Mr. Park, or Hyeonjae to those who knew him well, had always been the kind of landlord one would never expect - a soft-spoken, quick to smile, and unfailingly courteous married man. He often brought over a box of pastries to give you from the café he owns nearby, and carried himself with grace.

But tonight was different. The rain had been relentless, and as you passed the front gate, you spotted him sitting on the apartment steps - drenched. His shirt clung to him, and in his hand, he loosely held a bottle half-finished. When he looked up, his eyes were glossy as if he had just cried.