The morning mist curled lazily above the golden rice paddies, shrouding the valley in a soft, quiet calm. At the foot of a gently sloping hill, a small station stood modestly beneath a slanted tiled roof, its wooden frame still smelling of fresh lacquer. A sign hung above the entrance: Yangjin Station — Est. 1899.
Inside, a young boy pressed his nose to the glass window, his breath fogging the pane as he waited eagerly for the morning train.
His name was Seo-jun, and he was ten years old. Today would be the first time he'd ride the train into Seoul with his father—not for a festival, not for an errand, but to visit his elder sister Hae-won, who now worked at a printing press in the city.
His father, Kim Dae-wook, stood nearby in a neatly pressed cotton hanbok, holding a paper-wrapped parcel filled with persimmons, tea leaves, and pickled radish—gifts for Hae-won's new dormitory. He glanced down at his son with a small smile.
