POV (Yoon-jae)

The blue mug was empty. I stared at the white ring of foam left at the bottom, wishing I could make it last forever. But the sun was almost gone, and the streetlights were flickering on outside.

"I have to go," I said, my voice sounding small even to me.

Do-hyun reached out as if to pat my shoulder, but he stopped himself, giving me a respectful nod instead. "Be careful, Yoon-jae. The sidewalk is slippery near the corner."

I stepped out of the bakery. The moment the door clicked shut, the smell of honey and toasted bread disappeared. The cold air hit my face like a slap.

The black car was waiting a block away. Mr. Kang was standing by the door, his face worried. He didn't scold me when I got in, but the way he sighed made my chest feel tight. We drove in total silence. The city lights blurred past the window, looking like cold, distant stars.

When we reached the house, the iron gates opened slowly, like the mouth of a giant.

I stepped inside and took off my shoes. The marble floor felt like ice through my socks. I walked past the living room, where the furniture sat perfectly straight, covered in expensive fabric that no one ever sat on.

Bzzzt.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. My heart jumped. It was a video call request from "Father."

I scrambled to my desk and sat up straight. I smoothed my hair and made sure my school blazer wasn't wrinkled. I hit 'Accept.'

The screen flickered to life. My father was sitting in a hotel room in Singapore. He was wearing a white dress shirt with the collar open, but he still looked like he was in a boardroom. Behind him, the city skyline was full of neon lights.

"Yoon-jae," he said. His voice was deep and steady, like a slow drum. "Mr. Kang said you were late getting to the car today."

"I'm sorry, Father," I said, looking at the camera, not his eyes. "I took a wrong turn."

"Efficiency is important, even in walking," he said. He didn't look angry; he looked like he was correcting a math problem. "Did you finish your English workbook?"

"Yes."

"And your violin practice?"

"Yes."

He nodded. He looked at someone off-camera, probably a secretary. "I'll be back in three days. Stay on schedule. I’ve seen your latest test scores. They are acceptable."

"Thank you, Father."

"Goodnight, Yoon-jae."

The screen went black.

The silence of the room rushed back in, louder than before. He didn't ask if I was tired. He didn't ask why I took a wrong turn. He didn't even notice that I had a tiny smudge of flour on my sleeve.

I walked over to the window and pressed my forehead against the glass. I thought about the bakery. I thought about the way Do-hyun looked at me—not like a score on a test, but like a person who might be cold.

In this house, I was "acceptable." In that bakery, I was an "explorer."

I climbed into my big, empty bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the taste of the warm milk, but all I could feel was the cold side of the door.