The Last One on the Rack
The department store was just across the street from the cafe.
It was 10:30. As the front doors opened, the staff lined up inside bowed toward the arriving customers.
"Welcome in."
I nearly bowed along with them out of reflex. This time I barely managed to stop myself.
In thirteen years, I'd been to a department store exactly twice. Once to buy a birthday gift for a client's wife, and once to run out and get a necktie for my team leader. Neither time had anything been for me.
The first floor was all cosmetics and luxury boutiques, glass display cases lined up under gleaming lights. Even the air was different — a blend of expensive perfume and new leather hanging in the space.
According to the directory, women's clothing started on the second floor. But as I passed the luxury boutiques on my way, my feet stopped in front of a mannequin in one of the shop windows.
A beige knit with wide-legged gray slacks. A camel coat draped over it.
Pants.
"Pants."
Like a woman possessed, I walked into the store.
"Welcome, ma'am."
Three sales associates converged on me at once. Three pairs of eyes swept quickly over me — from my face, down the oversized jacket and pleated skirt, all the way to my white sneakers.
I knew those eyes well from my years in sales. Eyes measuring how much money a customer was about to spend.
But this time was a little different.
If this customer walks out wearing our clothes...
They didn't even need to argue over who got me — every one of them was clearly thinking the same thing.
That face. That figure. Just strolling around in their clothes would draw every eye on the street. Handled well, it might even be better publicity than landing a single big-spending client.
The oversized jacket with the pleated skirt was the same story. On anyone else it would have looked awkward, but on this face it somehow read as a deliberate style.
Watching their expressions, I thought to myself:
...What? Is something wrong with what I'm wearing?
The oldest-looking associate asked carefully, "Are you looking for a particular style?"
"That mannequin," I said, pointing at the window. "All of it. Top to bottom."
This was how I'd always shopped. At discount outlets, I'd ask for the mannequin's entire outfit as-is. I had neither the time nor the flair to put together coordinates myself.
The associates exchanged a brief glance.
"The whole outfit, you said?"
"Yes. Do you have my size?"
"Ah, yes! Let me check right away."
The staff scattered in an instant. Among them, I caught the youngest-looking one whispering to her colleague.
"She wants the whole mannequin's outfit."
"Doesn't even bother with matching things herself. I guess she shops like this all the time."
A salesperson's ears are sharp by nature.
In the fitting room, changing into the knit, my eyes caught the price tag still attached.
Without thinking, I reached to punch numbers into a calculator — then stopped myself.
Right. I have two trillion won now.
The moment I thought it, the number on the tag suddenly looked like nothing at all.
And yet habits die hard. The instant I saw a price tag, my face still stiffened up, just like the old Park Min-goo days.
"You have two trillion won," I whispered to the woman in the mirror. The woman in the mirror still looked unconvinced.
Then I pulled on the slacks. The waist fit perfectly. No fumbling with belt holes. Best of all, no draft sneaking up my legs.
"Ah, I'm buying these."
Pants, recovered after four long days. I stood in front of the mirror for a good while, and the stiffness in my face melted away all on its own.
When I pushed back the fitting room curtain, all the associates inhaled at once.
"Oh my, that size fits you beautifully."
Standing before the mirror, I found myself nodding without meaning to. Nothing bunched at the waist, nothing pulled across the chest. Above all, the slacks didn't dig awkwardly into my hips or thighs.
It almost felt strange that off-the-rack clothing would fit a body like this so perfectly.
And it wasn't flattery — even thirteen years of sales experience could tell me that. I nodded along at my reflection and smiled out of habit.
"Thank you. I'll take these, then."
One associate dropped the hanger she was holding and hastily snatched it back up.
At the register, I handed over my card — the black one that had come attached to my new bank account. I had no idea what tier it was. The associate checked it, and the look in her eyes changed.
"One moment, please."
She carried the card over to the manager. A moment later, the manager came out herself.
"Ma'am, this is your first time in our store, isn't it? May I escort you to our VIP lounge?"
"Oh, no, thank you. I'd like to look at the coat a little longer."
The coat on the mannequin was currently on display and couldn't be sold directly, they said. Instead, the manager personally guided me to the coat section.
Coats hung in a row along one wall. One of them caught my eye.
A camel cashmere coat. Similar to the mannequin's, but a bit longer — falling below the knee. The way it covered my legs was what appealed to me most.
"This one."
"Ah, you have an excellent eye. This is actually the last piece we have in the store right now."
That was the moment it happened.
"Excuse me!"
A high, sharp voice rang through the store.
A woman stood at the entrance.
She was about a head shorter than me, with light ash-brown hair cascading in waves to her waist. Heavy makeup, and from her necklace to her bag to her shoes, logos glittered everywhere. She was carrying shopping bags in both hands, stuffed full — with that small frame, from a distance she'd have looked like a pair of shopping bags taking a walk.
She came toward me with a crisp clack-clack of heels, then pointed her chin at the coat in my hands.
"I saw that one first, you know?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I came by last week and spotted it. I'm here to buy it today."
