Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The winter sun had only just started its slow climb over the mandarin orchard when the kitchen lights flickered on, flooding the space with gentle gold. The counters were already dusted with flour. The oven, fired up before dawn, radiated a soft heat that pushed back the chill lingering outside. Sunday mornings were always slow, but this one felt especially heavy with meaning.

Joon-ho tied his apron with a swift motion, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Around him, the kitchen crew—some yawning, some humming, all smiling—gathered with bowls and trays, ready for the last broadcast. The clatter of measuring spoons and the low thump of dough on the table had become a kind of morning ritual, a language they shared without thinking.

"All right," Joon-ho called out, voice carrying a calm certainty that steadied the nerves of those around him. "Last show. Let's make it count. Who's with me for one more miracle?"

A production assistant grinned, brushing flour off her sleeve. "You mean one more mess, right?"

Laughter rippled through the makeshift kitchen. Joon-ho pressed a palm to his heart in mock offense. "No faith! If we can handle last week's live disaster, pumpkin soup should be a breeze."

The sound tech, holding a clipboard dusted with flour, gave him a thumbs up. "Pumpkin soup. I'll start prepping the pumpkins."

Another crew member, a camera op moonlighting as a kitchen hand, sidled up and handed him a steaming mug. "Coffee for the Coffee Prince?"

Joon-ho rolled his eyes but took the mug anyway. "That nickname better not follow me back to Seoul."

"Too late," someone called from behind the lighting rig, and the whole group burst into laughter again.

Out in the main café, Mirae moved between tables, setting out new linens and checking the flower jars—today, it was cut mandarin branches, the fruit still bright against the winter green. She worked in tandem with Seul-gi, who spun a vase in her hands, humming a familiar pop song under her breath.

"Don't forget the napkins, Mirae," Seul-gi teased. "The PD will cry if the set doesn't look perfect for his precious close-ups."

Mirae stuck out her tongue, but her hands moved with practiced efficiency. She paused, breathing in the mingled scents of citrus, coffee, and fresh bread wafting from the kitchen. "It feels weird, doesn't it? Like… this place is really ours now."

Seul-gi grinned. "Let's not get sentimental. But yeah, it feels different. Special."

Ji-hwan wandered in, balancing a stack of plates. "I caught PD Kang dusting the camera himself. That's how you know it's the last show."

All three of them broke into laughter. For a moment, they stood in a shaft of sunlight, the café silent except for their voices—a fleeting slice of ordinary life before the spotlight swept in again.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, PD Kang was a blur of movement—checking camera feeds, muttering into his headset, darting between the crew as if determined to memorize every detail.

He caught the cast's eyes and paused, offering a rare, unguarded smile. "We've been through hell to get here," he admitted, voice gruff. "Let's end it on our terms. No more scandals. No more drama. Just a good show, the way we imagined."

"Director getting sappy," Seul-gi stage-whispered, but she winked at him. Even Mirae, usually shy in the presence of the crew, offered a small, reassuring smile.

PD Kang took a breath, looking at each of them in turn. "This is the end of something special. Let's make it smooth."

He vanished back into the technical scrum, but the mood he left behind was lighter, threaded with the knowledge that something had changed.

As the hour edged closer to opening, a low rumble from outside caught everyone's attention. Security staff, stationed near the entrance, suddenly straightened, hands on their earpieces.

From inside, Mirae and Seul-gi exchanged anxious glances. "Not again," Mirae whispered. "Not more protesters—"

But then the wind shifted, carrying not shouts, but cheers and laughter.

Outside, a crowd had gathered, pressing to the makeshift barriers. Instead of angry signs, they held colorful banners:We Love Jeju Café Days!Coffee Prince Fighting!Mirae Queen!Seul-gi's Wit Club!Some waved scarves, others phones, the screens already glowing with fan-captured moments.

Seul-gi blinked. "Are those… fans?"

Ji-hwan peered through the window, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we're getting a real send-off."

PD Kang rushed over, wariness giving way to surprise. "They're not protesters? Thank god. Let them be—just tell security to keep the path clear."

Relief swept through the cast and crew. For the first time in weeks, the tension evaporated, replaced by a giddy excitement.

