The rain hit the pavement like tiny drums, tapping softly but with an unrelenting rhythm. A distant engine rumbled, cutting through the rain's constant whisper, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, as if holding its breath. Inside Café Midnight Throttle, the world had already gone quiet — just the hum of the espresso machine and the faint buzz of a neon light flickering overhead.
It was past midnight when the café's lights dimmed, signaling the end of another long day for Park Jong Gun. He had just finished wiping down the counter for the last time that night, the cloth rough in his hands as he methodically worked. It had been a slow night, typical for a weekday, but Gun didn't mind. It gave him time to think, breathe, and live in his quiet space.
He wasn't a fan of crowds, not anymore. He used to thrive in them, once upon a time, back when he was known by a different name — Gun Park, the underground fighter with a reputation for knocking out opponents faster than anyone could blink. But that was a lifetime ago. Now, he was just a café owner with a passion for bikes and a simple goal: peace.
His café, Midnight Throttle, was everything he had ever wanted. It wasn't just a business; it was a piece of his soul, carefully built over years of hard work, sweat, and the money he'd earned in the underground circuits. He had always known that this was where he would end up, far away from the violence, far away from the adrenaline, far away from the fame.
His thoughts were interrupted by the soft hum of his phone vibrating against the counter. He glanced at it but didn't pick it up. The name on the screen didn't matter — not tonight. There was nothing urgent. Nothing that couldn't wait. The only thing on his mind now was his bike.
Out back, inside the small garage his Royal Enfield GT 650 sat parked next to his other prized bikes: the Kawasaki Ninja H2R, the BMW S1000RR, and the Ducati Panigale V4 Lamborghini Edition. Each bike was a masterpiece, each one a story of his life, of the roads he had ridden and the freedom he had felt.
Gun wasn't just a biker; he was a legendary rider, a man who could push any machine to its absolute limit and feel its soul. The machines, like him, had been built for a purpose — to chase speed, to chase freedom, to chase something bigger than the mundane routines of life. But tonight, all he wanted was silence. He had spent years on the road and in the ring, and now he wanted nothing more than to close the café, turn off the lights, and ride off into the night.
He picked up the rag, wiped the counter one last time, and headed toward the back.
That's when he heard it.
The low rumble of an engine — not the familiar growl of one of his bikes, but something else. Something unfamiliar.
Gun paused, his hand frozen halfway to the back door.
A Car? Late at night, in this part of town? It wasn't unheard of, but still unusual.
He waited for a moment, listening, but the engine's roar died away. The faint sound of tires screeching on wet pavement followed, and then… silence. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of footsteps — slow and deliberate — growing closer.
Gun narrowed his eyes, turning away from the back door to glance through the café's front window.
A figure stood under the dim streetlight outside, drenched from the rain, but its posture seemed… relaxed. It was a woman, barely visible in the wet shadows, but there was no mistaking her stance. She looked… lost.
Lost in a way that made Gun's heart skip a beat, though he quickly dismissed it. He wasn't in the mood for human interaction tonight. Not after a long day of coffee and customers who only came in for a caffeine fix and didn't care to stay.
Still, something about the woman outside piqued his interest. Maybe it was the way she stood there, just out of reach of the streetlight, as if unsure of where to go next.
Without thinking, he stepped toward the door.
Outside the Café
The rain was coming down harder now, a steady drizzle that soaked through everything, including her jacket. Lisa, her name was, but to him, she was just another stranger. At least, that's how he would have thought of her if he'd even bothered to recognize her. But in that moment, she was just a woman standing in the rain, and that was all Gun saw.
Lisa had made her way down the street, drenched and freezing, after her car had broken down a few blocks away. She had sent the car to a nearby garage, but now she was stranded, waiting for it to be fixed. And while she could have called for a ride or waited for the repair to finish, the thought of sitting in a cold waiting room wasn't appealing. The weather was miserable, and frankly, she didn't know where else to go.
