Han Soo-Jin shuffled down the stairs, still half-asleep, stretching with a back bent by fatigue.

  “Hey, Yu-mi…”

  On the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, his sister’s eyes stayed glued to an old drama. She didn’t look up.

  “Hey, Oppa. Finally awake? You’ve been out cold… Clack-clack-clack.”

  Soo-Jin frowned—he’d heard something odd.

  “My day at the construction site wiped me out. I just came down for a glass of water before going back to bed.”

  “Oh, yeah? I had… Clack-clack-clack… a long day, too.”

  That sharp, rhythmic clack drew his attention. He stopped behind the sofa, intrigued, and peered over the backrest. She barely moved, yet the sound persisted.

  He circled to the armrest and craned his neck for a better look.

  Yu-mi crouched, feet soaking in a basin of ice water, the blanket wrapped around her like a burrito. Her face was pale, lips quivering.

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  She slowly turned her head toward him, eyes half-closed and lips slightly parted, her teeth chattering so violently it sounded like a panicked Morse code.

  Soo-Jin stared, incredulous, then quipped, half-worried, half-sarcastic,

  “What on earth is this torture?”

  Yu-mi, teeth clicking in time, replied,

  “C-Clack-clack… I saw some Tibetan monk on ZIMZO say that dunking your feet in ice water while watching dramas opens your toe-chakras…”

  Soo-Jin’s eyes went blank:

  “Toe-chakras?”

  Yu-mi, deadly serious despite her shivers:

  “Apparently, that’s where intergenerational traumas hide.”

  “I want to die,” Soo-Jin muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead.

  “Listen, I know Mom had such high hopes for you—wanted you perfect at everything. Maybe that pressure messed you up.”

  He paused, watching Yu-mi tremble under her own absurd ritual.

  “Your exam’s coming up fast. I get that you’re stressed, but this isn’t how you fix that.”

  She let out a thunderous sneeze, cutting him off:

  “And now you’re sick. Great.”

  He headed for his room, where he’d set up a mini pharmacy—antipyretics, painkillers—for the headaches he got from long days in the sun at the site. He grabbed a fever tablet and returned to the living room.

  “Serves you right for copying Zimzo trends. Here, take these.”

  He held out the pills, then hesitated: had she eaten?

  “Wait—did you cook, or did you grab something from Halmeoni’s?” he asked, voice dragging.

  “No… I was tired…. Clack-clack-clack… After class, I came straight home… Clack-clack-clack… I had lunch at school, but maybe there’s… Clack-clack-clack… something in the fridge.”

  Soo-Jin sighed and opened the refrigerator. He hoped for at least an apple. Inside: only empty bottles.

  “…Nothing. Not even a wilted tomato. Are we living in a desert?!”

  Yu-mi turned, head against the backrest, offering a guilty smile.

  “Tough luck… C-Clack-clack. I thought there’d be a couple of things.”

  He slammed the fridge door, jaw clenched:

  “You could’ve checked first! How are we supposed to survive?! Culinary illusions! There’s nothing here for you to eat before you take your meds.”

  Yu-mi chattered in her rhythm:

  “You know, C-clack-clack, I thought you’d bring something back for us, but I wasn’t hungry, so I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Don’t make assumptions! You should’ve ordered like usual instead of imagining I’d magically come home with dinner!”

  “Enough! Get your feet out of that ice—this tutorial is bogus. I’m going to buy you something to eat.”

  He felt the weight of exhaustion and despair. A few steps later, he grabbed his hoodie from the rack.

  “Damn, do I have a curse on me or what? I just wanted a glass of water and to go back to sleep!”

  He slipped on his shoes and glanced at the clock: 12:01 AM.

  “Great. Midnight. A new day begins. And my boss expects overtime on the site today…”

  He exhaled, trying to shake off the heaviness. The TV’s faint murmur barely filled the home’s stillness.

  When he opened the door, a blast of icy night air hit him. He stepped out and closed it behind him.

  The wind howled through the alleys, and Soo-Jin shoved his hands into his pockets, picking up his pace to escape the chill. Darkness pressed in, amplifying his sense of isolation.

  He worked construction to provide for himself and his little sister—both orphaned—pouring everything into giving her the best life he could and covering her university fees.

  Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at Cheonguk Hof, a small eatery serving light fare—gimbap, ramyeon—by day, perfect for a quick meal. At this hour, however, it had morphed into a hof: warm light, the scent of grilled meat, and jokbal simmering. Patrons gathered for hearty dishes and drinks.

  He breathed in the spicy aromas. The soft glow through thick curtains revealed contented faces. The jokbal’s scent mingled with grilled pork, creating a familiar comfort.

  The place—and its owner, a kind, respected old lady—was dear to Soo-Jin and his sister. He stepped inside, and she greeted him warmly.

  “Oh, good evening, Mr. Soo-Jin! You’re here for your sister’s gimbap—the one she loves?”

  She continued, smiling:

  “All the ingredients were bought today, but I reserved it just in case she arrived late. As the hours passed, I feared someone else might take it, so I held it for her.”

  Handing him the package, she added,

  “Since you’re here, it’s yours. Thank you for coming. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  Soo-Jin returned her smile:

  “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver, Halmeoni.”

  He hesitated, then said,

  “I’ll take one for me, too—jokbal, please.”

  She nodded, handed him a bag with both orders, and he paid.

  Exiting ten minutes later, he heard familiar laughter echo down the dim street. Silhouettes emerged from the darkness ahead.

  Soo-Jin paused by a dumpster’s shadow and crouched, feigning tieing his laces. As soon as he bent over, the group stepped into the moonlight, and their leader sneered:

  “Well, well… Look who’s out tonight—our little pigeon?”

  He froze, heart pounding, as they closed in