The music blasted through the private karaoke room, the lights pulsing in a chaotic rhythm that matched Bomi’s current mood.

“Tell me whyyyyy!” she wailed into the mic, her voice cracking with emotion. A half-empty bottle of soju sat beside her, its contents dwindling as fast as the plate of fried chicken she was annihilating between songs.

Jenny pushed the door open and froze at the sight: Bomi, disheveled, with a mic in one hand and a chicken drumstick in the other, belting out an angry rap song like her life depended on it.

“Bomi?” Jenny raised a brow. “What... are you doing?”

Bomi whipped around, her expression somewhere between startled and offended. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m having a moment.”

Jenny stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind her. “A moment? You’re massacring every note and possibly your liver.” She picked up the empty chicken box and frowned. “And this poor chicken didn’t stand a chance. What happened?”

Bomi slammed the mic down on the table with an exaggerated sigh. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Jenny didn’t buy it for a second. She grabbed a seat, her sharp gaze narrowing. “Did another old man creep on you.”

Bomi took a long swig of soju, her cheeks flushed—not just from the alcohol. Images of the stranger’s kiss flooded her mind: the warmth of his lips, the annoying tilt of his smirk as he pulled away, and her absolute mortification when she realized what had happened.

“Ugh,” she groaned, her head thumping against the table. 

Jenny leaned closer, her grin catlike. “Who pissed you off this much?”

“He wasn’t old but he was a creep…” Bomi growled. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of irritation, humiliation, and the haunting memory of that stupid kiss. She resorted to stuffing another piece of chicken into her mouth instead.

Jenny’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “Ah, so it was a guy.”

“It’s not—” Bomi mumbled through a mouthful. She swallowed hard, then pointed an accusatory drumstick at her friend. “Enough about me. What about your date? You were all excited earlier.” Suddenly it occurred to her that if Jenny had accompanied her tonight, then none of this wouldve happened.

Jenny’s smile dropped faster than Bomi’s last karaoke note. “Don’t even ask. He turned out to be a total creep. Spent the whole time bragging about his crypto gains and kept calling me noona in this weird, breathy voice. He’s even older than me!”

Bomi snorted, nearly choking on her chicken. “Noona? What is he, twelve?”

“Twenty-five, actually, but emotionally? Yeah, twelve.”

“Ugh, I knew it. All guys are creeps.” Bomi raised her soju glass. “We should just date each other and save ourselves the trouble.”

Jenny clinked her own glass with a laugh. “Honestly? Tempting.”

Meanwhile, across the city, Dohyun stepped into his empty studio apartment, closing the door with a quiet click. He exhaled in relief, leaning against the doorframe.

Made it…

The apartment was sparse, with little more than a bed, a small desk, and a bare kitchen. Stripping off his jacket, Dohyun headed straight for the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the space as he stepped into the shower, the tension from the day washing away with the steam.

His lips curved into a grin as his mind wandered back to Hongdae. Gomi’s flustered face had been priceless—the way her cheeks turned crimson, the fiery spark in her glare. She’d been so different from the quiet, restrained woman at the hospital.

Dohyun laughed softly to himself. “She’s interesting.”

After his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded to the bed. On the nightstand sat the 500-won coin, its edges worn smooth. He picked it up, rolling it between his fingers as he stared at it thoughtfully. 

The phone buzzed, lighting up the otherwise dim room. The caller ID read Dukhwan.

Dohyun sighed, letting it ring until the last possible second before answering. “What?”

“Hyung, it’s nice to hear your voice,” Dukhwan said a bit too eagerly. “Mother mentioned you were visiting.”

The corner of Dohyun’s mouth twitched. The Madam isn’t my mother, he thought, though he didn’t bother correcting him. “And?”

“And,” Dukhwan continued, his tone carefully measured, “when are you coming home? If you’re already in Korea, you should come. Your room is how you left it.”

“I’m not coming back to the main house.” Dohyun’s voice was firm, but his fingers still played with the coin, flipping it over his knuckles absentmindedly.

Dukhwan sighed on the other end. “Father also wants you to return.”

Dohyun couldn’t help snorting at that. The man who shipped his son 7 years ago to a foreign country with only a secretary could hardly be considered a father let alone wanting to reunite. “It seems you haven’t grown out of your naivete.”

“... Hyung,” his voice dropped.

“Take care.” Dohyun hung up before Dukhwan could reply, tossing the phone onto the bed. He stared at the coin in his hand, his smirk returning as his thoughts drifted back to Gomi.

“She’s more entertaining than I thought,” he murmured.

The coin flipped once, twice, catching the light before he clenched it in his fist. “I’ll have to find a way to meet her again. Properly this time.”

Mr. Obaekwon will you help me find your owner?