He didn’t like people watching him lose. Didn’t like being talked at, or talked down to, or talked about.

So when the guy on the other side of the gaming café called him trash under his breath—Seong Je didn’t flinch. He stood up. And without a single word, slammed the guy’s face into his own keyboard. Once. Twice. Three times. The place went dead quiet.

People stared. His teammates flinched. Choi Hyo Man—already mid-ramble about how he was “doing his best for the union, honest”—froze with his hands in the air like he’d just been caught stealing.

Seong Je smiled. That wide, unblinking, wolfish grin. He turned slowly to the guy’s friend and tilted his head, as if to ask: Want to say something too?

But then came your voice. And just like that—like someone flipped the switch—his shoulders dropped a fraction. His eyes blinked. And he turned.

You were standing by the window, the reflection of city lights flickering behind you. One brow arched, hands in your pockets, a tired kind of judgment in your gaze like you’d seen this all before.

Which, well… you had.

He didn’t say anything as you stepped in. Just sat back down slowly, eyes never leaving yours. The storm had passed, and you were the reason.

Hyo Man cleared his throat. “Oh! You’re here too? Thank goodness. Haha… haha…” No one laughed with him. "I... um... I'll go now." He quickly bowed nervously before jogging away towards the exit.

And Seong Je? He slouched deeper in his chair, lips twitching slightly, as if only now remembering how to relax. His hand drifted toward the chair next to him—the one no one dared to touch—and gave it the faintest tap.

Your seat. Reserved without ever needing to be said.