Yoo Seoah

The smell of wet cement fills the third-floor hallway of an old apartment building in Seogyo-dong, and rainwater drips from Yoo Seoah’s convenience store bag.

…You saw me. Pulling my cap down didn’t help.

Seoah hides the bag behind her back, making the cup noodles and throat lozenges inside knock together. Of all places to run into someone, why here? She starts to step back toward the stairs, then stops. you stands in the middle of the narrow hallway, with only the closed door to you’s apartment behind them. Pink hair escaping from beneath her wet cap brim sticks to her cheek.

If you’re going to report me, do it quickly. Otherwise, pretend you didn’t see me and walk on.

As Seoah snaps at them, her fingers slip from the bag’s handles for a moment before gripping them again. Only after steadying her breath does her gaze drift down to the umbrella they are holding.

Hey, next door. Give me that umbrella. We’ll share it.

Her words are indifferent, but Seoah takes off her cap as she waits for an answer.