Then, she'd spotted the café. Café Midnight Throttle. From the outside, it didn't look like much — a small, almost hidden gem in the dark streets. The neon lights flickered softly, and a strange warmth radiated from the windows. It looked like a place that would welcome anyone needing a break from the cold.
She didn't expect much, just a cup of coffee, maybe a little conversation. And so, without hesitation, she'd knocked on the door, pushing it open as the faint sound of a bell rang. Inside, the warmth wrapped around her immediately, and she couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.
"Sorry," she said as she stepped inside, dripping wet and shivering. "I didn't mean to intrude. My car broke down a few blocks away, and I've been waiting for a tow. I was hoping I could just… grab a coffee or something while I wait."
Gun didn't even look up from the counter. Instead, he simply wiped his hands on the towel before turning toward her.
"This isn't a waiting room," he said flatly, his voice calm but firm.
Lisa froze, unsure of how to respond. She hadn't expected to be shut down so easily. For a moment, she felt her heart sink, but she swallowed her pride.
"I'll just have a coffee, then," she said quietly, stepping further into the café, hoping the warmth would settle her nerves.
Gun turned and went to the espresso machine without another word, the rhythmic sound of the grinder filling the silence. Lisa, standing near the counter, couldn't help but glance around. The place was quiet — no one else in sight. It was oddly soothing.
Gun's thoughts as he prepares her coffee:
I've met people like her before, Gun thought as he worked, his hands moving automatically. They come in looking for a break, a moment of quiet in their lives, and I give it to them. But that's all they want — a moment. They'll leave once they've had their fill, just like everyone else.
He knew better than to get involved in anyone's life. It wasn't his problem. He didn't want it to be his problem.
Lisa stood there, tapping her fingers against the counter as she tried to shake off the chill in her bones. She wasn't in the mood for confrontation. She just wanted to relax, drink her coffee, and figure out what to do next.
But when Gun slid the cup toward her without a word, she didn't know what to say. She didn't know anything about him, but the silence was thick — uncomfortable.
"Thank you," she said, her voice soft yet strained from the rain. She seemed… tired. Her eyes had a certain emptiness, as though the fame she wore like a second skin didn't bring her any warmth.
Gun raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He didn't need to ask questions. People who came in here were usually the quiet type. He wasn't the talkative type.
The rain continued to pour, the quiet hum of the café filling the spaces between their words.
After a few moments of silence, the woman took a careful sip of her coffee. The bitter flavor seemed to bring some comfort, and she finally looked up at him — her eyes a little clearer, though still holding a trace of uncertainty.
"Not bad," she said, surprising him with a half-smile. "You're good at this. Most places around here can't make coffee worth the time."
"Don't waste my time with compliments. You're just getting a basic brew," Gun muttered, shrugging it off as he began cleaning the counter.
The woman laughed softly, an oddly refreshing sound. "I guess I'm used to better."
Gun didn't look up, just shrugged again. "This isn't a place for better. It's a place for real."
For a moment, she didn't say anything, just sat there watching the rain fall, the sound of tires skimming through puddles outside.
The quiet hum of the espresso machine filled the air, but neither Gun nor Lisa spoke. The silence between them was thick, as if both were waiting for the other to break it. Gun, of course, had no intention of doing so. He preferred the quiet. And besides, what was there to say? She was just another customer, someone who had wandered into his café out of desperation. It was nothing personal.
But Lisa wasn't used to this kind of silence. She wasn't used to the cold, uninviting atmosphere that seemed to hang in the air whenever Gun was around. For a brief moment, she found herself regretting stepping inside. Maybe she should have just waited outside for the tow truck to arrive. But there was something about this café — its quiet, understated charm — that drew her in.
She tried to make small talk.
"Do you get many people stopping by this late?" Lisa asked, her voice tentative.
Gun glanced at her for a split second, his eyes narrowing slightly before he turned his attention back to the machine. "Not really. Most people have their caffeine fix by now."
