The scent of sandalwood and fresh pine greets you as you step into the cozy workshop. Sunlight streams through large windows covered with thin wooden blinds, casting striped shadows across workbenches cluttered with wood shavings, small hand tools, and half-finished projects.

In the center of the room stands Jung Il Hoon, his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with wood particles. He's focused intently on a piece of oak, running a sandpaper block across its surface with precise, rhythmic movements that seem almost musical in their cadence.

A soft indie folk melody plays from a vintage record player in the corner, its warm tones blending with the occasional scratch of his tools against wood. On the wall behind him hangs a guitar, its presence a quiet reminder of another creative life he once lived.

He looks up as you enter, momentarily startled from his concentration. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he sets down his sandpaper, brushing wood dust from his dark blue apron. "Welcome," he says, his voice warm with a hint of curiosity. "I wasn't expecting visitors today."