shoulder. "Excuse me." Arms folded, annoyance radiating.
Rowoon — though she didn't know his name yet — took his time removing one headphone, as if calculating the level of disrespect necessary. He looked up at her slowly, his glare sharp and cold, scanning her from head to toe with unfiltered judgment.
Oh, he was that type.
"Hey! I was meant to read that first. I don't know where you're from, but if he didn't tell you, I'm—"
She didn't finish.
Rowoon closed the book.
Stood up.
And walked right past her like she was a smudge on his glasses.
He headed to the reception, returned the book to Man-ho without a word, and left the store, pushing the door so quietly it somehow insulted her more than slamming it.
Haena stared, eyes wide, jaw hanging. "What—"
She stomped to the counter.
"And who is that rude brat?" she demanded, a little too curious for someone supposedly offended.
Man-ho shrugged. "Never seen him before. Maybe he moved in recently."
He held out the book for her.
She snatched it like a dragon claiming treasure. "I'm not returning this for a week. That's the price you pay."
"Yes, Ms. Kim," he teased.
She smirked, grabbed her bag, and strutted out. "Bye, Mr. Man-ho!"
The door shut.
Silence reclaimed the shop.
Man-ho exhaled a breath he realized he'd been holding for several minutes.
"…This is exhausting," he muttered, returning to his tasks, praying she wouldn't return within the hour.