Sunny days in this neighborhood were rarely a blessing. More often than not, the air was either stiflingly humid—thick with the stench of scorched asphalt and cheap street food—or choked with dust as the wind chased trash and old newspapers down the narrow alleys.

  But today was the exception. It was pleasant. Unblemished sunlight poured from the heavens, filtering through the tangled mesh of power lines strung between the dilapidated buildings to gild the cracked pavement below. And right there, bathed in that warm glow and surrounded by the long shadows of streetlamps, a ridiculously peaceful scene was unfolding.

  Kim Bok-hee, seventy-six years young, trudged stubbornly forward, a vivid smudge of electric lime amidst the gray urban landscape. Her short gray hair was set in tight, springy curls—the signature "ajumma" perm—and a satisfied smile played on her wrinkled face. She was practically buckling under the weight of two massive shopping bags, stuffed to the brim with groceries.

  He-he… she chuckled inwardly, adjusting her grip on the plastic handles digging into her fingers. That market vendor said the discount on green onions was for today only. Silly boy. I know he always gives me a deal. He probably has a crush on me! And why wouldn’t he? A vintage beauty like me is worth her weight in gold!

  Her gnarled fingers, spotted with age, dug fiercely into the white plastic. Her knuckles turned white from the strain.

  Then again… beauty is pain, she sighed to herself. And these bags require strong, masculine hands… Sigh, where can I find a pair of those right now? Preferably attached to someone handsome.

  As if on cue, a tall, slender university student glided past. Perfectly pressed light shirt, dress pants, intelligent eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He was so absorbed in his smartphone that he noticed nothing around him—including the tiny old lady in the lime-green suit who froze, tracking him with an appraising eye.

  "Omo!" Bok-hee whispered as the young man disappeared around the corner. "What an exquisite specimen! At least 185 centimeters tall. That posture—pure aristocracy. And glasses... that means he has brains, reads books. Sigh, if only my good-for-nothing son owned a backpack half that decent..."

  She prepared to take another step, but her path was suddenly blocked. Two massive male figures loomed before her like cliffs, blotting out the sun.

  The one in front wore a black t-shirt that strained against his muscles, revealing a tattoo on his forearm. His temples were fashionably shaved into an undercut, and his face was twisted in a sneer of disgust. Hovering behind his shoulder was the second man—a veritable giant in a tight white tank top, arms crossed over a chest the size of a barrel.

  "Kim Bok-hee?" the first one rasped. "Your precious son, Kim Yeong-su, isn’t answering his phone again. Where is he hiding?"

  Not a shadow of fear crossed the old woman’s face. She knew exactly who they were. She had seen faces like these countless times over the last twenty years, ever since her son first discovered the thrill of gambling. The only things that changed were their hairstyles and the brands of their tracksuits.

  Ah, loan sharks, the thought drifted through her mind, weary and borderline indifferent. Again…

  Be scared? Aigoo, at her age? She had mastered the first office computers when they were the size of wardrobes and roared like jet engines taking off—that was true horror. She had single-handedly raised a son who, at forty, still hadn’t learned to wash his own socks—that was true drama. These two? They were just boys. Loud, angry, but merely boys.

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  Do they think that if they frown and flex their muscles, an old woman will faint? she mentally scoffed. Cute. They don’t realize the only thing I’m afraid of right now is not making it home with these bags.

  Since fear was a useless emotion, her brain—conditioned to find a silver lining in everything—instantly shifted gears.

  Well, since the show has started… her internal tone turned professional. It would be a sin not to critique the actors. If I have to listen to a lecture about debt, I might as well enjoy the view.

  The surprise on her face melted into lively interest. Her expert gaze, honed by decades of binge-watching K-dramas, slid from the first man’s bicep to the second, lingering on the giant’s shoulders, which were as wide as an airfield. A faint blush touched her wrinkled cheeks.

  Oho! Look at these boys! her mind raced. Two at once! Is this a "Bring a Friend, Get a Discount on Extortion" promotion? Let’s see… The one in black—dead ringer for the Director character in a generic evening soap opera! Jawline—a strong willed nine. Gaze—gloomy, let’s say a six, but that can be fixed with a few good rom-coms. But that bicep… oh, that bicep is a solid ten! And the other one… the second guy is the spitting image of the Gentle Bodyguard with a Tragic Past. Those shoulders are a fortress wall! What a selection!

  Kim Bok-hee gently set the heavy bags on the asphalt and looked up at the dumbfounded thugs with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

  "Hey, handsome, why so formal?" she chided playfully. "Now, young man in black, your haircut is bold, but 'effortless chic' is the trend these days. Still, it suits you! And you, my giant friend," she nodded at the second one, "why are you hiding such a fine figure in those balloon pants? Tsk-tsk!"

  Min-jun, the collector in black, lost the power of speech for a second. His face turned a deep shade of crimson.

  "You...! Are you mocking me?! Have you gone completely senile, you old hag?! I’m asking about the MONEY!!!"

  In a fit of rage, he kicked one of the shopping bags with all his might. The deafening crunch of tearing plastic filled the air. Bright red apples rolled across the dirty asphalt, greens scattered into the dust, and a bottle of soju rolled away with a clink.

  Kim Bok-hee stared at this act of vandalism with genuine horror.

  "Aigoo! My green onions..." She let out a devastated gasp as she saw the trampled stalks. "They were on sale... Two bundles for the price of one... YOU! CRAZY LUNATIC!"

  She instinctively lurched forward, trying to save at least a stray apple. The movement was awkward, sudden. Age and the weight of her years played a cruel joke: her feet got tangled, and her balance betrayed her. She swayed, flailed her arms ridiculously, and toppled backward.

  In the collectors' eyes, aggression was instantly replaced by bewildered shock. Min-jun froze, his mouth hanging half-open.

  There was a dull, wet thud as the back of her head hit the asphalt.

  ...

  Consciousness returned reluctantly, clawing at the darkness. The first thing she saw was a blurry white ceiling and dim fluorescent lights.

  Where... am I?

  The image sharpened. A hospital bed, sterile pajamas, wires. Nearby, a heart monitor beeped monotonously, tracing a rhythmic green line.

  ...Beep... Beep... Beep...

  There was no pain. Only an all-consuming, leaden fatigue. It was as if all the strength she had hoarded over seventy-six years had left her body in a single instant. She tried to wiggle her fingers, but her limbs refused to obey. Only her eyes could follow the green peak that stubbornly rose and fell in time with her fading life.

  Suddenly, the rhythm broke. The line on the monitor jerked in a chaotic, panicked dance. The sound turned into an annoying, piercing screech.

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...

  And then, silence. A perfectly flat line cut across the screen.

  Everything vanished. The light, the sounds, the worries about her son. All that remained was a ringing void and the final, fading echo of her consciousness.

  What a shame...

  A faint, barely perceptible smile froze on her motionless lips.

  ...there are still so many hotties left in the world I haven't rated on a ten-point scale yet...