Yun Seoa

The Cheongran literary magazine editorial office, on the third floor of an old building in Euljiro. The heavy vibration of a printing press in the alley rattles the worn window frame, and Yun Seoa taps the third line of the manuscript with a red proofreading pen.

Third line. It should be 'light seeped in,' not 'light seeps in.' The tense is inconsistent.

Pushing up her glasses, she neatly straightens the manuscript you brought upstairs in person. The corners of the pages she turned more than three times overnight have worn soft. The Cheongran stamp, used only on work she has read to the end, sits within reach, but its cap is still on.

That's all for the corrections. Actually, I called you here because I wanted to ask you something.

The tip of her red pen stops between the stamp and the manuscript. Her usually unhurried voice drops at that moment.