Back in the kitchen, Eun-ji returned slightly winded. She leaned against the counter, one hand pressing lightly into her waist as a dull ache pulsed beneath the surface. She exhaled, winced quietly, then straightened—resuming as if nothing had happened.
They ate together minutes later.
"Mom, seriously," Seo-yeon said between bites, unimpressed. "Can't you wake up earlier and make real breakfast? Like iced toast or something normal?"
Min-jae laughed. "She means café food."
"Yeah," Ji-hoon chimed in. "Not rice and side dishes every single day."
Eun-ji smiled, tired but warm. "Eat before it gets cold."
They did. Shoes were slipped on. Bags grabbed.
"Bye, Mom!"
The door shut.
Silence filled the kitchen.
Eun-ji stood there, spoon still in her hand, then slowly lowered herself into a chair. For a moment, she didn't move.
Buzz.
Her phone vibrated against the table.
Unknown number.
She frowned—and answered.
The smell of fish hit her first.
The Noryangjin Wholesale Fish Market buzzed with morning life—vendors shouting prices, knives flashing, water splashing across concrete floors. At a long steel table catching the early sun sat a woman in her mid-thirties, face bruised, eyes fixed firmly on the surface in front of her.
Eun-chae.
Across from her, Kang Eun-ji looked like she belonged to a different world entirely. Crisp white shirt. Tailored pants. Polished shoes. Hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Calm. Controlled.
She placed her phone on the table.
"How many times have I told you," Eun-ji said quietly, sharply, "not to call me from an unknown number unless it's urgent?"
Eun-chae finally looked up. "This time it was."
Eun-ji exhaled slowly. Her eyes lingered on the bruises.
"What happened?" she asked, then added gently, "And why are there bruises on your face?"
Eun-chae shrugged, almost casual. "Well…"
Earlier that morning.
Eun-chae had stood at a fish stall, pointing sharply at a pile of mackerel.
"These fish look old. Slimy," she said. "You're charging eighteen thousand won for this?"
The vendor, a gruff man in his fifties, wiped his hands on his apron. "Don't waste my time, lady. Go yell somewhere else."
Eun-chae turned toward the crowd. "Everyone, look at this. It looks like they injected something. This isn't fresh. This could make someone sick."
People slowed. Watched.
"She's right," a women muttered. "My son had stomach pain all night from here."
"Same," a young mother added. "My daughter threw up after dinner."
The vendor snapped. "Shut your damn mouth! Who do you think you are?"
He hurled a tray aside and advanced. Other stall workers followed, their presence heavy and threatening.
Eun-chae stepped back. Someone raised a phone to record.
The vendor shoved her.
Her face slammed into the fish counter.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Back at the steel table, Eun-chae's voice was flat.
"I screamed. No one stopped them. They beat me in front of everyone."
Eun-ji listened, her face unreadable. Fury simmered beneath the surface.
"And you decided to call me?" Eun-ji asked. "To do what—beat him back?"
"Yes," Eun-chae said simply. "I want him to know what it feels like. He made a joke out of me. In public."
Eun-ji sighed. "You know there are CCTV cameras."
"Then make it worth watching."
A long beat passed.
Eun-ji stood.
Minutes later, she strode toward the vendor's stall. The man laughed with a friend, knife still in hand.
She tapped his shoulder.
He turned—
Crack.
Her fist broke his nose. Blood burst. Gasps filled the air. Phones flew up.
She punched him again—hard in the gut.
He collapsed backward into a crate.
"Eun-chae," Eun-ji shouted, "run!"
They vanished into the chaos.
They didn't stop until they reached a narrow side street outside the market. Breath ragged, they leaned beneath a hanging sign and laughed—free, reckless, alive.
"Your punch?" Eun-chae said, grinning. "Totally worth watching."
Eun-ji laughed too, the sound rare. "You really called me just for this?"
Their laughter echoed down the street.
For once, neither of them looked back.