In the biting cold of early January 2026, Seoul felt like a city of sharp edges and neon lights, but you were looking for something softer. You had moved to the city to pursue a career in architectural illustration, yet you found yourself spending most of your afternoons in a cramped studio apartment, sketching "dream spaces" you feared you would never actually enter.
One afternoon, seeking shelter from a sudden sleet storm, you stumbled down a quiet alleyway in Gangnam and noticed a warm, amber glow spilling from a window with no name. The sign on the door simply read: "Testing in Progress. Please be patient."
When you pushed the door open, the scent of cinnamon and toasted oats hit you like a physical embrace. Standing behind the counter was Yang Jeongin, his signature sharp eyes hidden behind round-rimmed glasses and his hair dusted with a fine layer of flour. In 2026, Stray Kids had entered a "Chapter Two" refresh period, and while the world speculated on their next move, Jeongin had quietly returned to his roots, opening this tiny pop-up to perfect his grandmother’s traditional bread recipes.
"It’s not supposed to be open yet," he said, his voice carrying that familiar, melodic rasp. He looked at your soaked coat and the sketchbook clutched to your chest, then softened. "But the heater is on, and the sourdough is lonely. Stay a while?"
He handed you a mug of steaming yuzu tea, and for the next hour, you sat in silence—him kneading dough with a focused, rhythmic intensity and you sketching the interior of the shop. You realized he was struggling; he kept glancing at a tray of perfectly baked but "plain" looking buns, sighing at their lack of character.
"They look like they’re waiting for a story," you said quietly, turning your sketchbook around. You had spent the hour doodling little foxy ears on the buns and reimagining the menu as a hand-drawn map of "The Bread Kingdom."
Jeongin’s face lit up with a grin that made his eyes disappear into crescents—the "I.N" the world loved, but warmer, more real. "I can bake the heart," he whispered, looking at your drawings, "but I think you just found the soul."
Over the next few months, the bakery became your shared sanctuary. You became his "Creative Director of Crust," spent late nights designing stickers of "bread-foxes" and hand-painting the shop’s logo on the window. While the rest of the world saw him as the polished youngest member of a global powerhouse, you saw the Jeongin who hummed old trot songs to his yeast starters and the boy who got genuinely excited when a loaf had the perfect "crunch."
He inspired you to stop drawing empty buildings and start drawing lives. In turn, you gave him the courage to be more than just "the maknae." You watched him find his voice not through a microphone, but through the craftsmanship of his hands.
On the grand opening day in the spring of 2026, the shop was packed. The other seven members of Stray Kids crowded into the tiny space, their laughter filling the air as they teased Jeongin about his flour-stained apron. Amidst the chaos, Jeongin pulled you into the kitchen. He handed you a special, star-shaped bun he had spent all morning perfecting.
"2026 was supposed to be my year of rest," he said, his voice steady and full of an unwritten promise. "But because of you, it became the year I started building something that would last. I don't want to just bake bread; I want to create a place where people feel like they belong. And I don't want to do it without my illustrator."
He didn't need a stage to be inspiring. As you stood in that flour-dusted kitchen, you realized that the "325th Street Bakery" wasn't just a shop—it was the first chapter of a life you were both finally brave enough to draw for yourselves.
HOPE YOU LIKE ITT (my fingers hurt
✌)
One afternoon, seeking shelter from a sudden sleet storm, you stumbled down a quiet alleyway in Gangnam and noticed a warm, amber glow spilling from a window with no name. The sign on the door simply read: "Testing in Progress. Please be patient."
When you pushed the door open, the scent of cinnamon and toasted oats hit you like a physical embrace. Standing behind the counter was Yang Jeongin, his signature sharp eyes hidden behind round-rimmed glasses and his hair dusted with a fine layer of flour. In 2026, Stray Kids had entered a "Chapter Two" refresh period, and while the world speculated on their next move, Jeongin had quietly returned to his roots, opening this tiny pop-up to perfect his grandmother’s traditional bread recipes.
"It’s not supposed to be open yet," he said, his voice carrying that familiar, melodic rasp. He looked at your soaked coat and the sketchbook clutched to your chest, then softened. "But the heater is on, and the sourdough is lonely. Stay a while?"
He handed you a mug of steaming yuzu tea, and for the next hour, you sat in silence—him kneading dough with a focused, rhythmic intensity and you sketching the interior of the shop. You realized he was struggling; he kept glancing at a tray of perfectly baked but "plain" looking buns, sighing at their lack of character.
"They look like they’re waiting for a story," you said quietly, turning your sketchbook around. You had spent the hour doodling little foxy ears on the buns and reimagining the menu as a hand-drawn map of "The Bread Kingdom."
Jeongin’s face lit up with a grin that made his eyes disappear into crescents—the "I.N" the world loved, but warmer, more real. "I can bake the heart," he whispered, looking at your drawings, "but I think you just found the soul."
Over the next few months, the bakery became your shared sanctuary. You became his "Creative Director of Crust," spent late nights designing stickers of "bread-foxes" and hand-painting the shop’s logo on the window. While the rest of the world saw him as the polished youngest member of a global powerhouse, you saw the Jeongin who hummed old trot songs to his yeast starters and the boy who got genuinely excited when a loaf had the perfect "crunch."
He inspired you to stop drawing empty buildings and start drawing lives. In turn, you gave him the courage to be more than just "the maknae." You watched him find his voice not through a microphone, but through the craftsmanship of his hands.
On the grand opening day in the spring of 2026, the shop was packed. The other seven members of Stray Kids crowded into the tiny space, their laughter filling the air as they teased Jeongin about his flour-stained apron. Amidst the chaos, Jeongin pulled you into the kitchen. He handed you a special, star-shaped bun he had spent all morning perfecting.
"2026 was supposed to be my year of rest," he said, his voice steady and full of an unwritten promise. "But because of you, it became the year I started building something that would last. I don't want to just bake bread; I want to create a place where people feel like they belong. And I don't want to do it without my illustrator."
He didn't need a stage to be inspiring. As you stood in that flour-dusted kitchen, you realized that the "325th Street Bakery" wasn't just a shop—it was the first chapter of a life you were both finally brave enough to draw for yourselves.
HOPE YOU LIKE ITT (my fingers hurt
✌)
