The pressure around Yeonhwa Street had been building for weeks.
Every day, a new government notice appeared on the community board, printed on thick white paper, stamped in red ink, urging residents to "cooperate peacefully" with the redevelopment project. And every day, the paper was torn down by evening. The elders argued that a neighborhood wasn't a pile of bricks you could relocate. To them, Yeonhwa wasn't property, it was memory, identity, stubbornness, and history.
By the end of the month, the tension sat in the air like humidity. People whispered about protests. Reporters had begun to appear on the edge of the district, taking photographs of everything from the market stalls to the children kicking plastic bottles in the alley.
Life went on, but the ground felt like it was shifting beneath their feet.
That weekend, Ha Yoon and Seon-woo stood at the gate of a villa far too large for teenagers to be trusted with. They could hear the party long before they stepped inside, the thumping bass, the clatter of glass, bursts of laughter echoing against the tiled pool.
"Are you sure we're not underdressed?" Ha Yoon whispered.
"We're fine," Seon-woo said, though he tugged at the sleeves of his borrowed shirt as if trying to stretch confidence into himself.
Inside, the villa was overflowing with students from wealthier districts. Someone was grilling meat by the pool. Another group was dancing near the speakers. A boy cannonballed into the water, splashing half the guests, who shrieked but didn't care.
"Oh! You came," Hae Min said, emerging from the crowd with the ease of someone born to be comfortable anywhere.
"Yeah," Seon-woo answered, taking in the chaos. "Looks like the party's going well."
"Good as it gets," Hae Min grinned. "Want something to drink?"
He was reaching toward the cooler full of beer cans when Seon-woo stepped slightly in front of Ha Yoon.
"She's seventeen."
"Oh." Hae Min blinked, then laughed awkwardly. "Right, sorry. Didn't realize."
They stayed near the quiet end of the pool, away from shouting and splashing. From time to time, someone yelled Hae Min's name, future star athlete, handsome, popular, but he only waved half-heartedly. His eyes kept finding Ha Yoon.
After about an hour, he approached her with an unusual seriousness.
"Hey," he murmured, barely audible over the music. "Could you walk with me for a minute?"
She glanced at Seon-woo, who nodded, though his expression was unreadable.
The villa had a garden behind the pool, a small patch of trimmed green, fairy lights strung overhead like a second, artificial night sky. The air was quieter here.
"I—uh—I've been thinking about this for a while," Hae Min said, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I didn't want to say it like this, but…I can't keep it in anymore."
She waited. Her breath fogged slightly, the night colder than she realized.
"Ha Yoon," he said, looking at her as if bracing for impact,
"will you be my girlfriend?"
For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.
Behind them, unnoticed, Seon-woo stood near the sliding glass door, frozen halfway between leaving and staying, watching her, waiting for an answer he already feared.
"I…I don't know what to say right now," she whispered. "But…give me time. Please."
Relief flickered across Hae Min's face. Not a yes, but not a no.
"Then…can we exchange numbers?" he asked, pulling out his phone.
She nodded.
On the walk back home, the streetlights cast long shadows over the pavement. Seon-woo kicked a pebble as he asked quietly
"What did he tell you?"
"Nothing important," she lied, the words heavy in her mouth.
He didn't push. He never pushed.
But his silence said he already knew.
When Seon-woo walked into his house that night, the first thing he noticed was the smell of spilt alcohol. The second was the sound, something between a cough and a wheeze.
His mother was slumped beside the table, one hand pressed to her side, her breaths shallow and panicked.
"Mom?" he gasped, dropping the groceries.
Her head lolled weakly.
And that was all it took, panic shot through him like electricity. He scooped her up, half carrying, half dragging her out the door, calling for a taxi while his little sister cried behind him.
At the hospital, he could only sit in the stark, too-bright waiting area with his head buried in his knees, hands shaking uncontrollably.
That was how Ha Yoon found him.
She had run the whole way, hair loose, jacket unzipped, breath ragged.
"How is Aunty?" she asked, kneeling beside him.
"I…I don't know," he whispered, voice breaking. "They're checking."
She placed a hand on his back, not comforting him, simply being there. Sometimes presence was its own language.
Minutes stretched into something unbearable before the doctor finally returned.
"Your mother requires surgery," he said. "Immediately."
"How much?" Seon-woo asked, though he already dreaded the answer.
"About fifty thousand yuan."
The world tilted. His breath caught.
Fifty thousand?
He didn't even have a fraction of that.
He stared at the floor, jaw clenched, heart hammering like it was trying to escape his chest.
"Do you…have the money?" Ha Yoon asked, voice small but steady.
When he didn't answer, she tried again. "How much do you have now?"
"Thirty thousand," he murmured. "I've been saving. Working. But…it's not enough."
She bit her lip, thinking. Then, with surprising firmness:
"I work too. Mr. Wang's store. Mrs. Han's farm on weekends. I've saved twenty-two thousand. I can help."
He looked at her as if she'd said the most impossible thing.
"No. Absolutely not."
"But—"
"I'm not taking it."
She swallowed hard. "Why? Because you see me as someone outside your life? Someone meaningless?"
His head snapped up.
"Don't say that."
His voice trembled, not with anger, but with something far more vulnerable.
"You're the most important person to me. To my life. To my heart. I…you're—"
He stopped, as if only then realizing what had slipped out.
She stared at him, stunned.
The hallway fell quiet.
Finally, she said softly, "Then take it."
He exhaled shakily, defeated by the truth between them.
"…I'll accept it," he whispered. "But only if I pay you back. Every won."
She nodded. "Okay."
Together, they approached the billing counter. The total amount felt unreal when the nurse printed it, but they placed their money down, his hands trembling, hers steady.
After the payment was confirmed, he turned to her.
"I need to stay with Mom. Can you…can you look after my sister? I don't trust my dad. Or the people he brings home."
"Of course," she said without hesitation.
That night, she took the little girl home with her.
"Kiddo, we have a guest," Ha Yoon said, ushering her into the living room.
Her younger brother peeked over his comic book and froze, wide-eyed.
"Hey," he said shyly.
"Hey," Seon-woo's sister echoed, clutching her backpack.
The two children waved at each other like strangers on a foreign planet awkward, curious, and instantly connected.
Ha Yoon stood in the doorway watching them, exhausted but relieved.
Somewhere in a hospital ward across the city, Seon-woo sat beside his mother's bed, his eyes swollen but steady.
And for the first time in a long while, he wasn't entirely alone.