The site was still the same.
Dust.Noise.Curses shouted into the air.
Doyoon took off his helmetand walked toward the edge of the site.
After the mayor's approval,this place was no longer abandoned land.
But people's dayshad not changed yet.
At the edge of the industrial complex.
A place where, at quitting time,darkness arrived before people did.
But that day was different.
Beside a metal fence,in a spot no one expected,
a single light was on.
It was a food truck.
Not a flashy new one,not an event truck.
The body was old.Paint peeled in places.
Yet—there were people.
People lining up.
Workers in factory uniforms.Faces fresh off night shifts.People standing silently, warming their hands in the steam.
Doyoon stopped his car instinctively.
Flames leapt on the grill.The smell of burning oil pushed through the air.
The sound of a knife hitting the cutting boardwas an unfamiliar rhythm here.
Inside the truck,a woman was moving.
Her cap pulled low,head barely lifted.
Her hands were fast.Her movements never hesitated.
"Eat here.You'll regret it if you don't."
The moment he heard that tone,Doyoon grasped a memory with precision.
— His days as a substitute driver.The routes he took on purpose at night.A meal eaten like catching his breath.That food truck.
Even the small sticker on its sidecame back clearly.
Michelin Guide – Recommended
"Ma'am,"Doyoon called out.
The woman lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
A brief silence—the time it took to remember each other fully.
"Oh?You're that substitute driver from back then, right?"
It was Raon.
Hong Raon.
"Funny seeing you again here."
"The city's small,"Doyoon said.
Raon shook her head.
"No.We just keep moving."
He couldn't answer that.
Raon finished plating the foodand stepped beside the truck.
"Why are you here?"
"Work."
"You don't do substitute driving anymore?"
"I quit."
Raon studied him for a moment.
Then she smiled.
Bright. Light.The smile of someone who had survived the road alone.
"I got pushed out."
"From Michelin?"
"Even there,falling down to the streethappens fast."
She looked into the fire.
"It's expensive.Fixed.And people don't come."
"So you move?"
"No."
Raon looked straight at him.
"I go where the people already are."
The words overlapped perfectlywith a sentence in Doyoon's proposal.
As she closed the truck door, Raon said,
"If a city can move,the firehas to stay lit."
Doyoon didn't write it down.
Because it was already written.
That night,back home,
Doyoon reopened the proposal.
Medicine.Housing.Safety.
And one empty slot.
Food.
He didn't write a name there.
Instead, he wrote:
Someone who can carry the fire.
The city didn't call people.
But the designwas already pulling them in.
And Hong Raonwas alreadyinside it.