In the kitchen, Joon-ho emerged with trays stacked high with fresh bread—steam rising, crusts glistening. As he approached the café doors, he paused, hearing the strange swell of noise outside.He opened the door, sunlight dazzling him, and was met by a chorus of cheers.

"Coffee Prince! Coffee Prince!"Fans clapped, some calling his name, others snapping photos.

He froze, caught off-guard. "What…?"

Mirae slipped to his side, eyes bright with mischief and pride. "Those are your fans, oppa," she whispered, nudging his arm. "Get used to it. You trended on every social platform last night."

Seul-gi sidled up, waving to the crowd. "Welcome to the big leagues, prince."

Joon-ho, cheeks tinged pink, gave a sheepish wave to the fans. They erupted even louder, their banners held high, chanting his name with pure joy.

Inside, the cast and crew watched from the windows, grinning at the spectacle. Someone nudged Mirae, whispering, "Is he going to faint?"

She shook her head, laughter sparkling in her eyes. "He'll handle it. He always does."

The camera crew, seeing the opportunity, caught every moment—the fans waving, Joon-ho bowing, the cast laughing together. The kitchen filled with warmth and anticipation, every heart a little lighter.

PD Kang, arms folded, shook his head but smiled. "Guess we really made something special, didn't we?"

As Joon-ho set down the bread in the kitchen, the aroma drifted outside, drawing even more fans to the barricade. Someone started chanting again:"Pumpkin soup! Pumpkin soup!"

He turned to the crew, a smile tugging at his lips. "All right, all right. Let's get the soup going. Wouldn't want to disappoint my new fan club."

Someone called, "You mean our new fan club!"

Mirae caught his eye across the counter, offering a small, private smile—one that spoke of pride, affection, and the shared secret that, after all the chaos, they'd come out the other side together.

And so, as the last show dawned, the Jeju café filled with the best of things: sunlight, laughter, the promise of good food, and the strange, sweet echo of fans waiting outside for one more story.

The air outside had that clear, biting brightness only Jeju winters could deliver—wind curling around the café's walls, tugging at banners and making the orange orchard shimmer in the early sun. A sea of fans pressed up to the temporary barrier, faces flushed with cold and excitement, their laughter bubbling over the hum of camera gear being wheeled into position.

Inside, Mirae peeked out the frosted window, cheeks pink. "They're really here for you, oppa," she whispered, then nudged Joon-ho's arm with a sly smile. "You should go greet them!"

He hesitated, brushing flour from his apron, modestly wary of the spotlight. "They're your fans, not mine," he protested.

Seul-gi overheard and snorted. "Not today, Coffee Prince. Your fan club outnumbers ours."

Mirae giggled, giving him a gentle push. "Go. It'll mean something to them."

With a resigned grin, Joon-ho wiped his hands on a towel and stepped out, squinting against the sunlight.

Instantly, a roar went up—cheers, clapping, camera shutters clicking in a fever. Signs bobbed above the crowd:Coffee Prince Fighting!Joon-ho Oppa, Make Us Bread!Mirae Queen, Forever!A few even flashed custom art of the cast, drawn on bright poster board.

Joon-ho held up his hands, laughing as fans called his name, some playfully waving loaves of bread like tiny trophies. He took a breath, feeling strangely buoyed by their energy.

"Are you all here for the café, or…?" he began.

The front row waved him off, signs held high. "We're here for you! And Mirae! And everyone!" someone shouted.

A few fans wore headbands with cartoon bread buns and "COFFEE PRINCE" embroidered across them.

Behind him, Seul-gi and Ji-hwan joined, each met with their own mini-wave of shouts.

Ji-hwan, ever calm, explained, "We wish we could let everyone in, but all the café seats are booked by RSVP. Still, you're welcome to watch the show—and we'll try to say hi when we can."

One of the more organized fans—clearly a veteran—called out, "We understand! We just wanted to support everyone and see the last show. We'll be good, promise!"

As the wind whipped down from the mountains, Joon-ho noticed several fans—especially the younger ones—hugging themselves for warmth, stamping their feet. He frowned.

He ducked back inside, catching the PD near the sound cart. "Can we get some outdoor heaters set up?" he asked. "They'll freeze out there before lunch."

PD Kang blinked, caught off guard by the request, then nodded briskly. "Of course. Crew, let's get the patio heaters moved to the side entrance. And some tables, too."

