FAMILY DINNERS AND OLD DETECTIVES

The sky over Seoul softened into hues of pale lavender and silver as dusk settled across the city. The streets glowed under the warmth of shop signs and streetlamps, while a thin chill in the air hinted at the approaching winter. Students lingered around the Yonsei amphitheater, where an open mic had drawn a small, enthusiastic crowd of music lovers, clapping politely after each shaky performance.

Hana had promised to stop by, but her heart wasn't in it.

Ever since the strange phone call the night before, an odd, quiet tension clung to her — one she couldn't name, yet couldn't shake.

"You look like a lost puppy," Chae-Rin said, grinning as she draped an arm around Hana's shoulder. "Lucky for you, you're officially kidnapped for dinner."

Hana blinked. "What?"

"You, me, food. My house. You need a change of scenery. And trust me, my mom's galbi-jjim is worth risking a mild coma for."

"I don't want to intrude."

"You're not intruding," Chae-Rin insisted. "My mom loves you. And my dad… well, he likes anyone who doesn't leave their shoes in the hallway."

Something about the invitation felt right. Comfortable. A way to ground herself again.

"Okay," Hana smiled. "I'm in."

The Choi Residence — Itaewon District

An hour later, Hana found herself standing in the cozy, warmly lit living room of the Choi family apartment in Itaewon — an older, well-kept building with creaking wooden floors and walls lined with old photographs.

The scent of rich, simmering stew filled the air. From the kitchen, the clatter of utensils and the soft hum of a TV drama blended into the comfortable hum of family life.

"This feels… nice," Hana said as she slipped off her shoes.

"I told you. You need more real food and less convenience store ramen."

Chae-Rin led her to the small dining table where three place settings waited.

"Dad's working late," Chae-Rin explained. "But he'll be home soon."

Hana smiled. "I've actually never met your dad."

"Right. You've heard about him, though — Detective Choi Hyun-Soo. Seventeen years on the force. Officially overprotective. Unofficially a pain in my ass."

Hana laughed. "Sounds like a good dad."

"He is," Chae-Rin admitted, softer now. "He's just… been tired lately. Some messy cases down south. The kind that stick with you."

Hana's brow furrowed. "Busan?"

Chae-Rin shrugged. "He doesn't tell me much. But yeah, something about gangs turning up dead. Keeps saying there's someone out there playing God."

A flicker of unease passed through Hana — the shadow of last night's phone call tugging at the back of her mind.

She said nothing.

A Quiet Family Meal

The meal was warm and loud, with Mrs. Choi fussing over Hana, piling her bowl with more galbi-jjim and kimchi pancakes than she could possibly eat. The conversation flowed easily, stories about childhood vacations and Chae-Rin's embarrassing grade school moments.

For the first time in days, Hana felt normal again.

Until the front door opened with a heavy click.

Detective Choi Hyun-Soo stepped inside.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early fifties, his face marked with deep lines and the kind of weariness that clung to old detectives. His dark hair was graying at the temples, and his eyes — sharp, assessing — softened the moment they landed on his daughter.

"Dad!" Chae-Rin called. "Come meet Hana!"

Detective Choi offered a small, polite smile and a brief bow to Hana. "So you're the one my daughter won't stop talking about."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Hana said, standing.

"Sit, sit. Don't let me interrupt."

He moved through the room with the quiet weight of a man who had seen too much of the world. As he shed his coat and holster, Hana noticed the faint tremor in his hands, the slight heaviness in his step.

He looked… exhausted.

And for one unsettling moment, his gaze lingered on her — not unkind, but as though measuring something. A flicker of something Hana couldn't quite place passed through his expression before he smiled again.

"I hope you'll come by more often," he said.

"I'd like that."

The Quiet Afterward

Later, as Chae-Rin walked her to the subway station, the streets were nearly empty. The warmth of the evening's meal clung to them in the crisp air.

"You okay?" Chae-Rin asked.

Hana hesitated, then nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks for tonight."

Chae-Rin grinned and slung an arm around her shoulders. "You're one of us now. No escape."

They laughed, and Hana promised herself she wouldn't overthink the phone call, or the tired detective, or the talk of men playing God in Busan.

At least, not tonight.

But as the train doors slid shut and the city blurred past the window, she couldn't help the feeling that the quiet parts of her world were beginning to shift.