Prologue - Sparks at Moonlight Café

The bell over Moonlight Café chimed again, letting in a wave of humid summer air and the kind of chatter that only happens during orientation week. Frothy milk hissed, grinders whirred, and the menu board flickered with neon chalk. Half of Haneul Institute of Technology's freshmen had somehow squeezed into the tiny shop by the campus gates, forming alliances over lattes and shared fries like it was a battlefield made of caramel drizzle.

Han Ra-in balanced two iced Americanos and a tray of churros, weaving through elbows and backpacks.

"Excuse me—yah—sorry—move a little, ne?" She hooked the corner of the table with her hip, saved a wobbling cup with a panic gasp, and exhaled in triumph.

Then someone bumped her shoulder.

The tray jolted. A cold splash striped her sleeve.

"Yah!" she hissed, spinning—straight into a wall of black leather.

The man didn't flinch. He simply lowered his gaze. Storm-dark eyes, rain-damp bangs, jaw set like he'd been sculpted to look unimpressed with the world. For a weird second, the café's buzz thinned around them—as if the room inhaled and forgot to exhale.

Ra-in's pulse tripped. He was older. Taller. Dangerous.

"Watch where you're going," he said, voice low enough to curl under her skin.

She bristled. "Excuse me? You were the one blocking the walkway like you own the place!"

The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile; more like thunder rolling in from far away.

"Oppa—!" Ra-in began, heat climbing her cheeks. She didn't even know why she said that. Reflex. Defense. Pride.

A gentle voice cut between them. "Ra-in-ah?"

She turned—and her breath knotted. Kim Joon-ho. Her high school sunbae. The boy who used to lend her notes and smile shyly in the library. His hair was a little longer now, shoulders broader beneath a soft knit, eyes carrying the same warm patience that had once made her think: safe.

"Sorry about her," Joon-ho said politely to the leather-jacket stranger. "She's always been... spirited."

"Oppa," Ra-in protested, mortified and giddy all at once. "I—he—ugh."

The stranger—Kang Woo-jin, if the campus whispers were right—didn't answer. He swept his gaze over her, slow and assessing, like he was filing something away. Then he angled past, leather brushing the air, and headed for the counter without a backward glance.

Ra-in stood there, clutching two sweating cups and her wounded pride. "Can you believe him?" she hissed at the girl who slid into her side like a perfectly timed wingwoman.

**Choi Ha-neul **blew on her strawberry latte and smirked. "Believe what? That you almost baptised the hottest guy in here with cold brew? Or that he looked at you like you were... prey?"

Ra-in choked. "Prey? Me? Omo, no way."

"Yah," Ha-neul drawled, eyes twinkling. "That was not just glare. That was... interest. The fatal kind."

"Interest in being rude," Ra-in muttered. Still, the back of her neck tingled. She dragged the tray to their table, dumped the churros, and tried not to track the magnetic field that was Kang Woo-jin leaning on the counter as if the café belonged to him. He slid cash across the register with two fingers, the movement easy, languid. He didn't look back.

He didn't have to. She could feel him like static.

Ha-neul nudged her ankle. "By the way, Moonlight Café gossip says he rides a Yamaha. Big one. R1. Vroom-vroom, rich boy."

"Gross," Ra-in said automatically."Uh-huh," Ha-neul sang. "You said that like your heart didn't just speed-run."

"Joon-Ho,oppa?"

Joon-ho reappeared, holding a plate of cinnamon bread and the kind of smile that made teachers forgive homework extensions.

"Do you two want to join our table? My friends are—"

"Yes," Ra-in blurted. Then she winced. "I mean, if you're not busy..."

Ha-neul hid a laugh behind her cup. "We'd love to," she said sweetly, because she was not a monster and she knew her best friend's first crush story by heart.

They slid in with Joon-ho's group. Introductions, awkward jokes, majors declared. Mechanical Engineering, of course; Haneul Institute's pride. Ra-in talked with her hands when she got excited—about designing little wind turbines for rural villages, about engines that purred like cats, about wanting to build something that didn't break down every other week like her cursed Hyundai Avante.

"Avante?" one of Joon-ho's friends perked up. "My uncle has one."

"Good for him," Ra-in said darkly. "Mine's on its villain arc."

Laughter rippled. Joon-ho's eyes warmed. "If you ever need help, I know a decent garage in Hongdae. Black Phoenix Motors? My hyung took his bike once."

Ha-neul snorted into her straw. "Black Phoenix... dramatic sia."

Ra-in felt the café tilt again—not literally, just the way the air shifts before summer rain. Because at the counter, the barista called, "Americano, one. Latte, one. Kang Woo-jin!"

The name dropped like a weight.

Joon-ho's friend whispered, "TA for Mech-101 lab, right? Third-year? No—fourth? People say he's a genius. Also... scary."

"More like he scares people into doing their labs," another muttered.

Woo-jin picked up his drinks with a careless flick of the wrist. The leather jacket shifted, revealing the hint of a black tee and the clean lines of someone who looked like he never ran out of self-control. He didn't scan the room. He didn't need to.

Ra-in told herself not to look.

She failed.

For half a heartbeat, his eyes cut to her table—sharp, precise. The faintest smirk ghosted his mouth, unreadable to anyone who hadn't just collided with him. Her stomach dropped. Then he turned, shouldered through the throng, and pushed out into the brightness of afternoon, bell chiming once, twice, like a dare.

Ha-neul whispered, "Yah... goosebumps. Tell me you felt that."

"I felt... annoyed," Ra-in said weakly.

"Liar."

Across the table, Joon-ho's smile flickered, not unkindly. "Don't let him bother you. He's... intense."

"Intense," Ra-in repeated. The word tasted like espresso and thunder. She tried to shake it off with sugar. Churros, then fries, then a sip of Americano that tasted like regret.

The orientation group chat pinged nonstop—memes, notes, warnings about which professors to avoid. Someone sent a photo taken from outside: a sleek black motorcycle parked near the curb, water beading along the curve of the tank as if even the humidity knew better than to cling too close.

Yamaha R1.

Ha-neul leaned in. "If I disappear, I eloped with that bike."

"Ridiculous," Ra-in said, but the word came out soft.

They lingered until the crowd thinned and the café exhaled. Joon-ho offered to walk them to the gate; Ra-in's heart tried to do parkour in her chest. She smiled too much, said "oppa" too often, and wondered if he noticed. He talked about labs and library schedules and a café near the dorms with good bungeoppang in winter. Gentle. Warm. Safe.

Woo-jin did not appear again.

Not in the doorway. Not in the window glass. Not anywhere she could pretend not to see.

But she felt him.

—

The rain had stopped by the time they stepped out of Moonlight Café. The neon sign buzzed above them, painting the pavement pink and blue. Ha-neul stretched her arms, yawning.

"We should totally work here," she said. "Free coffee, cute uniforms, and gossip front-row seats."Ra-in laughed, tugging her tote higher. "You? Work? You'd flirt with customers until the boss fires you."

"Worth it," Ha-neul grinned. "And you'd fix the espresso machine just to prove you're an engineer."

Ra-in bumped her shoulder. "Maybe I'll actually apply. My Avante eats gas money like candy."

"Do it, Rain. We'll rule the café."

They parted at the campus gate, promising to text when they got home—unaware that the real storm waiting for Ra-in wasn't in the sky, but on the road ahead.

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