A couple of male fans, eager to help, stepped forward, assisting staff with moving folding tables and electric heaters to the area just outside the kitchen door. Laughter broke out as a heater briefly sputtered, a fan pretending to warm his hands and making everyone laugh.

Mirae, Seul-gi, and Ji-hwan took this as a cue to slip outside. "Let's give them something to talk about," Seul-gi announced, turning her megawatt grin on the crowd. "Any burning questions while we wait for the bread?"

Joon-ho returned, arms full—two trays of bread still steaming from the oven, crusts golden and split. Crew members followed with baskets of mandarin jam and soft butter, then a soup pot and rows of compostable cups.

He set the trays down, voice gentle but clear. "Everyone, please—eat while it's warm. We made extra today, just for you."

A chorus of cheers. "Coffee Prince, you're the best!" a girl in the front row called, her friends elbowing her with grins.

As he portioned out bread, Mirae's eyes lit up with a sudden idea. She turned to the fans. "Would a few of you like to help serve? We'll show you how."

Several female fans—shy at first, but emboldened by the invitation—stepped forward. Under Joon-ho's direction, they donned plastic gloves and helped cut bread, fill cups with soup, and arrange everything on the tables. It became a little self-serve buffet, a line forming with giggles and polite bows.

Ji-hwan handed out napkins, earning a few shy "thank yous" from high schoolers. Seul-gi found herself bombarded with questions about her famous TV one-liners and backstage pranks. She leaned into it, regaling the crowd with stories about Ji-hwan's secret love for cheesy ballads and Mirae's late-night snack raids.

Mirae herself answered questions about her favorite part of the show ("the mornings, when the orchard is quiet and we can actually talk"), what bread she liked most ("honestly, anything Joon-ho makes"), and how she dealt with nerves. "With friends like these," she said, gesturing at her castmates, "it's easy to be brave."

Fans took selfies, careful to keep the heaters in frame—"proof that Coffee Prince takes care of us!" one posted online, instantly trending among the hashtag crowd.

After serving, Joon-ho stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow, surveying the crowd. The fans were eating, faces lit by more than just the heaters; a sense of community buzzed in the chilly air.

He found Mirae watching him, her eyes bright with pride.

He raised his voice so all could hear: "Thank you, all of you, for supporting us—especially after… everything. It's your energy that made this show worth making. Please keep cheering for Mirae and the team even after today."

A wave of applause rolled across the crowd, and someone called out, "We'll follow you wherever you go, Coffee Prince!"Another: "Don't forget your fan club!"

He laughed, bowing with both hands together. "I promise not to."

Inside, the crew peeked out, snapping candid shots for the official SNS accounts. PD Kang watched the scene unfold, tension draining from his face. "Maybe this is what TV should be," he murmured. "Real people, real food, real fans."

Seul-gi, hearing him, grinned. "Don't get too soft, PD-nim, or they'll replace you with a robot."

Ji-hwan joined in. "I think even a robot would cry today."

Everyone laughed—fans, crew, cast, all woven together by the warmth of bread and soup and winter sun.

As the last of the bread disappeared and the soup pots were scraped clean, Mirae looked around at the circle of smiling faces. For a moment, she could almost believe the world outside their orchard had shrunk to this: laughter, kindness, and the simple miracle of people gathering, even in the cold.

Joon-ho caught her gaze, his own eyes soft with contentment. In that small pocket of shared warmth, the worries and scandals of weeks past seemed impossibly distant.

And as the cameras quietly prepared for the show's last day, it was clear to everyone—no matter what happened next, they'd already created something unforgettable.

Sunlight poured in through the wide café windows, catching the gold of the orchard trees and the smiles of everyone gathered inside. For once, the world beyond the camera lens felt less like an intrusion, and more like a celebration. The café was alive, brimming with voices—fans chattering outside, guests laughing at their tables, cast and crew savoring each moment as if it could stretch time itself.

As the red light blinked on, Mirae stepped into the center of the café, Seul-gi at her side. The energy was palpable—a fizz of nerves, nostalgia, and sheer happiness.

Mirae raised her mic, her voice gentle but clear. "Good morning, everyone! Welcome to the final broadcast of Jeju Café Days. We want to thank not just our wonderful guests and the crew, but also—" She gestured to the window, where signs and banners waved, "—the fans who've come to cheer us on. Today isn't about protests or scandals. It's about love and community."

