CHAPTER 5

The Glass Barrier

The sky over Jongno had turned a bruised, sickly purple by late afternoon, eventually rupturing into a violent downpour. Inside The Elixeria, the atmosphere was a sanctuary of amber light and the rhythmic thud-thud of Chief Kang Min-ho’s knife. Despite the warmth, Min-ho was distracted. His eyes kept darting to the door every time the wind rattled the frame. He had sent that blunt text on Saturday, telling the "suit" to stay away. He told himself he had done it to protect his shop’s "atmosphere," but a small, annoying part of him had been thinking of the boy’s mangled hand.

At 6:15 PM, the bell chimed with a frantic jingle.

Lee Shi-woo stood in the doorway, and for a moment, the entire restaurant went silent. He looked as though he had crawled out of the Han River. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead in thick, wet clumps, and his suit the armor of his corporate world was sodden and heavy, dripping a steady, rhythmic tap-tap-tap onto the pristine hardwood floor.

Min-ho’s jaw tightened. The sight of Shi-woo looking so pathetic stirred a complicated nest of emotions in his chest—irritation, guilt, and a strange, sharp pang of something he refused to name. He chose to lean into the irritation.

"Don't you dare take another step," Min-ho commanded, his voice cold as the rain outside. He didn't move from behind the counter, but his gaze was predatory. "Look at the floor. You’re turning my shop into a swamp. I told you specifically on Saturday: if you aren't well, stay home. You look like you're one breath away from a collapse. You’ll make the customers slip, and I don’t have the patience for a lawsuit."

Shi-woo flinched, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths. He looked down at the puddle forming around his shoes, his face a mask of pale exhaustion.

"I... I just need the signature, Chief. I can't stay home."

"Then go find an agency that sells umbrellas first," Min-ho snapped, turning his back to plate a dish. "You're a nuisance and a safety hazard. Get out. Now."

Other chiefs looked at them but no one had the courage to say something when Min ho is upset.

Min-ho expected a fight from shi-woo, expected Shi-woo’s famous silent temper to flare. Instead, there was only a soft, wet sound of footsteps retreating. The bell chimed again, and the cold draft vanished.

Min-ho exhaled, a long, shaky breath. He assumed the boy had finally gained some common sense and headed for a taxi.

He returned to his work, the high counter blocking his view of the street, unaware that the shadow of the man he just kicked out had only moved three feet to the left, leaning against the freezing exterior brick wall of restaurant.

He was exhausted.

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