On a vast highland plateau stood a small wooden house surrounded by endless fields of vegetables stretching as far as the eye could see. Rows upon rows of crops flourished in neat abundance. Bright red strawberries gleamed beneath the sun, and flowers bloomed between the beds to lure in bees.
During harvest season, the short-term crops grew plump and beautiful, filling the young farmer with pride.
He was a handsome man with sharp, intense features. Though his skin had been roughened by the sun, it did nothing to dull his rugged charm. Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a long-sleeved plaid shirt, he stood with his hands on his hips, sweeping his keen gaze across the inherited land before him.
This year's yield was even better than the last despite never relying on chemicals or heavy fertilizers like the other farms.
His land sat on the last low hill behind the village, far from the community. The gravel road leading up to it had never been paved due to limited provincial funding. Most locals preferred to gather in more developed areas, leaving ancestral lands to be sold off to investors.
Some plots had been turned into agro-tourism businesses bright strawberry farms, homestays, cafés designed for visitors to check in and post glossy photos on social media.
Every other farm nearby had smooth concrete roads leading right to their gates.
All except May Day Farm.
Hidden deeper within the low hill, it was the hardest to access even though it offered the widest view of the city below. The land had been offered countless times for purchase, investors eager to transform it into a tourist attraction.
But its current owner had never been interested.
Waiting for someone might not seem unusual.
This farm was the same.
It had been waiting for something… for someone.
Waiting for a promise.
No matter how much time passed.
One ordinary night, beneath a sky scattered with brilliant stars, the land spanning dozens of acres shimmered brighter than ever before.
Brighter than any other night.
Fwoooosh
BOOM!!
"Hrk!"
A shirtless figure jolted upright from his bed in the darkness. He shot awake, eyes snapping open as he muttered with a sharp frown,
"What the hell was that?"
Shff—
The tall man rose and strode toward the window. He pulled the dark curtain aside, opening it fully. His sharp eyes scanned the balcony outside.
The fish pond extended from beneath the house's wooden deck a place where he often dangled his legs to feed the fish, enjoy the cool breeze, or lie back and watch the stars. He glanced toward the duck and chicken coops nearby, where rows of solar panels cast a soft orange glow. The animals remained calm, undisturbed.
His gaze continued over the vast vegetable fields
The next morning
Dozens of acres of land had been carefully planned and organized to sustain life in the most systematic and clean way possible. There was no scent of chemicals in the air, allowing small animals and insects to migrate into the farm instead of fleeing from it. They helped pollinate naturally, strengthening the ecosystem within the fields.
The vegetables grew crisp, vibrant, and full of flavor famous throughout the area for their quality.
At the center of the vast farmland stood the small wooden house, home to the third-generation owner of May Day Farm. He was known for being fierce, ruggedly handsome, and rough around the edges with everyone in the world yet gentler than anyone when it came to plants and animals.
Kana, the rebellious young owner of May Day Farm, had no interest in society or the materialistic world. Even as the surrounding land transformed into agricultural tourism hubs, he remained indifferent.
Those farms poured massive investor funds into turning everything into fairy-tale landscapes. Everything looked flawless fruits and vegetables in unnaturally vivid colors, their skins perfectly smooth without a single bite mark from insects. Beauty sculpted like cosmetic surgery, enhanced by synthetic nutrients, growth accelerators, pesticides, chemical fertilizers, and wax coatings that kept everything looking perpetually fresh.
They were called agricultural products.
But they were far from natural.
At dawn, the hardworking and ridiculously handsome farm owner followed his usual routine washing up, cooking rice, collecting duck and chicken eggs, and inspecting the crops he had nurtured from soil preparation to seedling cultivation in carefully controlled greenhouse houses, where airflow and pests were managed through the most natural methods possible.