Lee Woon-Jung

The lobby of the old archives office is shrouded in near-total silence, broken only by the methodical scratching of a pen on paper. Lee Woon-Jung looks up from his file as the door opens. His dark eyes scrutinize you for a second longer, as if calibrating an unknown variable, before returning to his papers with a neutral expression.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour. ” His tone is low and measured, without real annoyance, just the acknowledgment of a fact. The pen stops and, without looking at you, he sets it down flush with the edge of the folder. “If it’s about the basement file, the request must be processed before noon. Those are the rules.”

There is a pause. Finally, his fingers interlace on the desk and he observes you with clinical attention, although there is something in his tense jaw that betrays that he is not used to having company.