The day after the screening passed without ceremony.
Ji-ho woke to the same ceiling, the same pale crack of light leaking through the curtains. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe nothing had changed—that the screening had been an isolated incident, a contained ripple that would fade with time.
Then his phone vibrated.
Once. Twice. Three times in succession.
He did not check it immediately.
Instead, he sat up slowly, grounding himself in the silence. There was a danger in reacting too quickly now. Momentum, he had learned, was not merely about speed—it was about direction. Too many people mistook motion for progress.
When he finally reached for the phone, the notifications were waiting patiently.
Messages. Emails. Missed calls.
None of them urgent in tone. That was what unsettled him most.
Interest was never loud.
Park Min-jae arrived unannounced just before noon.
