Next to the bookstore was a noodle house, but business was as bleak as Park Tae-hyun's. Customers were rare, and the place was often empty, much like his own store.

  This whole pedestrian street had been built around a commercial square, a grand project that had since crumbled into irrelevance.

  Shops had shut down, one by one, leaving behind a husk of empty storefronts. Only a lone movie theater remained, stubbornly clinging to life. The rest? Forgotten.

  At least the noodle shop had takeout orders to sustain it. Books, though? No one was suddenly going to feel intellectually starved and order a few paperbacks for delivery.

  Park Tae-hyun leaned back in his chair, still feeling lightheaded. Across from him, Doctor Im sat quietly. She unfolded a tissue and carefully wiped the chopsticks before placing them in front of him.

  That quiet, almost mechanical gentleness. Just like when she let Kim Min-woo sleep on the bed while she took the floor. A quiet kindness, but never warmth.

  She was cold.

  And for all this time, Park Tae-hyun had never bothered to ask: Did she hate the idea of an arranged marriage? Or was it that she simply had no interest in men at all?

  It didn't matter.

  He had inherited Kim Min-woo's life, but he had no interest in the entanglements that came with it.

  Doctor Im's voice was calm, but her gaze was sharp. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "It's nothing." Park Tae-hyun waved it off. "Just a minor problem."

  He knew better than anyone that it wasn't. His body wasn't operating under the rules of modern medicine. He didn't eat, and yet he persisted. When he did eat, it barely settled inside him.

  He needed rest. At least he had found a solution for that.

  But food?

  That was a problem he hadn't solved.

  "You don't have an appetite?" Dr. Im asked. "Try some sour plum juice first."

  The noodle shop's owner, a man in his early thirties with deep lines of exhaustion carved into his face, smiled as he placed the cup down. Life had not been kind to him, but he bore it with patience.

  "Sour plum juice? Does that actually help?" Park Tae-hyun muttered.

  "Yes, it has a lot of medicinal benefits."

  The shop owner turned his head.

  "Honey, are the vegetable noodles ready?"

  He stepped into the back, his voice blending with his wife's as they exchanged a few casual words.

  Park Tae-hyun stared at the deep red liquid in front of him.

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  Then he scooped up a spoonful and swallowed.

  The moment it hit his throat, his entire body seized up.

  "Shit..."

  It was like drinking liquid lightning. The sheer sourness sent a violent shudder through him, making his stomach clench in revolt. It was so intense that it drowned out the nausea completely.

  Doctor Im, ever observant, held a tissue under his chin, just in case. "What's wrong?"

  Park Tae-hyun gritted his teeth. "This is… unbelievably sour."

  "Here you go, the noodles." The noodle shop's proprietress arrived, placing the bowl down with an apologetic smile. "You shouldn't drink the sour plum juice so fast."

  Doctor Im glanced at the noodles and frowned. "These are overcooked."

  The proprietress hesitated, looking guilty. "That's just how we make them…"

  "It's fine." Park Tae-hyun waved her off. He didn't care if they were soft, chewy, or completely mushy. He just needed to eat.

  With the grim determination of a man walking to his execution, he downed the rest of the sour plum juice in one go.

  It burned through his stomach like acid, but the nausea stayed buried.

  This was his chance.

  He grabbed the chopsticks, shoved the noodles into his mouth, and ate. Fast. He barely chewed, swallowing them down in rapid succession. Bite after bite, he forced it into himself before his stomach could change its mind.

  Five, six mouthfuls.

  Then, with one last tilt of the bowl, he drank the soup down.

  A deep breath.

  Then, a loud clatter.

  He slammed the empty bowl onto the table.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead. His hands trembled. But—

  He did it.

  The food was inside him.

  Now, all he had to do was hold it down.

  His fingers dug into his chest as a violent wave of nausea surged back. His whole body fought to expel what he had just eaten. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to endure.

  No.

  No matter what, he wouldn't throw it up.

  He had won.

  Doctor Im and the proprietress stared at him in stunned silence.

  "…You were really hungry," the proprietress finally said. "Want another bowl?"

  "No," Park Tae-hyun rasped.

  She smiled, gathering the empty dishes. "Alright. Honey, start prepping for the afternoon takeout orders."

  As she disappeared into the back room, Park Tae-hyun found himself watching her go.

  Her face was plain, her figure unremarkable—except for the weight she carried in her chest and hips—a quiet sort of attractiveness, born from exhaustion and reality.

  Doctor Im's voice broke his thoughts.

  "Is that your type?"

  Park Tae-hyun blinked.

  He had been staring.

  "…No." He shook his head.

  If he had a type, it was someone like her.

  Someone who refused to let him close.

  And maybe that was exactly why it bothered him.

  "Not going home?" Doctor Im asked again.

  "No."

  She nodded, accepting his answer without argument. "Call me if you need anything."

  And with that, she left.

  Park Tae-hyun remained seated, staring after her Porsche Cayenne as it disappeared down the road.

  A cigarette was placed in front of him.

  "On the house." The noodle shop owner sat down across from him. "We're neighbors. No need to be so formal over a bowl of noodles."

  Park Tae-hyun lit the cigarette. "Won't your wife get mad?"

  The shop owner laughed, full of a man's confidence. "She has no say in these things."

  No one wanted to admit they feared their wives. Not publicly. No one wanted to admit they were weak.

  Park Tae-hyun took a slow drag. "Your wife is beautiful."

  A pause.

  That was a dangerous joke.

  The shop owner's smile faded. His fingers twitched, a suppressed reaction.

  Park Tae-hyun exhaled smoke.

  The tension between them stretched.

  "…Was that a joke too far?"

  The shop owner's expression remained unreadable. "I haven't hit anyone in a long time."

  "Call your wife out." Park Tae-hyun's voice was calm. "I'd like to ask her out."

  The man took a step forward.

  Then another.

  Park Tae-hyun didn't move.

  "Call her."

  The noodle shop owner froze.

  His face drained of color.

  Slowly, Park Tae-hyun stood up. He walked past him, towards the back room, and pulled aside the curtain.

  No one was inside.

  No woman.

  No presence.

  Only—

  A skin.

  A human skin, stretched out on a hanger, gently swaying as the wind from the open curtain passed through.

  The noodle shop owner's voice was eerily calm. "How did you know?"

  Park Tae-hyun turned, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile.

  "You messed with me," he said softly. "Now I'm messing with you."

  He took a step forward.

  "Now…"

  His gaze locked onto the shop owner's face.

  "…why don't you take off your skin, too?"