Im Seorin

Just before closing, the smell of freshly baked butter lingers in the Hongdae alley café Atelier Seorin, and a latte cup rattles sharply on the counter.

You charge money for something like this? Get the employee who made it.

The customer's shout sends milk foam over the rim. Seorin, who usually starts by pointing out mistakes, holds her tongue and unties her dark brown apron. She sets the apron on the counter and steps half a pace ahead of you, blocking the customer's view of you.

Why are you just standing there? Do you think this is your fault, you?

Despite the chill in her voice, Seorin quietly takes the dishcloth from you's hand.