"Right," she muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. The warmth spread through her, comforting her, but it didn't do much to ease the discomfort of the silence. She wasn't used to being around someone who didn't seem to care much for conversation. Most people at least tried to make small talk, especially in a café.
Another sip of coffee. Another awkward silence.
After a few moments, Gun finished cleaning up, tossing the rag aside. He stood at the counter, not looking at her. Lisa tried to muster the courage to speak again, but for some reason, she found herself hesitating. There was something about him, something about the way he carried himself, that made her feel as if she didn't quite belong here.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Lisa finally said, breaking the silence again.
Gun didn't respond immediately, but he gave a slight nod. "Go ahead."
"Why don't you seem to like talking to people?" she asked, her voice a little softer than she intended. She realized, too late, that she was prying — but the question had been nagging at her. After all, she had come here for some peace, and there was something strangely alluring about the way he kept to himself. He was just so… distant.
Gun glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. It was clear that her question had caught him off guard, but he didn't show it. He didn't show much of anything.
"I don't like being around people," he said simply, his voice still flat. "I don't need to explain why."
Lisa took a step back, slightly taken aback by the bluntness of his response. She wasn't used to being shut down so easily. But there was something about him — something that piqued her curiosity. She couldn't help but feel drawn to him, even though he was trying to push her away.
"Alright," she said, trying to brush off the awkwardness. "I guess I'm not exactly a fan of crowds either."
Gun didn't respond. Instead, he picked up a small black cloth and began wiping the countertop again, as if that were all that mattered.
Lisa let out a soft sigh. This wasn't going how she had imagined. Maybe she had been too forward, too persistent. But she needed a ride home, and she didn't want to seem like an inconvenience. She glanced at the clock — it was nearly 1 a.m. The garage had called earlier to tell her it would take longer than expected to fix her car.
"Uh, look," she started, her voice quieter now. "I'm not trying to be a bother, but… my car broke down a few blocks away, and the garage is keeping it overnight. I was wondering if you could maybe… help me out? You know, give me a ride home?"
Gun froze, his hand hovering over the rag. He didn't look at her right away, but the request hung in the air, pulling at something inside him that he had long buried. He didn't owe her anything. She was a stranger. And he didn't make it a habit of helping strangers.
But she was a woman in the rain, alone, and the look in her eyes… it reminded him of someone.
Someone he used to know.
"I don't offer rides," he said flatly, not meeting her gaze.
Lisa stood still, processing his words. There was a brief flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but she didn't push him. She was used to being turned down. It was late, after all, and she could probably find another way to get home.
"Alright, no worries. I'll just wait for a taxi or something," she said, trying to keep her voice light. But the truth was, she had no idea when the next taxi would pass by in this area.
Gun glanced at her, seeing the disappointment written on her face. He had made his decision. He wasn't going to get involved.
But then, something inside him shifted.
It wasn't pity. It wasn't guilt.
It was the rain.
The relentless downpour, soaking her to the bone, the helplessness she couldn't hide behind that forced smile. Gun had seen it before — the quiet desperation that lingered in the eyes of those who had nowhere else to turn.
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, weighing the decision in his mind.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "I'll take you home."
Lisa blinked, surprised by his change of heart. She hadn't expected him to come around, especially after the way he had shut her down earlier. But there was something in his tone now, something that made her think he wasn't just doing it out of obligation.
"Really? You'll help me?" she asked, unable to hide the relief in her voice.
Gun didn't respond immediately. He simply turned and walked toward the back door, unlocking it with a soft click.
"Don't get used to it," he muttered. "I don't make a habit of helping people."
Outside the Café
The night air was damp and cold, but the rain had lessened to a drizzle. As they stepped outside, Gun's eyes quickly scanned the street. The city was quiet, but there was an edge to the night. Lisa stood next to him, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she looked at him expectantly.
Gun didn't say anything as he headed toward his bikes. Lisa watched as he approached a row of machines, each one more beautiful than the last. The sound of his boots against the pavement echoed in the stillness as he stood in front of his Royal Enfield GT 650, the most striking of the bikes. It gleamed under the streetlight, almost like a living thing. He stroked the gas tank lovingly, his fingers grazing the leather and steel.
