At exactly 8:17 p.m., Jennie Kim drops her paintbrush.
Again.
The vibration travels through her studio wall like a tiny earthquake. Her glaze jars tremble. The half-finished ceramic mug in her hand wobbles dangerously.
And then—
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
The drill starts.
Jennie stares at the wall like it personally betrayed her.
"Are you kidding me."
She presses her forehead against the cool plaster. "It's nighttime. Do people not sleep? Do people not have fragile creative souls?"
The drill stops.
Silence.
Jennie exhales.
Then—
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Her eye twitches.
She walks to the window dramatically, opens it, and yells into the Seoul night.
"WHOEVER YOU ARE, I HOPE YOUR WIFI IS SLOW FOREVER."
A man walking his dog looks up at her balcony. The dog looks concerned.
Jennie slams the window shut and storms to her door.
She is wearing pink paint-stained sweatpants, an oversized gray hoodie, and bunny slippers.
She does not change.
She is fueled by rage.
When Jennie knocks, it is not polite.
It is strategic. Sharp. Annoyed.
The door opens almost immediately.
Jennie's prepared speech dies in her throat.
Because standing there is—
Not a loud frat boy.
Not a construction worker blasting music.
But a woman.
Tall. Calm. Wearing a black turtleneck tucked into slacks. Sleeves rolled up neatly. Safety goggles resting on her head like she forgot they were there. One hand holding a power drill.
She blinks slowly at Jennie.
"...Hi."
Her voice is low. Steady.
Jennie's brain short-circuits for half a second.
Then she remembers she's angry.
"Are you remodeling a hospital at 8 p.m.?"
The woman looks at her watch.
"It's 8:23."
"That's nighttime."
"In Seoul?"
"Yes."
A pause.
The woman removes her goggles carefully. Her hair falls softly around her face.
"I'm reinforcing a built-in shelf. It won't take long."
Jennie crosses her arms.
"It's been taking long for three days."
The woman looks... genuinely surprised.
"Oh."
Jennie falters. That was not the reaction she expected.
"I didn't realize the sound carried that much."
Jennie gestures wildly. "My ceramic glaze vibrates."
"...That sounds concerning."
