(Rewrite) Chapter 3: Second Snow, Same Booth

Byeolhaneul Manga Café

---

Three days had passed since the first snow. Three days of vocal practice, choreography rehearsals, and a photoshoot.

So he found himself pulling on the same grey hoodie, the same glasses, the same medical mask. He didn’t think about why he was choosing the manga café again. He told himself it was for the quiet. For the neutrality. For the chance to being invisible in a place that didn’t care if he was Bomsok or not.

The snow was falling harder tonight, thick flakes that clung to his shoulders and melted in his hair. He trudged through the slush, hands shoved deep in his pockets, breath fogging in front of his face.

His favorite booth—#7—was taken.

By her.

Jin-ah was already there, slumped over the table with her head in her hands, a half-finished cup of hot chocolate gone cold beside her. Volume 28 of Naruto was open in front of her, but she wasn’t reading. She was staring blankly at a page where Kakashi was doing something dramatic, her expression somewhere between exhausted and utterly done with the world.

Beom-seok paused in the aisle. He could turn around. Choose another booth. Keep the distance.

But then she looked up, and her eyes—tired, but still sharp—locked onto his.

“Oh,” she said, straightening slightly. “It’s you. The medical student.” She gestured vaguely to the empty seat across from her. “Booth’s free. I mean, I’m here, but. You know.”

He hesitated for only a second before sliding in. “Rough day?”

“You have no idea.” She rubbed her temples. “Work was… a lot. And then my hot chocolate went cold because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to drink it.” She pushed the cup away with a sigh. “What’s your excuse?”

“Midterms,” he said automatically, setting down his backpack. “Always midterms.”

“Right.” She eyed his textbook. “Still on the… arm nerves?”

“Brachial plexus,” he corrected without thinking, then winced. Too specific. Too memorized.

But she just nodded, unsurprised. “Sounds painful.” She leaned back, studying him. “You look different today.”

He tensed. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Less like you’re pretending to study, more like you actually need to be here.” She tilted her head. “Escaping something?”

Yes. “Just… the library was too quiet.”

“Liar.” But she said it lightly, almost fondly. “It’s okay. I’m escaping too.” She nodded toward her manga. “Kakashi’s having a worse day than I am, so. Perspective.”

Beom-seok felt a smile tug at his lips under his mask. He tugged it down to his chin, letting his face breathe. The café was warm, almost drowsy. The same couple was in the corner, sharing earbuds. The same barista was scrolling. The world outside was a blur of falling snow.

For a while, they just sat in silence. He opened his textbook to a random page—The Circulatory System—and didn’t read a word. She picked up her manga, but her eyes kept drifting to the window.

Then her phone autoplayed the next video.

[YouTube] BTSB : ‘Frostflower’ M/V

She didn’t open it. She didn’t even glance at it. Her thumb shot out and pressed skip ad.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “Again?”

“You really don’t like them,” he said, more statement than question.

“It’s not about liking,” she said, putting her phone face-down. “It’s about… invasion. That song is everywhere. In convenience stores, in ads, leaking out of strangers’ earphones. I heard it four times on my way here. Four! I don’t even know the lyrics, but my brain’s started filling them in automatically. This morning I caught myself humming the chorus while brushing my teeth. I felt so betrayed by my own subconscious.”

Beom-seok stared at her, a strange mix of pride and absurd offense warring in his chest. Frostflower was their winter comeback. He’d recorded his vocals while nursing a sore throat. He’d filmed the music video in a fake snowstorm that left glitter in his hair for days. People were streaming it millions of times.

And she was annoyed by it.

“It’s… catchy?” he offered weakly.

“It’s an earworm. A very well-produced, glittery earworm.” She shook her head. “No offense to your… bias group… Still can’t believe your bias named himself after Bomb of Socks.”

“Not Bomb Sock,” he corrected, sighing—but deeply amused. Though secretly, it stung a little. No one ever got his stage name wrong—except her.

“Sure it is,” she smirked. “Beom-seok, the Masked man, Bomb Sock Defender.”

“You gave him that name.”

“And he can’t hear it, and wouldn’t know,” she teased.

Actually, he could hear it. And he did know. Because he was sitting right there. And he really wanted to whine that it wasn’t his stage name.

But sure.

“Anyway. I’m sure he’s very talented. But his fanbase…” She shuddered. “I once saw a group of girls camped outside some building for two days because they heard he might film there. Two days! In this weather!”

Beom-seok’s smile faded. That was… too familiar. That was a memory from last week, outside the drama set. He’d used the staff entrance.

“They’re dedicated,” he said quietly.

“They’re scary. I like anime, but I don’t send death threats over ship wars. Your fandom’s on another level.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. He’d seen the comment sections Min-ho monitored. He’d gotten the “gifts” that weren’t gifts.

“Not all fans are like that,” he said, but it sounded hollow even to him.

“Sure. But the loud ones ruin it for everyone.” She took a sip of her cold hot chocolate, made a face, and pushed it away again. “If you even breathe near their bias, you’re public enemy number one. Then again, I know some anime fans do it too… so yeah, one thing’s the same, obsessive fans are the worst. At least in anime we just hate a character. Worst case, you get a death threat if it’s the obsessive type. But your world? Stalking.”

“Yeah,” he winced without thinking.

“Huh?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… I don’t think you’d fit the ‘jealous fangirl’ type.”

“Damn right,” she said proudly. “I’m the ‘please don’t involve me in your fandom wars, I just want to finish my ramyeon and rewatch Naruto in peace’ type.”

She gathered her things, shoving her manga into her bag. “I should go. It’s late.” She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Then she paused, looking down at him. “You gonna be okay here? Studying?”

