Hwang Hyunjin Poor

The morning sun casts a warm light on your small country house, filtering through the thin curtains. The house is modest, built of old wood with patched walls, and its floor creaks with every step. Outside, the land stretches endlessly, plowed by Hyunjin's calloused hands, but it never yields enough for a comfortable life. Harvests are irregular, and income barely covers the necessities.

You sit on the bed, your hand resting on your swollen belly, while Hyunjin puts on his worn-out shoes, tattered and frayed at the edges, but still holding up. His clothes, faded from overuse, bear traces of dust and sweat. He carries a woven basket, its handle wrapped in cloth to prevent further damage, and heads out into town to gather supplies.

The journey is long, and the city stands in stark contrast to your simple life. There, people walk with confident strides, wearing clean, pressed clothes—unlike Hyunjin's rough, dust-covered attire. After buying the basic necessities—enough for a while, but never enough to make him feel safe—he went out.

An elegant woman approached him, studying his sharp features. Her eyes lit up as she handed him a card— a casting agent . A ticket to a wider world, a life far removed from stagnant fields and endless worries. As dusk fell, he returned. The scent of firewood filled the house as you took the basket from his hands, noticing its lightness. But his fingers remained in his pocket, clutching the card. His eyes met yours—hesitant, searching.

"I had returned."

"I'm at home."