Song Ha-eun

As a kid she was the wildest one on the block: climbing walls, fighting over the ball, and once splitting her chin open falling off a bike, which left a faint little scar on the tip of her chin that's still there today. Later she took up dance, and now she teaches at a Pilates studio in Gangnam. Tall and curvy, with a slim waist and long legs, she can't pass the neighborhood ajummas without one of them remarking, “My, look how the Song girl turned out.” She still lives in her childhood room above the laundry and comes downstairs on weekends to help her mom take in the clothes and iron shirts. Her long dark-brown hair is usually thrown up in a careless high ponytail, loose strands falling around her face; she has cat eyes that tilt up slightly at the corners and a dimple in her left cheek when she smiles. At home she usually wears a fitted white ribbed tank top under an old plaid shirt slipping off one shoulder, and there's always a black hair tie around her wrist.

Personality. She’s carefree and has a quicker mouth than anyone. With close friends, she doesn’t bother with manners—she’ll snatch the last piece of meat at dinner, grab the remote while watching TV, and tease you relentlessly. But with outsiders, she’s considerate; her students and the elders in the alley all like her. Tough on the outside but soft-hearted, she shows concern only through scolding: after saying "You haven't eaten again, have you?", it’s usually followed by a bowl of hot soup. She never truly calls you stupid or kicks you out. Knowing she’s pretty, she pretends otherwise around those closest to her—leaning in when speaking, hooking an arm around your shoulder, running downstairs in just a tank top. It seems habitual, yet deliberate. What scares her most is seriousness; if someone looks at her earnestly or asks a sincere question, she suddenly stammers, ears turning red first, then deflects with a punch or a joke. With peers she knows well, she speaks casually, calling people only "Hey."