episode 1
A crowded street in Shibuya, Tokyo, May 2025. The evening hums with life neon signs flicker in kanji and hangul, street vendors hawk takoyaki, and students weave through the throng, their laughter sharp against the urban din. Park Jimin, 22, a South Korean exchange student, stands frozen before a defaced monument, his hands stained with red spray paint.
The monument, a sleek stone pillar symbolizing Korean-Japanese unity, bears his impulsive scrawl: “Who are we?” His heart pounds, not from pride but from the sinking realization of what he’s done
Jimin’s rebellion was born of frustration caught between his Korean roots and the pressure to assimilate in Tokyo, he felt like an outsider his whole life. The paint was his protest, a cry for identity, but now it’s landed him in trouble. Mr. Lee, a Korean-Japanese philanthropist in his 60s, looms before him, his tailored suit and stern eyes radiating authority. His voice cuts through the street noise, calm but unyielding.
Mr.Lee
Park Jimin, you’ve got courage, I’ll give you that. But defacing my monument? That’s a choice you’ll answer for. I could have you arrested… or you could make this right
Jimin is defiant, but voice wavering
Park jimin
Right? It’s just a statue. Nobody cares about ‘unity’ anymore. It’s all fake promises
Mr. Lee raising an eyebrow says
Mr.Lee
Fake or not, you’ve crossed a line. I’m offering you a way out. Deliver this letter to its recipient, and I’ll forget your stunt. Refuse, and you’ll face the consequences
Mr. Lee hands Jimin a yellowed envelope, its edges frayed but sealed tight. The handwriting is elegant, almost desperate: “To Tae, from J.”
Jimin’s fingers brush the paper, and a strange weight settles in his chest, like holding someone’s heart
Park jimin
A letter? From who? And why me? I’m not a courier
Mr. Lee's voice softening
Mr.Lee
The man who wrote this was a soldier, a hero in his time. The man it’s meant for… he’s harder to reach. This letter’s been lost for 20 years, buried in an archive until I found it. You’re young, restless—maybe you’ll understand its value. Start in Seoul. You have one month
Jimin tucks the letter into his backpack, his mind a tangle of skepticism and curiosity. He’s used to dodging trouble, not chasing it, but something in Mr. Lee’s gaze regret, perhaps—makes him pause.
Park jimin
Fine. But if this is some wild goose chase, I’m out
Mr. Lee nods, his expression unreadable, and disappears into the crowd. Jimin stands alone, the city’s pulse mocking his uncertainty
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