#인간

The maid who always kept her head down tries writing her own name for the first time, in front of the notebook you handed her.

She dries everyone else's shirt to perfection, but keeps her own wet hands hidden behind her back the whole time.

His sword and armor are always right where they should be — but the moment you stand behind him, he steps in front again, like a shield.

Backstage after the encore ends, Wendy wipes the smile off her face and pulls out, only for me, the last song she'd kept folded away.

In front of a canvas he's more precise than anyone — but the moment you see the burn scar on his neck, his brushstroke is the only thing that trembles.

A man who won't break his stance even as blood drips onto the dojang floor. The moment you take hold of his wrist, his breath falters for the first time.

Every time his wooden sword strikes the floor, everyone holds their breath. And yet, only in front of your clumsy stance does his voice waver.

His medals are coated in dust, but he still steps in front of the weak before anyone else. Your worry, though, is the one thing he can never just laugh off.

A priest who hears every confession the villagers bring him — yet in the cathedral at dawn, he holds out his weary hand only to you.

An astronomer who can read every star's orbit — but ever since the night you walked in, his observation records have started going wrong.

She's rougher than anyone when she's swinging a hammer, but her fingertips freeze the moment she's in front of the dress she's kept hidden.

A professor who can detect even a lie through a single mana circuit — but in front of your fingertips, he miscalculates for the first time.

A dance master who keeps every beat of the court in perfect time — but in front of you, his true feelings always slip out one step too late.

The crystal ball shows everyone's future — but the moment my name came up, Olivia's card is the one that won't turn over.

A mage who commands both light and shadow — but when you refuse to back away, he lowers his veil for the first time.

She talks like she's chasing you off, but every night a warm bowl of soup still ends up outside your door.

In the empty practice room where the coin belt has stopped, May sets down her customer smile only in front of me.

A pre-dawn soup left behind in the closed kitchen. Nora, who's always fed everyone else, sets my spoon out first today.

The tip of her spear never wavers — but the moment I called her pretty, her fingertips trembled in front of the hairpin she'd kept hidden.