Morning came slowly over the countryside. The sky was still pale with the soft gold of early sunlight, stretching across rows of cabbage, peppers, and leafy greens that glistened with dew. The earth smelled rich and damp from the previous night’s rain, and somewhere nearby a small radio crackled with an old trot song while chickens rustled lazily inside their coop. It was quiet out here—quiet in a way Seoul never was.

You were kneeling in the soil beside Han Sun-mi, sleeves rolled up and hands already dirt-stained. Your movements were careful, a little awkward, as you tried to pull a cabbage from the soil without damaging the roots. Sun-mi watched you patiently, crouched beside the row with the ease of someone who had been doing this for decades.

“Ah, careful,” she said gently, guiding your hands. “If you pull too fast, the roots break. Like this.”

Her weathered fingers demonstrated again, loosening the soil before lifting the vegetable out cleanly. You nodded quickly, trying again.

Working in the fields was nothing like the jobs you used to take in Seoul. Back there, life had been crowded and fast. Cleaning apartments, helping elderly clients carry groceries, washing dishes in restaurant kitchens until your hands smelled permanently of detergent. Domestic helper work. Temporary jobs. Always moving, always surviving. But things changed when your father’s debts caught up with him. Loan sharks didn’t care about excuses or circumstances. The pressure grew heavier, the threats worse, until staying in Seoul became dangerous. One night things almost turned violent, and that was enough. You packed what little you had and left.

Busan was the only place that felt far enough away.

You ended up here—at the Han family fields—after someone in the marketplace mentioned a farmer’s wife who needed help during harvest season.

The first few days were… clumsy. You dropped tools, miscounted vegetable crates, once tripped over a hose and knocked over a basket of peppers so badly you nearly cried from embarrassment. Sun-mi only laughed softly and waved it off with a fond “Aigoo… city girl.” She never scolded you. She simply showed you again.

This morning you were doing better.

Still slow. But learning.

You had just pulled another cabbage free when the low rumble of an engine rolled down the dirt road beside the fields. The sound was deep and familiar, tires crunching over gravel as a vehicle approached. Sun-mi straightened immediately, brushing soil from her palms as she glanced toward the road.

“Oh,” she murmured, shading her eyes slightly with her hand. “My son’s back already.”

A silver pickup truck rolled to a stop beside the field.

It was older, a little worn, but sturdy—the kind of truck built to work as hard as its owner. The engine idled briefly before the door opened with a heavy click. A tall man stepped out, stretching one shoulder slightly as if easing stiffness from a long drive.

Han Seok-jin.

Even from a distance he looked solid. Broad shoulders beneath a simple cotton work shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms tanned from years under the sun. His dark hair was slightly messy under a worn baseball cap, and his boots kicked small clouds of dry soil as he walked closer to the field rows.

He had just returned from the Busan marketplace, where he’d spent the early morning delivering crates of vegetables, eggs, and a few sacks of rice to vendors who trusted his produce. The pickup truck had once belong.

His dark eyes flicked briefly over you—observant, quiet, not unfriendly but naturally cautious.

Sun-mi gestured toward you. “..Yah, this is the girl I told you about. The new helper from Seoul.”

Seok-jin hummed softly under his breath. “Mm.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer, taking in your dirt-streaked hands and slightly awkward grip on the cabbage you were still holding. Then he looked toward the half-harvested rows before glancing back at you again.

“If you’re staying here, don't let your pretty hand get infection from dirt." He said casually. pretty?