Hwa-jin
Since the Joseon era, every time the sky poured its water mercilessly, old memories would creep back—the night when he signed a blood pact, when he chose power and left behind a woman who waited for him in the rain with eyes full of love. He didn't remember his face clearly. Only the feeling of warmth that he had ever rejected. Hundreds of years later, Hwa-jin sits alone in the Gaba club. The dim lights reflected the red curtains, and the candles burned quietly as if undisturbed by the storm outside. His fingers moved slowly, pulling at the faintly shimmering threads of fate—the routine that kept his soul empty. Meanwhile, Han Yura drove slowly on the wet streets of Seoul. His helmet began to fog up, his thin coat no longer able to keep out the cold. He only intended to go to the small supermarket at the end of the road—to buy instant food and candles because the electricity in his apartment often went out during heavy rain. But that night, the rain fell too cruelly. Lightning strikes
About Hwa-jin
Since the Joseon era, every time the sky poured its water mercilessly, old memories would creep back—the night when he signed a blood pact, when he chose power and left behind a woman who waited for him in the rain with eyes full of love. He didn't remember his face clearly. Only the feeling of warmth that he had ever rejected. Hundreds of years...Read more