Seul-gi added with her trademark wit, "And a little about bread. Seriously, if you want to bribe the cast, bring carbs."

The live chat scrolled by in a blur:"Seul-gi unnie, you're the best!""So jealous of the fans outside. They're eating real Coffee Prince bread!""Mirae fighting!""I'd sell my soul for that soup rn."

PD Kang, watching from the control tent, grinned for the first time all week. "Keep those fan shots coming," he told the camera crew. "Show everyone what this is really about."

Outside, the atmosphere was a festival. The fans milled about, bundled in coats, sharing slices of bread, sipping from steaming cups. Someone started a chant, "Coffee Prince! Coffee Prince!" and the rest joined in, voices carrying over the orchard.

A segment producer slipped outside with a camera, catching a group of high schoolers posing with their bread. One girl beamed, holding up her cup. "It's so good! Can you tell Joon-ho oppa thank you?" She blushed, giggling with her friends.

Another fan posted a selfie:"Came for Mirae, stayed for the pumpkin soup. This place is magic!"

Hashtags exploded across SNS: #JejuCafeFinale #CoffeePrinceLive #BreadWithLove

Inside, the broadcast moved seamlessly between shots of the kitchen—where Ji-hwan helped Joon-ho portion soup—and the café floor, where RSVP guests were being treated like old friends.

Mirae floated from table to table, her nerves from the previous day melted away by the warmth in the room. She greeted a couple on their anniversary, signed a menu for a little girl, even joined in singing "Happy Birthday" to a middle-aged guest celebrating with his family.

Seul-gi, meanwhile, worked the counter, bantering with the group of girls from the previous shoot. "Careful," she teased, handing out coffee, "you'll ruin your image as mysterious influencers if you keep coming back for more carbs."

The girls just laughed, one of them saying, "It's worth it for the memories!"

The live chat boomed:

"This is the best vibe for a last episode.""Why do I feel like crying?!""Mirae's smile is healing my soul."

Even Ji-hwan, usually so reserved, joined in the fun, expertly swirling lattes and sneaking in a few sly jokes for the guests. At one point, he even let a child "help" press the espresso machine button, delighting both the parents and the online audience.

In the kitchen, Joon-ho worked quietly but with an unmistakable energy—slicing, ladling, plating with care. Every now and then, someone would poke their head in: "Oppa! Can we get more soup for the fans?" or "Chef! Table five wants to meet the Coffee Prince in person!"

He'd just smile, sending out more food, his presence steady at the center of it all.

Mirae slipped in, catching him in a rare quiet moment. She rested her hand on his shoulder. "You look happy," she said softly.

He glanced at her, flour dusted on his cheek. "I am. This… feels right. Even if it's only for today."

She smiled, the weight of weeks of worry lifting, if only for a moment.

The SNS crossfire was relentless—in the best possible way. Photos and videos poured in: fans toasting with soup cups, cast and crew selfies, even the security team posing with a banner that read: "Jeju Café Days—No. 1 in our hearts!"

Memes trended: one of Joon-ho pouring soup, another of Seul-gi making her "scandal face," Mirae's bright smile captured a hundred times.

PD Kang checked the metrics on his tablet and shook his head in disbelief. "We're breaking every engagement record we have," he murmured. "Who knew a bread line could beat a scandal?"

Then—just as the day seemed impossibly perfect—a sudden screech shattered the air outside.

A black sedan came to a sharp stop near the café entrance. Fans turned, their cheers faltering. The security team, trained by now for any contingency, tensed, subtly moving to block the front door.

The camera crew, always hungry for drama, swung their lenses toward the commotion, catching the uncertainty on everyone's faces.

Inside, the cast paused. Mirae's heart skipped. Seul-gi shot Ji-hwan a questioning look. Joon-ho, in the kitchen, wiped his hands and looked up, senses sharpening.

Someone whispered, "Is it a celebrity? A network exec? Agency trouble?"

PD Kang's voice came through the earpiece: "Stay focused. Let's see who it is before we panic."

But the mood had shifted—the show, the day, suddenly perched on the edge of something new.

The final shot froze on the sleek, mysterious car, sunlight glinting off its windows, the world watching and waiting.