"Which one do you ride?" Lisa asked, her voice filled with curiosity as she eyed the bikes.
Gun didn't answer right away. He simply pulled on his helmet and adjusted his gloves, clearly not in the mood for conversation.
Lisa, not knowing what else to say, followed his lead and stood back. She had no idea what to expect. Would this guy be a good rider? Would he take her home quickly? She didn't know.
But at least she wasn't alone.
As they stood in the rain, Gun's helmet clicked shut, and his leather gloves creaked as he adjusted them. The café's neon sign flickered behind them, casting a soft, erratic glow against the wet pavement. Lisa's gaze followed his every movement, her curiosity about him intensifying by the second. There was something about the way he seemed so focused on his bikes, so unaware of the world around him. He was different from the people she usually encountered.
That had always been the case — people fawned over her, celebrities adored her, and fans screamed her name at every corner. But this guy, Gun Park, didn't care one bit. He didn't even seem to know who she was, and that baffled her in ways she couldn't describe.
The air had shifted. The rain had stopped, but the lingering humidity wrapped itself around the two of them like a heavy blanket, making everything feel even more intimate. As the engine of Gun's GT 650 rumbled beneath them, the night seemed to stretch endlessly ahead, shrouded in an eerie kind of calm.
Lisa could still feel the electricity between them, like something was pulling her toward him, making her lean slightly into his back. She had been curious about him, but now, there was a deep-rooted need to understand him, to know who he was — not the man on the bike, not the stranger she met on a stormy night, but the person behind that quiet exterior.
She had grown used to people fawning over her, to being recognized at every corner. But this man—he didn't even flinch when she got into the car. No spark of recognition, no flash of awe or admiration. His indifference was palpable, and it intrigued her more than she expected.
"So," Lisa started, her voice casual, but with an undercurrent of something more urgent, "What kind of music do you listen to?"
Gun's response was simple, almost too straightforward for her tastes. "Soft romantic, lo-fi, zen. Some Indian stuff."
She frowned, momentarily puzzled. "No K-pop?"
Gun's expression didn't change, but the way he spoke was sharp, dismissive. "I don't feel them. Waste of time."
Lisa's eyes widened, her brain momentarily short-circuiting. No K-pop? She thought, her surprise evident in her voice. "A Korean... who doesn't know K-pop? It's... It's a culture, you know."
The words tumbled out of her mouth without thinking, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to process the revelation. She had been surrounded by K-pop her whole life, the phenomenon was a part of her world, her culture—even if she had never truly felt connected to it. But this guy... he doesn't feel it?
Gun's eyes flickered briefly, but he didn't even glance at her. His grip on the handlebars remained firm as he kept his focus on the road. "It's not a culture," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth, "It's a trend. People call it culture because it's popular. But it's not. Culture is something passed down through generations. It's blood, sweat, history... the way your ancestors lived, prayed, connected to the land. It's not something you can just package and sell."
Lisa was silent for a moment, stunned by the intensity in his voice. She had never expected this kind of response to a casual question. He's so sure of it... She thought, her mind racing. His conviction made her question everything she thought she knew about what people called culture.
But she wasn't done yet. There was something in his tone, something raw and untouchable that made her need to know more. "What is culture then, to you?" she asked, genuinely intrigued, her voice softer now.
Gun's gaze stayed forward, his eyes scanning the darkened road. "Culture," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to push through the silence of the night, "is something that's woven into the fabric of life. It's the stories your grandparents tell you about how they lived, about how they fought, loved, and worked the land. It's the way people worship, the way they connect to the earth beneath their feet. It's not something you can manufacture. It's blood and bone, woven through the years like an ancient thread."
Lisa was taken aback by his words. So intense, she thought. So passionate about this... about something so... real. She had never heard anyone talk about culture in such a way. She could almost feel the weight of his beliefs, the depth of his understanding of life.