He looked at his textbook, at the diagrams of veins and arteries he didn’t understand. Then back up at her. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

“Good.” She gave him a small, crooked salute. “See you around, medical student.”

“See you.”

“Oh, and tell your bias I said hi.” She grinned. “That is, if you meet him. After all, it’s hard for fans to meet their bias.”

“Sure,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “I’ll let him know.”

She didn’t notice.

He watched her step out into the light snowfall again, pulling her hood up and muttering something about people who blast music in public.

She was loud, awkward, and brutally honest.

And she had no idea who he was.

He liked that.

The café felt quieter after she left. Emptier.

He sat there for another twenty minutes, not studying, not thinking, just… being. Letting the quiet settle over him like the snow outside.

He finally packed up to leave.

He stepped out into the cold, pulling his mask up. The snow was still falling, soft and relentless.

Bomb Sock Defender, he thought, and laughed quietly into the winter night.

---

Jin-ah trudged up the stairs to her studio apartment, her boots leaving wet prints on the linoleum. She pushed the door open, kicked off her snow-damp shoes, and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on the hook behind the door.

The apartment was small, a single room with a kitchenette in one corner, a futon in the other, and a low table in between. The walls were bare except for a faded Naruto poster and a small shelf crowded with Kakashi figures, manga volumes, and a half-finished cup ramyeon from last night.

She dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the futon with a heavy sigh.

“Man,” she muttered to the ceiling. “That’s really the second time I’ve met a guy fanboying over idols, especially a boy group. Jang Beom-seok… heh, stan of an idol with the stage name Bomb Sock… I mean, Bomsok.”

She rolled onto her side, reaching for her phone on the charger. “Not that I can say I’m any different. He’s into idols, I’m into anime. Wow… maybe he’s an outcast too? I hope he’s got friends who are cool with it.”

“Anyway, time for another Hatake Kakashi binge run on YouTube. My husbando.”

She tapped her screen, pulling up her saved playlist—Kakashi Moments That Live In My Head Rent-Free. The video started playing, the familiar opening notes of a Naruto OST filling the small room. She was instantly absorbed—eyes glued to the screen, completely focused on Kakashi’s masked face, his lazy eye-smile, the way he moved in battle.

She grinned. She couldn’t wait to save up for his limited-edition Nendoroid. Every paycheck got split down the middle: essentials, and Kakashi merch.

Financial wisdom.

Then an ad popped up. She scowled.

An idol music video—bright colors, sharp choreography, a close-up of a handsome face she didn’t recognize. BTSB—Frostflower.

With a dramatic groan, she closed her eyes and, relying purely on muscle memory, tapped the “skip ad” button without even looking.

“Aish. Ads. Mortal enemies of binge culture,” she declared, flinging her arm across her face. “How dare you interrupt Kakashi vs Obito?”

She checked the progress bar just to be sure. Still Kakashi. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“If I miss the punch by even one second,” she whispered solemnly, “the emotional damage doubles.”

Clutching her phone like a sacred relic, she rolled over and buried herself deeper into the futon, one hand still reaching for the cup ramyeon on the floor beside her.

Truly, this was peak form.

A solo anime binge. Kakashi on screen. Noodles within reach. No fandom wars. No squealing idol fans.

Life was good.

She replayed a few favorite Kakashi scenes, looking thoroughly satisfied.

“Man, as usual… Kakashi is peak storytelling,” she murmured, stretching with a slow yawn.

She glanced at her phone, and froze. “Aish… I totally lost track of time! It’s midnight already?! I need to sleep ASAP!”

She tossed her phone onto the pillow and shut her eyes.

Silence.

Then—

Her eyes popped open again. “Bathroom.”

She dragged herself upright, shuffled to the tiny bathroom in the corner, did her business, and re-emerged with the posture of someone who had fought and won a private battle.

Now she could sleep.

She curled back under the blankets, pulling them up to her chin. “Now I can sleep in peace… with Kakashi in my dreams,” she murmured, half-asleep already. “Working the night shift with me, Areum, and Boss Lady… serving hot ramyeon to hungry customers.”

She let out a dreamy little laugh as she settled deeper into the futon. “Kakashi behind the counter with an apron and a ladle… cool… but every now and then, he’d probably drop some weird, random comment in between reading Icha Icha Tactics.”

Her smile softened. “He’s been through so much… losing people over and over, carrying all that pain… and yet, he still protects others. Still stays good.”

She sighed contentedly. “That’s why I like him. Not just the cool ninja thing… it’s because he’s… him.” It was silly. But the image made her genuinely happy.

After all, this was her dream job.

“Teuchi-ssi, though… he’s the real one. Just a ramen shop owner. No flashy ninjutsu, no tragic backstory… just a man who gave a lonely, loud kid a seat at his counter and a bowl of warmth, no questions asked. Over and over.”

She sighed, a sound of deep contentment. “That’s the dream, right? Not to be some rich CEO, or a genius designer… but to be the person who gives that kind of quiet kindness. The person who makes a space feel like home.”

A soft, genuine laugh escaped her. “My dream… it’s already fulfilled. Has been for years. The day Boss Lady hired me, I walked into that shop and smelled the broth and saw the steam fog the windows… and I knew. This is my Ichiraku. This is my place to be someone’s Teuchi.”

She’d grown up watching Naruto devour bowls of ramen with stars in his eyes, and even if she couldn’t work at Ichiraku, a ramyeon shop in Seoul was close enough.

Working there wasn’t just a job, it was wish fulfillment.

The smells, the steam, the satisfaction of handing over a perfect bowl… it made her feel grounded. Proud.

Blanket up to her chin, face turned toward the wall, she whispered one last thought before sleep took her:

“Good night, Kakashi-oppa… see you at the shop.”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***