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... n sight.
Han stepped inside like he owned the place. “Two bowls of hangover stew,” he called out.
“And a bottle of soju.”
A middle-aged man with wild bedhead shuffled out of the kitchen, yawning as he went. He didn’t say a word—just opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of liquor, placing it on the table like he’d done it a thousand times before.
“Been a while,” he said flatly.
It was obvious Han was a regular. The exchange was short, but familiar.
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