The streets of Busan are still yawning themselves awake. Early morning air hums with a soft breeze that nudges tree branches lining the sidewalks. Birds chirp, loud and chipper, like they got more sleep than anyone else. A stray cat stretches like royalty atop a vending machine, tail flicking with lazy contentment.
And tucked between two bushes—like a budget secret agent out of a low-budget spy drama—is a man. A strange man.
His coat is trench gray and at least two sizes too big, swallowing his thin frame. Slung around his neck is a professional-grade camera, so clean it almost glows, clearly more expensive than his worn-out sneakers. He adjusts the lens with care, fingers steady. Focuses.
Click.Another picture.Click-click.Two more.
A young man walks by. Hands jammed into his pockets. Shoulders loose. Chin slightly raised, as if in a deep and very personal judgment of the sky.
He lets out a long, slow yawn—the kind so big his soul almost exits his body. His eyes tear up from the sheer effort of waking up this early.
"Why is the sky so happy when I'm not?" he mutters.
This is Shin Si Kyo.
He glances left. Then right. Nothing. No one. Just asphalt, air, and an uncomfortable amount of peace.
"Gross," he groans. "This street's so dead I could practically commit a crime and the CCTV would get bored halfway through."
With dramatic flair, he kicks a tiny pebble like it offended him personally. It skids across the road and clinks into a stop sign.
"Score…!" he calls out lazily.
Behind a trash can, the strange man crouches deeper, shifting like a nature documentarian filming chaotic urban wildlife. His voice comes out low and slightly unnerving.
"What are you up to, Shin Si Kyo…"
Si Kyo, of course, has no idea he's being watched.
As he continues down the sidewalk, a middle-aged woman sweeping outside her small convenience store looks up and smiles.
"Out early, Si Kyo?" she calls.
He beams at her, a grin so wide and bright it could probably blind a satellite.
"Only because sleep rejected me, ahjumma. I think I snore too attractively."
She laughs, brushing her hair back with the broom handle.
"Still full of nonsense, I see."
Si Kyo throws her a finger gun and a wink.
"You love it. Don't deny it."
"Oh my…" she says, still chuckling.
And with that, he moves on.
Click.The stalker, now behind a parked van, captures the moment. Adjusts the lens again.
"You always put on a show, huh? Si Kyo..." he mutters. Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just curious. Like Si Kyo is a confusing art piece he's been staring at for days and still can't figure out.
Si Kyo stops in front of a bakery. The smell of fresh bread ambushes him like an emotional chokehold.
He leans close to the glass window and presses his forehead against it with all the drama of a man in a historical romance.
"My diet starts tomorrow," he whispers.
He pushes the door open.
Inside, a college-age cashier stands behind the counter, earbuds in, half of her hair dyed pink. She barely glances up.
"Morning," she says flatly.
Si Kyo leans on the counter like he's about to deliver the speech of a generation.
"Tell me... if I eat three croissants and lie about it, does it still count?"
The girl blinks, deadpan.
"Eat five and it's called self-care."
His eyes widen.
"…You might be my soulmate."
Outside, crouched beside a vending machine, the photographer adjusts again. Shuffles low like he's hiding from enemy troops.
"Why would someone like you need to pretend you're bored?" he whispers. "Considering how chaotic your life seems to be."
Click.The camera captures Si Kyo mid-bite, croissant crumbs clinging to his cheek like confetti.
Back outside, Si Kyo strolls along, one hand holding a warm paper bag.
He catches his reflection in a mirror-glass window. Stops. Checks himself out. No shame. He turns, poses, winks.
"Yep. Still devastatingly handsome," he says with a sigh. "Sorry, Busan. I'm trying to tone it down."
He casually finger-combs his hair like he's prepping for a photo shoot.
Behind a traffic sign, the photographer groans.
"You dramatic little…"
Click.