1

The expressway had long since ceased to function as a road. It had become an endless parking lot, with thousands of vehicles stretching far beyond the horizon in both directions. Brake lights glowed like an unbroken ribbon of red beneath the pale morning sky, while engines idled relentlessly, filling the air with a constant mechanical hum. Every now and then, an impatient horn echoed across the valley, only to fade into the same hopeless silence that had settled over the traffic.

It was the annual holiday return journey, the one time of year when millions of people across South Korea left their hometowns almost simultaneously after spending precious days with their families. Every driver had hoped to beat the traffic by leaving early. Instead, they all found themselves trapped together on the same expressway, inching forward meter by meter—or not moving at all.

The cool freshness of morning had disappeared hours ago. The rising sun reflected mercilessly off the sea of windshields and metal roofs, while waves of heat rose from the asphalt beneath the countless motionless vehicles. Air conditioners worked tirelessly inside the cars, yet outside, the summer air shimmered above the road. Morning no longer looked like morning; everything about the scene—the brightness, the heat, and the endless waiting—made it feel as though noon had arrived far too early.

Some drivers stepped out of their cars to stretch their stiff backs and legs before climbing inside again as the traffic crawled forward by only a few meters. Children slept against the windows, exhausted from the long journey, while others complained from the back seats, asking over and over how much farther they had to go. Families quietly shared snacks and bottled drinks they had packed before leaving, knowing they might remain stranded for hours. The entire expressway had settled into a strange rhythm of patience and resignation, as if everyone had silently accepted that there was nowhere else to be but there.

Inside a red Hyundai Avante, however, patience was beginning to wear thin.

A young couple sat blankly inside a red Hyundai Avante, staring emptily at the rear ends of the vehicles lined up in front of them. Paramore’s “Ain’t It Fun” played softly inside the air-conditioned cabin.

“Where are we already?” asked Seo-yeon 20 years old, sitting to the left of the steering wheel.

“Stop joking around already,” answered Seo-yeon’s younger brother, Min-jun 18, who was holding the wheel.

“Geez, so grumpy,” Seo-yeon retorted while picking up her white iPad from beside the handbrake lever.

“Well, we’ve been stuck here for four hours without going anywhere,” Min-jun replied curtly. “It’s your fault, Noona. If we’d left really early with Appa, it wouldn’t have turned out like this,” he finished.

“Yeah, sorry,” Seo-yeon answered. “Lots of orders, man,” she continued while fiddling with her tablet. The two of them had been forced to start the homeward journey late after Seo-yeon insisted her brother buy souvenirs first.

Seo-yeon was wearing a peach-white double-layer tank top and blue denim hotpants, matching her super-casual personality yet still in harmony with her pretty face and fair skin. Meanwhile Min-jun only wore a cadet-blue T-shirt with jeans, showing the type of laid-back guy he was. The brother and sister were only two years apart in age.

Ttiring ttiring ttiring!!

“That’s you