The rain hadn't stopped for hours. Seoul's streets glistened with neon reflections — red, green, violet — painting puddles in colors that looked more like a dream than reality. Jiwoo tightened her grip on her tote bag, cursing under her breath as she hurried down the narrow alley.
Her sneakers were soaked, her hair sticking to her cheeks, and the sketchbook she always carried was dangerously close to ruin. She had an evening shift at the café in Hongdae, and she was already twenty minutes late.
"Ugh, perfect. First shift of the week and I'm late. Way to impress the manager, Jiwoo," she muttered to herself, half-running, half-slipping on the wet pavement.
And then it happened.
A roar of an engine cut through the sound of rain. A motorcycle zipped past her, fast enough to make her jump. Jiwoo froze, but it was too late — a huge wave of muddy water splashed right onto her white blouse and beige skirt.
She gasped, staring down at herself in horror. The sketch of her latest design she had tucked under her arm now had streaks of brown water running across it.
"Are you serious right now?!" she shouted, spinning around.
The bike slowed, circled back, and stopped a few meters ahead. The rider pulled off his helmet with a lazy grin. Dark hair, sharp jawline, eyes that looked both careless and mischievous.
Hyunwoo.
Of course it was him. She didn't know him, but she'd seen him around campus before — the guy everyone whispered about. The one who was always leaning against his bike near the university gates, surrounded by friends, laughing too loudly, living too recklessly.
"Yah," Jiwoo yelled, marching toward him, "are you blind?!"
Hyunwoo raised a brow, unfazed. "Blind? No. But maybe you shouldn't stand in the middle of the road when it's pouring."
Jiwoo gawked at him. "Middle of the road? I was on the sidewalk! You just—look at this!" She gestured at her drenched clothes and ruined sketch. "This was important!"
Instead of apologizing, Hyunwoo chuckled. "Important? You mean… kindergarten doodles?" He tilted his head, smirking as he glanced at the sketchbook.
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?! This is fashion design. Art. Something you clearly wouldn't understand."
"Oh, right. Because splashing water on strangers obviously makes me an uncultured criminal." He shrugged, completely unbothered, then slipped his helmet back on. "Anyway, you'll survive. Bye, Picasso."
And with that, he revved the engine.
Jiwoo's blood boiled. "YAH! Don't you dare just—"
But he was already gone, the sound of his bike fading into the rain.
Jiwoo stood there for a moment, soaked, furious, and very aware that she was now even later for her shift. She groaned, holding her ruined sketch to her chest.
At the café
By the time she arrived, the café was packed. The manager glared as she rushed in, breathless and dripping.
"You're late," he said flatly, handing her an apron.
Jiwoo bowed quickly. "I'm sorry, I got caught in the rain. It won't happen again."
He sighed but waved her off. "Just get to work. Table seven is waiting."
She tied the apron around her waist, grabbed a tray, and forced herself into work mode. The café smelled of espresso and sugar, the chatter of students and young couples filling the air. Normally, Jiwoo loved the warmth of it — but tonight, her mind kept replaying him. The smug grin, the mocking voice.
"Kindergarten doodles." She muttered under her breath, scowling as she poured lattes. "What does he know, anyway? He probably thinks leather jackets are peak fashion."
Later that night
The rain had eased by the time her shift ended. Jiwoo stepped out, exhausted, her sketchbook tucked safely in a plastic bag. She walked toward the subway station, headphones in, trying to push away the memory of her ruined evening.
But fate wasn't done with her.
At the corner near the convenience store, a familiar roar echoed. She froze.
Hyunwoo. Again.
This time, he wasn't on his bike. He was standing outside the store, holding a stack of boxes. His leather jacket was gone, replaced with a simple black hoodie. His hair was damp from the rain, and his expression wasn't cocky — it was focused, even… gentle?
Jiwoo blinked. Was she hallucinating? The city's resident bad boy was… stocking instant ramen?
He noticed her staring. Their eyes met.
For a second, neither spoke. Then the smirk returned.
"Oh," he drawled, setting the box down. "Picasso. Still mad about earlier?"
Jiwoo clenched her fists. "Don't call me that."
"What? It suits you. Dramatic, messy, emotional—"
She cut him off. "Do you work here?"
Hyunwoo shrugged, glancing at the store behind him. "Sometimes. Family business."
Jiwoo's anger faltered. She hadn't expected that. "You… have a family convenience store?"
"What, surprised? Thought I lived in an underground biker gang hideout?" He grinned. "Sorry to disappoint."
She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched despite herself. "Still doesn't excuse what you did."
"True," he said, surprisingly serious for a moment. "Guess I owe you one."
Jiwoo blinked. That wasn't the response she expected.
Before she could reply, a little girl came running out of the store. She couldn't have been more than eight, her hair tied in pigtails. She tugged at Hyunwoo's sleeve.
"Oppa, can you help me reach the top shelf? The banana milk is too high."
Jiwoo froze. Oppa?
Hyunwoo ruffled the girl's hair affectionately. "Coming, Minji." He shot Jiwoo a look — half smug, half unreadable — before disappearing inside with the child.
Jiwoo stood there in the rain, stunned. The city buzzed around her, neon lights flickering, cars rushing by.
Hyunwoo, the arrogant biker who ruined her sketch, was also a big brother working at his family's store?
This city really was full of contradictions.
The next day
Jiwoo tried to forget about him. She focused on her classes, her sketches, her part-time job. But fate wasn't about to let her off so easily.
Her professor in fashion design walked into the lecture hall, announcing a semester-long project. Students would be paired up to design and present a full collection piece.
Jiwoo sat up straighter, excitement buzzing through her. This was her chance.
The professor began calling names. One by one, students found their partners. Then—
"Jiwoo… Hyunwoo."
The room buzzed with murmurs. Jiwoo's head snapped up. Hyunwoo was leaning casually against the back wall, hands in his pockets, smirking at her like fate itself was his personal joke.
Jiwoo's heart sank.
"No," she whispered. "Anyone but him."
But Hyunwoo strolled down the aisle, dropping into the seat beside her. "Guess we're partners, Picasso."
Jiwoo groaned, burying her face in her hands. The semester had just become a nightmare.