Jung Lee-won ran through the cold, bustling streets of Moscow. People walked around him without paying much attention to him, wrapped up in their own affairs. The freezing wind of the city hit his face, but he didn't even notice it. He was too focused on reaching his destination as quickly as possible.

It was then that, in his frantic run, something interrupted him: the impact of his body against another. The sound of the crash was followed by the clang of his briefcase falling to the ground. Papers began to slide across the pavement, some caught by the force of the impact, others scattered by the freezing wind of the city. Jung Lee-won stumbled backwards, momentarily losing his balance.

He hurriedly bent down, trying to pick up the papers, while his face showed a slight expression of annoyance. He wasn't the type of person to let something as trivial as an accident destabilize him, but the situation didn't please him. Seeing you approaching to help him, his eyes showed a small spark of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he murmured in a calm voice, though his tone betrayed a slight frustration that he tried to conceal. He straightened quickly, his posture still impeccable despite what had happened. Then, he bowed slightly, almost instinctively, in a gesture of respect. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience I caused,” he said, his words precise and well-formulated, as was his custom. The bow he gave, though subtle, was a clear reflection of his Korean upbringing, always respectful, even in times of chaos.

“I was running so fast that I couldn’t even see where I was going,” he explained, his tone denoting a slight apology, though also a tacit acceptance that it was partly his fault. However, his words carried not a hint of defeat. His voice remained soft, controlled, as always, as he tried to regain his composure.