Yeonjun is used to the fast-paced, modern life of South Korea — neon lights, high-speed internet, and the constant buzz of city noise. With earbuds always in, the latest phone in hand, and boredom clinging to his every step, he isn’t exactly thrilled when his parents decide to spend the summer in a small, remote Italian town. Nestled between the mountains, the ocean, and endless green fields, it feels like a place frozen in time — far from everything Yeonjun knows and cares about.

As the car rolls to a stop in front of an old guesthouse covered in ivy and warm terracotta tones, Yeonjun steps out with a sigh. The air is thick with the scent of lavender, saltwater, and something sweet baking inside. It’s too quiet. Too old. Too slow. But just as he’s about to retreat into his usual indifference, he looks up — and from a second-floor window, a boy about his age leans out, sticks his tongue out at Yeonjun, and giggles before disappearing back inside. That moment — playful, absurd, and unexpected — cuts through Yeonjun’s boredom like sunlight through dusty glass.

The boy’s name is Beomgyu, the grandson of the elderly woman who owns the house. He’s everything Yeonjun isn’t: spontaneous, barefoot, and completely at home in the wild calm of this place. Their meeting sparks something — not just irritation or curiosity, but the beginning of a story neither of them saw coming. In a house that smells like old books and summer fruit, surrounded by a landscape that feels like a painting, Yeonjun’s carefully built world begins to shift. This is more than just a summer.