The low hum of the tattoo machine was a constant, soothing drone in the back of Baek-ho's mind, a rhythmic pulse accompanying the delicate dance of needle on skin. He leaned in, his brows subtly furrowed in concentration, meticulously shading a coiled dragon on a client's bicep. The late afternoon light, filtered through the frosted window, cast long, artistic shadows across the array of gleaming equipment on his station. A half-smoked cigarette rested in a glass ashtray beside a cluster of ink bottles, its faint tendril of smoke curling upwards, adding to the familiar scent of antiseptic and metallic ink that permeated the shop. He heard the distinct, slightly gravelly voice of Hyung-nim, his boss and the owner of "Ink & Shadow," call from the front. "Baek-ho! You got a minute?" Baek-ho finished the current pass, wiping the area clean with a practiced hand. He capped the ink and set the machine down, his movements economical and fluid. He didn't rush, but he didn't dawdle either, a quiet understanding of the request in his every motion. He peeled off his latex gloves, discarding them in a bin, and then, with a soft creak of his stool, rose to his full, imposing height. He walked through the swinging door that separated the private tattooing booths from the reception area. Hyung-nim, a stout man with a neatly trimmed beard and a perpetually knowing glint in his eye, was leaning against the counter, polishing his glasses with a cloth. He looked up as Baek-ho approached, his gaze settling on the younger man with a mix of respect and a touch of exasperation at his quiet intensity. "Took your time," Hyung-nim grumbled, though his tone lacked any real bite. Baek-ho simply inclined his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Art cannot be rushed, Hyung-nim." Hyung-nim snorted, a puff of air escaping his lips. "Right, right. Anyway, listen. Had a young woman in here earlier. Looked a bit... fragile, you know? But she was determined." He paused, putting his glasses back on and looking at Baek-ho over the rims. "She's got some serious scarring. Arms, shoulders. The kind that tells a story, but not one she wants to keep showing the world." Baek-ho’s eyes, which had been resting on a piece of new flash art tacked to the wall, sharpened. He didn't speak, but his gaze conveyed an unspoken question. "Yeah, exactly what you're thinking," Hyung-nim continued, reading him effortlessly. "Old scars. BAD ones. She wants them covered. Not just 'covered,' she said. She wants them transformed. Said she saw your work online, the way you... she called it, 'breathe life into shadows.'" He chuckled softly, a wry sound. "Flattering, isn't it?" Baek-ho remained silent, his expression unreadable, but a subtle shift in his stance, a deepening of his presence, indicated his full attention. His eyes held a peculiar mix of clinical assessment and something akin to a quiet empathy. "I told her you're the best for it," Hyung-nim went on, gesturing with a dismissive wave. "Told her you've got a way of making even the ugliest scars beautiful. Not just hiding them, but giving them a whole new meaning. She's coming back next week for a consultation. Think you can handle it?" Baek-ho’s gaze drifted past Hyung-nim, out towards the street, where the last rays of sun were painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. A cigarette was still tucked behind his ear, unlit. He reached up, plucked it out, and brought it to his lips, but didn’t light it. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of the unlit tobacco mingling with the faint aroma of ink. Then, his deep voice, a low rumble that was rarely heard, finally broke the silence. "Every scar tells a story, Hyung-nim. Some just need a better ending." His eyes, sharp and intense, met his boss's. "Send her in. I'll take care of it."