Jun rose without alarm.
No ping. No system cue. Just the faint sound of city breath—gutters clearing, a window sliding open two floors above, distant tires brushing early concrete.
He stood, not with urgency, but with decision.
The cloth from the night before remained folded near the window. Still touched by the moon, though its edge now held a softer hue—the kind of shadow that whispered morning into motion.
He didn't move it.
Only nodded toward it. Barely perceptible.
Then began his day.
---
The plaza air felt gentler than usual. As if the night hadn't fully left, only layered itself beneath the day's first warmth.
Jun arrived early—but not first. A noodle cart further down had already set water to boil, and the scent of scallion oil trailed through the breeze like a memory trying to speak.
He placed the crate down with no extra care—but none lacking either.
