When he looked down at the empty coffee cup, Park Hoon realized that it was time to stand up. It wasn’t like staring at the monitor in the café would give him any good ideas. He picked up the laptop bag and left. The moment he left, he missed the café. The air was more than just hot. It stabbed into his skin.

He staggered back to his house. Today was a holiday that was such a pity to waste. He wanted to go hiking, go fishing, or do anything to take a break, but the work given to him seemed to be laughing at him for daring to try to rest on a weekend. It would be less frustrating if it was company work instead.

“How is it?”

His wife urged him to give her the results. Park Hoon despaired at the environment of his household where he couldn’t even form a labor union as he sat down on the sofa.

“It’s not bad, I think.”

“Not bad, huh. So it’s not good either?”

“You always take it that way.”

“Then tell me properly. Was it interesting?”

Interesting, splendid, touching. These three were magical words that would give him freedom on weekends. If he turned a blind eye and praised his wife’s writing, everything would be good, but his mouth betrayed his thoughts and talked about useless things.

“Personally, I would have second thoughts if I had to pay money to read it. Maybe it’s because I’m personally not fond...