Chapter 2

The convertible’s top was up, but still—who in their right mind drove an open car in the middle of winter? Poor insulation, unsafe on icy roads, completely out of place.

Good-looking, yes. Slick face, flashy air. Add in the out-of-season sports car, and it all screamed show-off.

Especially here, in this row of cheap studio apartments, one of the cheapest neighborhoods in Seoul real estate. A shiny car like that in a place like this could mean only one thing—car poor.

So those stories about young people going broke for their cars were real. And now she was staring at a live specimen.

The man spoke first.

“You fell after I parked and locked the door. You didn’t even touch my car.”

“I told you, it wasn’t an insurance scam.”

“Well, yeah. Too pretty to be pulling scams, anyway.”

“…”

“That face ought to be illegal. Makes me want to get scammed just for the excuse.”

What is he even saying.

Haeju ignored him and tried to get up—only to slip again on the frozen patch of ground.

The man shoved his lighter and pack of cigarettes into his pocket and stepped closer. Bending down, he offered his hand.

Tall man. Big hand.

“Careful not to touch the car while you stand. This one’s my baby.”

Of course. Handsome face, expensive car, chasing girls around—definitely a car poor.

Reluctantly, Haeju took his hand.

Heat seared through her frost-numbed fingers where they touched, like her skin had brushed against fire. His hand was firm. Hot.

Their eyes met. For a second, the man froze. He didn’t pull her up right away, just paused, almost hesitant—then, half a beat late, he tugged her up easily, his strength steady as stone.

“Strange,” he murmured under his breath.

She almost asked what was strange but shut her mouth instead. She didn’t want to get tangled with him, not in this cold, miserable weather. All she wanted was to go home.

“…Thank you,” she muttered, brushing the snow from her clothes.

But when she checked herself over, she noticed something wrong.

The front of her slipper had split wide open, flopping uselessly. Her toes ached, scraped raw through the thin socks.

The man glanced down, sighed heavily.

“Ha…”

Perfect. First day in my new place, and already nothing’s working out.

Her scraped toes wiggled awkwardly. The sting was nothing compared to the sting of humiliation. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot from the cold and the embarrassment.

If I cry now, it’ll be the worst.

She shook the snow from her shoulders and started up the hill.

“Hey, Miss Insurance Scam,” he called after her.

“What now.”

“You’re basically a snowman already. Don’t you have an umbrella?”

“I live close. I’ll just run.”

A lie. The hill was steep, snow still falling, her slippers ruined. But the last thing she wanted was more entanglement with a car poor. People like him were always reckless, blinded by pride and obsession. And she had no intention of letting her already messy life get messier.

She shuffled forward, dragging the broken slipper, when she felt someone close behind.

“Don’t bother following me or talking to me,” she snapped.

But just then, the snowfall stopped above her head.

She turned. The man was holding an umbrella, tilted over her.

“I called you back to give you this. That’s all.”

“…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t follow you. My mom taught me never to trail strangers.”

His grin was playful, but up close, his size hit her. Broader than most men, even in his padded jacket.

He took a step nearer, holding the umbrella handle out.

Up close, he smelled faintly of cigarettes, but beneath that—a clean, sun-dried scent, like sheets hung out to dry. The air itself seemed a little warmer around him.

“Take it. Go before the snow piles up. You fell pretty hard back there—didn’t look good to watch.”

When she hesitated, he gestured toward his car.

“…I’ll borrow it. Thanks.”

The wooden handle was still warm from his hand.

Correction: not just a car poor. A weird one, maybe—but a kind one.

She bowed quickly and hurried home, umbrella in hand. The hill felt taller than ever on moving day.

“Borrowing means you’ll give it back, right?”

His teasing voice carried after her, but she didn’t turn back. The umbrella blocked the wind and snow, and the air seemed warmer.

Unpacking took until after dark.

Last to be carried in was her old Yamaha electric piano. She ran her hands over it carefully. On one side, someone had scrawled faintly in marker: Blue Beetle.

Even if the bulbs blew and furniture broke, this piano—she couldn’t bear for it to stop working.

When the place was finally in order, she boiled water for cup noodles. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the umbrella propped in the entryway.

It stood out. Sleek, glossy, like its owner.

Folding it, she noticed the words Made in England, embossed with the brand name. The fastener wasn’t Velcro or a snap, but a button.

“Figures. Even his umbrella’s designer.”

Curiosity nudged her into a quick search online. One look at the price tag drained the blood from her face.

Carefully, she folded it and set it back in the entryway.

“…Didn’t know it was that expensive. Guess I do have to return it.”

Not that she’d ever run into him again.

Or so she thought.

Life is nothing but variables, never going as planned. Haeju knew that better than anyone.

Class trips, school exams, the college entrance test—every important day in her life, it rained or snowed. Once, she slipped in the snow and tore a ligament. Another time, she broke a bone.

On a family trip as a child, she nearly lost her parents. And then, when she was in high school, she lost them for real—to an accident.

Her grandmother moved up to Seoul to raise her.

For Haeju, misfortune was routine. She learned to work harder than anyone just for a taste of ordinary life.

There had once been a dream, as old and faded as her piano. A dream she dared believe in, back when her parents were alive. But dreams are called dreams for a reason—they’re too hard to make real.

Reality had taught her this much: she would live quietly, safely, for as long as possible.

No ambitions. No risks. Just steady, ordinary days.

Which was why, the night before the semester started, she agreed immediately when the café owner called in a panic.

“Can you cover the evening shift? I’ll pay double.”

She had only just started the job, but it was late, quiet hours. She thought it would be fine.

The bell chimed as the door opened.

She set down the cup she was washing and turned to the register.

“Welcome to—oh.”

“…Huh?”

Recognition struck them both.

“Insurance scam?”

His brows lifted in a question mark.

It was him. The car poor who’d lent her his umbrella on moving day.

And right beside him stood a girl, pressed close, unmistakably his girlfriend.

“May I take your order?” Haeju ducked behind the counter, pretending not to hear his words.

He wore gray sweats today, casual, careless. His face was handsome enough, but why always sweats? Even on a date?

Maybe he really spent it all on the car.

The thought had weight. She remembered the video she’d seen recently—young car owners, drowning in debt, rent unpaid, living off instant noodles.

She glanced at the girl.

Definitely dressed for a date—short skirt, stockings, cropped top under a jacket, hair and makeup meticulous.

“Oppa, I want a hot vanilla latte.”

She said it to him, not the cashier.

“You heard that, right? And I’ll take an iced Americano.”

He didn’t look away from Haeju as he ordered, his lips curling with interest.

Her certainty hardened. This café was the cheapest near campus, out by the one-room apartments. If he brought dates here, he really was all car, no wallet.

He handed her his card, eyes fixed. She avoided his gaze, processed the payment, and handed it back.

Then he left for a table by the window with his girlfriend.

“Do you know that part-timer?”

The girlfriend’s eyes narrowed sharply at Haeju.