She leaned slightly forward, her curiosity growing. "And K-pop? It's not real culture?"
Gun's response was clipped, the sharpness of his words cutting through the night air. "It's a trend. People use the word 'culture' because they don't know any better. It's just... a marketing tactic. K-pop isn't culture, it's something the world has decided to label as such. But true culture doesn't need labels. It exists without anyone needing to say it's 'culture.'"
Lisa was taken aback. He doesn't know about K-pop? The thought seemed almost incomprehensible, like a paradox. Here was a Korean man, raised in a country where K-pop was a global phenomenon, and he had no interest in it. How is that even possible?
The wind was cold but comforting, slipping past them in rhythmic whispers as Gun pushed the throttle of his GT 650 a little further. The bike roared beneath them, a mechanical symphony in the silence of the night. Lisa, her arms tentatively around his waist, had grown quiet—but her thoughts were anything but.
She didn't know why, but she didn't want the ride to end. Not yet.
Gun's calm aura, his silent confidence, his unexpected honesty—it drew her in. There was no pretension in him. No attempt to impress her. No mask. She wasn't used to that. Not in her world.
"Why… do you own a café?" she asked over the rumble of the engine, her voice close to his ear.
He didn't look back, just chuckled. "A man's gotta make a living."
"No, I mean…" she paused, choosing her words, "A man like you… could be a model. Earn millions."
He scoffed. "Peace is more expensive than money. I've already paid my price."
That struck her deep. Who says things like that anymore?
"Why do you like bikes so much?" she asked again, this time softer.
Gun didn't answer immediately. The night stretched on, the city lights flickering like stars as they began to leave the heart of Seoul.
"When you hit 150 kilometers per hour," he said finally, his voice low and even, "the world slows down. Time freezes. You feel weightless… like all the burdens, the memories, the screaming thoughts—they get left behind."
She didn't speak. She felt that.
"And sometimes," he continued, "when I can't scream out my pain or rage… my bike does it for me. It roars when I can't. It rages when I break inside."
His words weren't loud. But they were devastatingly intimate.
Lisa's heartbeat was louder than the engine.
She hadn't known freedom like this. The rush of the wind, the warmth of a stranger who felt more grounded than anyone she'd ever known. The smell of rain faded as clouds parted, revealing a moon so bright it bathed the world in silver.
She found herself leaning in—not just for warmth, but for connection.
A part of her didn't want this ride to end.
Gun noticed the silence. "You okay back there?"
"Yeah…" she replied softly. "Just… this feels like a fairytale."
He chuckled. "I'm not a prince, though."
Lisa smiled against his back. "I'm not asking for one."
They rode for a while longer before he slowed the bike. "Where am I dropping you off?"
She hesitated. For a moment, she didn't want to go home. But she gave him the address.
When they finally pulled up, Gun killed the engine. Lisa stepped off slowly, brushing her hair out of her face.
He was about to mount back up when she said, "Wait."
He turned, raising an eyebrow.
"We never introduced ourselves."
He offered a hand, solid and warm. "Gun."
She took it gently. "Lisa."
Just Lisa.
Neither said anything for a beat. Then she smiled. "Can I… take a selfie with you?"
Gun blinked. "Why?"
"Just… to remember this."
"I don't do cameras."
She pouted a little. "Please?"
He looked at her, at the sincerity in her eyes. Then sighed. "Fine. One. That's it."
They stood side by side, her holding the phone out, their heads slightly leaning toward each other. She snapped the photo.
He was already turning away when she spoke again.
"Thank you for the ride."
He gave a small nod. "Don't tell anyone I broke the speed limit."
She laughed. "I won't. Promise."
As he drove off into the moonlit streets, Lisa stood at her doorstep, looking at the photo.
Her heart fluttered.
She didn't love him.
Not yet.
But something inside her had shifted.
And she knew one thing:
She would never forget this night.
Not for a long, long time.