The morning light at Haeteul was not an event; it was a slow, gentle immersion. It began as a pale lavender hint on the eastern horizon, then seeped into the sky, washing it in soft watercolors of peach and gold before finally spilling through the windows, warm and buttery, to pool on the polished wood floors. Min Jae had witnessed this transformation thousands of times, and it never ceased to feel like a personal benediction.
He stood at the kitchen window, a mug of tea warming his hands, and watched the light touch the world. It glided over Seo-jun's beloved azaleas, still beaded with dew, and set the ocean beyond ablaze with a million diamond points. This daily miracle was the cornerstone of his peace. The man who had once made decisions that moved global markets before his first espresso now made no decisions more urgent than whether to have berries or a banana with his oatmeal.
