Woojin finally glanced back—just his left eye, wet lashes, a crack in his composure. “You don’t even know my name.”

Woojin didn’t turn. “That’s the point.”

The rain over Drakorasia never fell straight. It drifted sideways, like the city itself was sighing. In episode two, the frame is slightly soft—540 pixels of forgiveness—enough to blur the neon signs but not the space between two boys standing on a university rooftop.

Jae didn’t flinch. He pulled off his soaked jacket and draped it over Woojin’s shoulders. “Then I’ll stay until you rewrite the ending.”