The associates' faces turned uneasy. The manager spoke up carefully. "Ma'am, this item wasn't actually reserved."
"Well, I'm a VIP here."
She held up one of her shopping bags — stamped with this very department store's logo.
"Do you have any idea how much I've spent here this month alone? Go check."
I looked at her, the coat still in my hands.
Early twenties, maybe. Beneath all that carefully armored makeup, a young face peeked through. Her fingertips, wrapped around the shopping bags, were trembling faintly. Her voice was loud, but her eyes wavered with anxiety.
Thirteen years in sales teaches you to see it. Among all the people who bark and bluster, very few are actually confident. Most just raise their voices first, terrified of being looked down on.
Besides, arguments were a pain. I'd spent thirteen years wrangling with every kind of person imaginable at client firms. In moments like this, there was only one correct answer for a salesperson.
I held the coat out to her.
"Then take it."
"...Excuse me?"
"You saw it first, after all. I'll step aside for you."
Her face flushed red in an instant.
"What do you mean, step aside?"
"I can pick something else."
"You're... saying you're giving it up to me?"
"Yes." I nodded as if it were nothing. "It was something you wanted first."
She fell silent for a moment, eyes darting between me and the coat.
"...Then I'll take it."
She accepted the coat.
She handed her card to the manager. The hand clutching it was still trembling.
The manager passed her payment off to an associate and approached me. She'd lowered her voice, but the store was so quiet that every word carried.
"Ma'am, we actually have a brand-new coat that hasn't even gone on display yet. I thought we might show it to you first."
"Oh, really?"
The coat brought out from the storeroom was ivory. Even at a glance it looked softer than the last one. Trying it on, the shoulders felt weightless, and the hem fell exactly to my calves.
"I'll take this one."
This time I didn't look at the price tag. I had a feeling my face would stiffen up again if I did.
Behind me, I felt an icy chill. I turned around to find the woman frozen mid-payment, glaring at me — or more precisely, at the ivory coat draped over my shoulders.
"You said it hasn't even been displayed yet?"
Her voice trembled slightly.
"You never... showed me anything like that."
The manager gave an awkward smile. "Well, you didn't specifically ask about that item, so..."
"And yet you're showing it to her first?"
Bewildered, I glanced back and forth between her and the manager.
Then our eyes met.
Out of apology, and out of habit, I smiled.
"I'm sorry. If you saw this one first, I'll step aside too."
Her mouth fell open.
"...Again?"
"Sorry?"
"Nothing."
She whipped her head away. Her face was red all the way to her ears.
Gathering her shopping bags, she headed for the exit — then abruptly stopped in her tracks.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
She hesitated a moment.
"What's... your name?"
"Yoon Seo-rin."
"Yoon Seo-rin..."
She murmured my name once.
"I'm Han Ga-eun."
"I see."
"...Remember it."
With those parting words, she swept out of the store.
Clack-clack-clack.
The sound of her heels faded quickly. Her silhouette, arms laden with shopping bags, vanished through the door.
A hush settled over the store. The associates were sneaking glances at me.
"Um... did I do something wrong?"
"Not at all, ma'am. Not in the least."
The manager shook her head, smiling — and in that smile there was, oddly enough, a trace of genuine admiration.
"That kind of composure isn't something just anyone can pull off."
It wasn't composure, though.
I just found fighting tiresome. That was all. The time-worn survival instincts of a sales rep, soaked into my bones over thirteen years.
I left the store with my new coat draped over my shoulders. Everything I'd bought was being delivered to the penthouse, so my hands were completely free. I never did look at the number on the receipt.
At the escalator, the woman from earlier suddenly crossed my mind.
Han Ga-eun.
The way her fingertips had trembled around those shopping bags stuck with me, strangely enough.
"At that age, I was at the convenience store checking expiration dates on triangle kimbap."
Her bluster wasn't so much off-putting as it was a little endearing.
She seemed like someone living in a completely different world from mine.
"Next time I see her, I should buy her a meal, at least."
I murmured it without thinking.
What those words would come to mean later on — I had no way of knowing at the time.
The escalator carried me slowly up to the second floor.
I still had plenty left to buy. A few more pairs of pants, for one. Shoes, too.
What I didn't know was this:
That Han Ga-eun, headed for the department store parking lot right now, was still thinking about the woman she'd just met even after sliding into her car.
"Yoon Seo-rin..."
Han Ga-eun muttered the name to herself.
At first, she'd simply been annoyed.
First the woman had casually handed over a coat Ga-eun had claimed for herself, and then she'd offered to give up an unreleased new arrival as well.
She couldn't figure out what this person was playing at, no matter how she turned it over.
"She's seriously weird."
Even as she grumbled, Han Ga-eun pulled out her phone.
The name she'd heard just minutes before kept lingering in her head.
Yoon Seo-rin.
She turned the name over once more, then pouted her lips for no particular reason.
"Next time I see her..."
Even she didn't know what she'd been about to say.
She only knew that next time, she absolutely refused to be the one giving ground.
And that this would bring the two of them together a second time — neither Han Ga-eun nor Yoon Seo-rin knew it yet.