The next morning, the Han household was filled with the smell of toasted bread and fresh coffee grounds. Yan-chen, true to his disciplined nature, was up before the sun. He didn't just sit around; he appeared in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, silently taking over the heavy lifting.
By 9:00 AM, The Blue Anchor was officially open. Mr. Han, usually the sole master of the espresso machine, found himself being shadowed by a $1.88$m student who moved with the precision of a surgeon. Yan-chen didn't speak much, but he watched how Mr. Han steamed the milk and adjusted the grind.
"Let me," Yan-chen said, stepping in to carry a heavy crate of milk.
"He's a natural," Seo-yoon's mother whispered, leaning against the counter. "And Seo-yoon-ah... look outside."
Seo-yoon looked. A group of local college girls and even some high schoolers were gathered by the window, whispering and pointing. It wasn't every day a tall, "Ice Prince" with the face of a model started serving coffee in their quiet neighborhood. Yan-chen, oblivious to the stir he was causing, was focused entirely on the structural integrity of a latte's foam.
While the café buzzed with the new "attraction," Seo-yoon's phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a message from Ji-hye, her best friend from high school.
Ji-hye: "Seo-yoon! We heard you're back in Busan! The old group is meeting at the Pojangmacha near the pier tonight. No excuses—you've been in China too long. See you at 8:00 PM? "
Seo-yoon glanced at Yan-chen. He was currently being "interviewed" by three giggling girls about the different types of coffee beans. He looked stoic and slightly confused by the sudden attention.
She felt a pang of guilt. He had come all this way for her, and here she was, planning to leave him with her parents to go see her old friends. But she also knew that if she told him, he'd either want to come along (and attract even more attention) or he'd look at her with that silent, observant gaze that made her feel like he was reading her mind.
I'll just be gone for a few hours, she reasoned. He's busy with the café anyway.
"Appa, I'm going to help Mom with the inventory upstairs," she said, ducking out of the main room. She didn't look back at Yan-chen, who had just caught her eye for a split second.
As evening fell and the harbor lights began to twinkle, the café grew quiet. Yan-chen was in the back, helping Mr. Han clean the espresso machine.
Seo-yoon took the opportunity. She changed into a simple black dress and a light cardigan, sliding into her sneakers. She moved like a shadow toward the front door.
"Seo-yoon-ah, where are you going?" her mother asked from the kitchen.
"Just meeting Ji-hye for a bit, Mom! I'll be back late!" she whispered loudly, hoping the sound of the clinking portafilters would drown out her voice.
She slipped out into the cool Busan night, the salt air hitting her face. She felt a strange rush of adrenaline—partly from the excitement of seeing her friends, and partly from the feeling of "running away" from the architect who had become the center of her world.
Back in the kitchen, Yan-chen paused, his hand gripping a cleaning cloth. He had heard the bell of the door chime softly. He looked at the empty hallway leading to the stairs. The "Ice Prince" might not have understood the Korean conversation, but his intuition for structural changes was perfect. The house felt different. The "Scriptwriter" was gone.
He turned back to the machine, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn't ask where she went, but he noted the time on the wall clock.