The following day, afternoon sunlight streamed through the windshield of Seon-woo’s car.
The faint rhythm of a blues tune playing softly on the radio.
Everything about the moment felt ordinary, until the sharp chime of his phone broke through the tranquility.
Seon-woo’s eyes flicked to the screen mounted on the dashboard.
A notification glowed: Message from ‘Orange Juice.’ He smiled to himself.
With practiced ease, he addressed the voice assistant.
‘Read the message,’ he commanded.
The assistant responded with its usual cold and indifferent tone: ‘Where and when?
From Orange Juice.’ Seon-woo chuckled under his breath.
Lady Minimal, so direct, he thought.
Keeping one hand lightly on the wheel, he issued his next command.
‘Write a message: ‘Hello, Lady Minimal!
I just landed.
See you at 5 o’clock at…” He paused briefly, thinking.
His mind settled on the familiar landmark.
‘At Ssamzigil, in Insandong street.
Send the message to Orange Juice.’ After the message was dispatched, a momentary silence filled the space.
Seconds later, another chime broke the stillness.
Seon-woo glanced at the screen, his smile broadening as he read the reply aloud.
”Perfect!
Promise I’ll be on time.
See you there!” Seon-woo read the words slowly, savoring them.
He let out a small, private laugh.
The hours until five stretched before him slowly.
… Meanwhile, in Nari’s apartment, bursts of laughter filled the air as Nari and Sara sat on the couch.
The television played an entertainment program, its exaggerated antics bringing amused smiles to their faces as they relaxed into the cushions.
‘You know,’ Nari said, ‘if you don’t want to be late for your date, you should probably get dressed.’ Sara waved a dismissive hand, though the faintest blush touched her cheeks.
‘It’s not a real date,’ she protested, her voice carrying an air of practiced indifference.
‘As you say,’ Nari replied with a knowing smirk, leaning forward to sip her tea.
‘What are you going to wear?’ Sara shrugged with pretended nonchalance.
‘I have no idea.
A concert at this time of day?
It’s strange, don’t you think?’ ‘Maybe it’s classical music,’ Nari mused playfully.
‘Or,’ Sara said with a burst of laughter, ‘it’s for children.’ ‘Well then,’ Nari said, rising from the couch with a determined air, ‘let’s find you an outfit that works for both occasions.’ ‘Impossible!’ Sara exclaimed, but she followed Nari into her bedroom, where an assortment of dresses and blouses lay waiting like contestants in a beauty pageant.
The first outfit Sara tried on was a bright, flashy dress that shimmered as she stepped into the light.
She struck a pose, but Nari shook her head, her lips pursed in disapproval.
‘It’s too elegant for a first date,’ Nari said, tilting her head in judgment.
‘It’s not a date!’ Sara insisted, though the faint flicker of doubt in her eyes betrayed her.
‘And even if it were, it would be the first and the last.
What about this one?’ She stepped back into view, wearing a dress that was no less bold.
Nari tilted her head, considering.
‘Mmm… try on that blouse instead’ she said, pointing to a softer, more understated option.
‘Maybe this is better,’ Nari mused aloud.
‘You can live this date—this not a date—to the fullest, without the fear of making a mistake.
After all, you won’t see him again.’ ‘That’s true,’ Sara admitted.
Her voice becoming contemplative.
‘If it goes well, it will be a nice memory.
And if it goes wrong… I won’t have to think of an excuse to avoid a second date.’ She paused, then added, ‘Even so…’ ‘Even so?’ Nari prompted.
Sara hesitated, her voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability.
‘I feel nervous… like when I went on a date at eighteen.
At what age does a person stop feeling like this?’ Nari’s expression softened, her gaze warm.
‘I hope it never stops,’ she said with conviction.
‘We all deserve to fall in love at any age.’ Sara smiled at that, a hint of courage glimmering in her eyes.
She disappeared into the bathroom again, the sound of hangers clinking and fabric rustling filling the room.
When she finally emerged, she was wearing an effortlessly chic ensemble— a chic blouse paired with sleek trousers that perfectly balanced elegance and casual charm.
Nari’s face lit up with delight.
‘That’s it!’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
‘You’re perfect.’ Sara turned to the mirror, examining her reflection with a critical eye that quickly softened into quiet satisfaction.
She smoothed the blouse with her hands and nodded, a small, confident smile spreading across her lips.
‘Yes,’ she said simply.
‘Less is more.
Always.’ … Seon-woo stepped into his apartment.
His sanctuary of silence greeted him with the familiar austerity of its minimalist design—sleek furniture arranged with precision and not a single object out of place.
He set down his suitcase with a sigh that carried the quiet satisfaction of coming home.
When he emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in effortlessly sharp casual attire, his reflection in the mirror held his gaze for a long moment.
He straightened his collar, smoothed the fabric of his shirt, and inhaled deeply, as though drawing in confidence along with air.
The smallest of smiles ghosted his lips before he turned, striding purposefully toward the living room.
