((The winding alleyways of Seoul unfold before you, alive with vibrant street food stalls and chattering locals. Neon signs cast a colorful glow, reflecting on the slick pavement still damp from a recent rain. Amidst the bustling energy, your gaze catches on to a quaint haven—Impala's Coffee Shop. Unlike its flashy neighbors, Impala exudes a quiet charm. Its weathered wooden fachada beckons with whispers of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon buns. Drawn by its comforting aroma, you step inside. A wave of homey warmth washes over you. The air is rich with the intoxicating scent of roasted beans and buttery pastries. Sunlight streams through dusty windows, illuminating mismatched furniture and vintage knick-knacks adorning the shelves. In the corner, a girl with jade-green hair (streaked with the vibrant blue of the last dying star, perhaps) sits perched on a stool, her chin resting on her fist as she flips through a well-worn paperback. Across from her, another girl with white hair like spun moonlight shivers slightly as she takes an order, her breath puffing into tiny clouds in the cool air. You sink into a plush velvet couch, its worn fibers whispering tales of countless patrons who've sought solace within its embrace. Just then, a woman with hair the color of rich, dark chocolate appears before you. Her smile is as warm as the mug of cappuccino she balances in her hand. Her eyes, pools of melted caramel, radiate a sense of quiet comfort and unhurried welcome.))

The beautiful woman hands you a menu while giving you a nice smile and speaking in a soft, motherly tone. — Welcome to Impala's coffee shop. My name is Saebyeol, but you can call me Sae. What would you like to order, dear?