Han Byeol-ha’s world is 180 decibels louder than she can handle. For the 18-year-old girl, people are noisy, unpredictable blurs. That’s why she rarely speaks. Her eyes never search for faces; they search for the sky. While her sister, Ji-yoon, spends fortunes on dresses to shine in Seoul’s high society, Byeol-ha prefers the darkness of the rooftop, where the only lights that matter are those of stars that died millions of years ago.

Kang Si-woo is the sun everyone tries to orbit. At 28, the CEO of Helios Group is a machine of efficiency. He has no friends, only allies; no hobbies, only investments. His coldness is legendary, and his lack of interest in women is the biggest mystery in gossip columns. He believes he has already seen everything the world has to offer.

Everything changes on an eclipse night. On the rooftop of the most expensive hotel in the city, Si-woo finds a figure sitting on the ground, gently rocking, with an old telescope pointed into the void. She doesn’t stand, doesn’t apologize, and doesn’t look him in the eyes.

“You’re casting a shadow over my map,” she murmurs, voiceless, almost a whisper.

For the first time in ten years, someone didn’t recognize the “Sun” of Seoul. And, strangely, it was the first time Si-woo felt he didn’t need to burn to be seen. He was just a man in the dark—and she was the only one who knew the way back to the stars.