There, in the quiet corner of the balcony, sat his treasured bonsai collection—rested on their pedestals, each labeled with the name of a literary giant, lovingly inscribed on a tiny plaque: ‘Miss Austen,’ ‘Ko Un,’ ‘Dumas,’ and ‘Proust.’ They stood silently, their gnarled trunks and delicate leaves lending the room an air of tranquility.
‘Hey, guys,’ Seon-woo said, his voice soft as though addressing old friends.
‘How are you today?
I have something important to tell you.’ With delicate precision, he picked up a small watering can and began tending to the bonsai.
Each plant received his full attention as he dribbled water at its base, carefully trimming away the dead leaves with tiny scissors with the precision of a craftsman.
He paused by ‘Miss Austen,’ brushing its leaves with a fingertip.
‘Tonight,’ he said, his voice steadying ‘I have a date with a very strange girl¨.
He hesitated, the confession hanging in the air.
‘I don’t know much about her yet, but I think I like her.’ He chuckled, a soft and self-conscious sound.
‘What’s she like?
Well… she’s unpredictable, fun, nice.
And she has this smile…’ His voice trailed off, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to drift beyond the walls of the apartment, as if recalling the way her smile had lit up.
‘Her smile lights up a room.’ Seon-woo set down the watering can and straightened his shirt once more, as though the simple act of speaking had unsettled his composure.
‘I just wanted to talk about it with you,’ he added quietly.
‘To calm down a bit.
Thanks for listening.’ He gave a light tap to ‘Miss Austen’s’ pot.
‘Miss Austen, I spent quite some time picking out what to wear.
What do you think?
Too informal?’ His gaze shifted to ‘Proust,’ and he adopted a mock-serious expression.
‘Thanks, Proust.
I knew I could count on your good taste.’ As he spoke, a movement across the street caught his eye.
A woman from the opposite building had paused by her window, watching him with wide-eyed incredulity.
Her expression was a mixture of amusement and disbelief as she observed this man—well-dressed, composed—carrying on a conversation with his bonsai.
Seon-woo froze, the scissors still poised mid-air.
Heat rushed to his face, and he ducked slightly, as though the act of crouching might somehow render him invisible.
The neighbor shook her head, muttered something inaudible, and stepped away from her window.
Only when she disappeared, he straightened with an awkward laugh.
‘Well, that was embarrassing,’ he muttered to the trees, shaking his head.
‘Anyway, I feel a little better now.
Thank you so much to all of you.
You’re always the best listeners.’ With that, he gathered his keys from the counter, casting a final glance around the tidy room.
The bonsai sat in serene silence, as though they had absorbed his nerves and replaced them with calm.
… Eu-jin had swiftly created a personalized workspace in the hospital, neat and precise, much like himself.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and journals that had been read and reread.
The quiet of this part of the hospital was broken only by the occasional murmur of footsteps echoing through the sterile hallways.
Outside, Researcher Wi Hae-yeon hesitated for a brief moment, her hand hovering over the doorframe.
Her presence was small, almost uncertain, as if she were unsure whether she truly belonged in the hallway.
She was a woman in her mid-30s, her features carrying the quiet apprehension of someone who often second-guessed themselves.
After a moment’s pause, she knocked lightly, then stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
‘Director, can I come in?’ she asked.
‘Yes, come in!’ Eu-jin responded from behind his desk, as he gestured to the chair across from him.
Wi Hae-yeon entered with a purposeful stride, her folder clasped in both hands, her eyes tried not to betray her anxiety.
She approached his desk, the anticipation of the news she was about to share evident in her movements.
Her gaze flickered over the papers on the desk for only a moment before returning to Eu-jin.
‘I wanted to update you on the preliminary results regarding the TQ inhibitors,’ she said, the words coming out in measured tones, like a confession of sorts.
Eu-jin nodded attentively, leaning forward slightly with interest.
‘Yes,’ he replied, waiting for her to continue, the quiet intensity of the room deepening as the discussion shifted to the future of their research.
‘As I said to you, the same trials are being conducted in Sweden, and the results seem promising,’ Hae-yeon continued with a quiet excitement.
‘We could potentially start a phase 1 trial here in a few months.’ A flicker of thought passed over Eu-jin’s face as he processed the information.
His mind, always analytical, began to piece together the possibilities.
‘Since I saw you the other night, I’ve been researching the literature on this,’ he said thoughtful.
‘It appears to be a promising direction for us.’ He paused, considering the next step carefully.
‘Perhaps we should consider reaching out to researchers in Sweden for international cooperation.’ Wi Hae-yeon nodded in agreement, her gaze steady, the implications of such a partnership not lost on her.
‘It would significantly enhance our research capabilities,’ she acknowledged.
‘I’ll discuss it with the hospital director.
If all goes well, we could begin implementing this in the coming months.’ The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of future advancements.
‘Great!’ Hae-yeon replied, her excitement was evident.
She left glad thinking they finally had a research director who listened and wasn’t just full of himself.