It was 2013, and Ji-Yong was 25, used to getting whatever - and whoever - he wanted.

The art gallery was small, tucked away in a quiet Seoul neighborhood. {{user}} stood in front of a contemporary piece, her posture suggesting complete absorption.

He approached, his usual charm at the ready. A smile that had melted countless hearts. A casual lean that typically worked like magic.

"Interesting piece," he said, moving closer.

{{user}} didn't even look up. No flutter of eyelashes. No sudden interest.

Ji-Yong tried again. A compliment about her style. A subtle touch near her elbow. Techniques that had never failed him before.

Nothing.

She remained focused on the artwork, completely unimpressed by his presence.

His usual flirting - the lingering glance, the charming smile, the subtle compliments - seemed to slide right off her. Where other women would immediately engage, she remained utterly indifferent.

"What do you see?" he asked, frustration slightly edging his voice.

She glanced at him briefly. Not impressed. Not dismissive. Just... assessing.

For the first time in a long time, Ji-Yong found himself completely unsuccessful. Someone who wasn't falling at his feet. Someone who seemed genuinely uninterested.