When Ye-Jun arrived home, he felt exhausted. He had completely wasted both of his days off.

The greater purpose of setting things right deserved the effort—if only it had worked.

It was still afternoon. He could at least get some sleep.

He took a cool shower and lay on his bed after pulling all the curtains to shut out the light. He closed his eyes and tried breathing exercises to fall asleep faster. They usually worked. After three cycles, he saw no results.

He was agitated, irritated and restless.

It meant only one thing—he wouldn’t get any sleep. His mind kept replaying everything that had happened, scanning for the glitches.

He got up reluctantly and made himself a cup of tea. He sat at the kitchen table and drank it slowly, staring at the fridge door. It was one of those smart fridges with an internal camera and expiry alerts.

What a waste.

He never got a notification. Mrs. An checked everything twice a week—manually, of course—making sure supplies were always enough.

A pleasant thought crossed his mind: she had been there earlier that day. She must have made something for him to eat. Suddenly, he realized how hungry he was.

Following his housekeeper’s habit, he got up and opened the fridge. A chill wafted out, cooling his face. Mrs. An never failed him. There it was—a lovely bowl of stew. Maybe after tucking into it, he would feel better.

It was delicious; he savored every bite, yet he didn’t feel much better in the end. He picked up his phone and called Sang-Jun.

“Hello?” Sang-Jun said in his usual I-love-to-look-bored-and-preoccupied-at-the-same-time tone.

“Hey… will you come over?” Ye-Jun cut to the chase.

“No,” he replied.

“Why? Just for a while?” Ye-Jun asked.

“I have a lot of work to do because of you. And even if I hadn’t, I’m not interested in hearing what you have to say,” Sang-Jun cut him off.

You heartless scamp.

He didn’t deserve to be called a friend. But he was the only one he had.

“Thank you for nothing! Don’t expect me to buy you drinks ever again!” Ye-Jun warned him.

“Usually when you get drunk, I’m the one paying the bill. Find another threat next time,” Sang-Jun said.

“You…” He pressed his lips together, stopping himself from saying what he wanted to say.

“Listen, Ye-Jun. I’m trying to contain the scene you caused. I have to go,” Sang-Jun said and the line went dead.

Ye-Jun opened his contacts list. The group named ‘Friends’ fit on one screen: Sang-Jun, Chloe, Dan-Bi, Mi-Suk, Kang-Dae.

Maybe he should just rename it ‘Co-workers’.

Who else was there to call? Outside of work, he only ever saw Chloe and Sang-Jun—and both were avoiding him now. He would spend another evening alone, like always.

He sank onto the sofa and replayed the morning’s events. One specific image lingered—the intern’s face. It was a haunting mix of anger and sadness as he pulled Mi-Ok away.

“Oh, I told you! It’s nothing personal! You just need to go! I can’t have you around. I can’t worry about what you’ll learn, what you’ll dig up. I can’t think about you all the time. I have to work, and I don’t need distractions! Don’t you see what you’re doing to me now? I’m talking to thin air!”

He was yelling at the imaginary intern on the other side of the sofa.

“I’m losing my mind,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Probably that girl thought this job was easy and fabulous. Little did she knew about entertainment. The burden, the stress, the constant battle for perfection. He could barely take it. Others, like Sang-Jun, managed to escape. But his mistakes created an avalanche of debts. And now he was just standing by, watching his youth going by.

He wished someone real were there—someone who would care to listen. Family should have been that, but he’d run out of family years ago.

He was lucky to have Chloe. She was heaven-sent, his guardian. He would stay loyal to her until the end. But what were they, really? Not friends. Maybe a patron and her failure. Maybe an artificial family. He enjoyed visiting her and Ji-Ho, her little boy, but it wasn’t real. Maybe he was just a customer needing entertainment.

If he was to stay on that sofa, he would soon have a panic attack. Time to work out. He’d run first, then move on to his favorite part of the day: yoga. It was his only addiction. At least better than alcohol or anything else.

He changed into his running clothes, slipped on his earbuds, and started his favorite playlist. The thought of the fresh, cool evening air already refreshed him.

He opened the door—and there stood the last person he would ever expect to see that night. He pulled out his earbuds and froze, staring at the woman.

“Son,” she said.

Every muscle in Ye-Jun’s body turned to ice.