Description Into soil, into trees, into a bright, deep orange-tinted imagination. Against a pale emerald background, only the opening sentence sits neatly in place. The illustration, which takes a breath of ease at the very start, builds a vivid scene of rest through a rich blend of orange, blue, white, and many other colors. The wooden bed frame the character tosses and turns on naturally transforms into an earthen floor in the next scene, guiding us ever deeper into a world of nature that seems to touch the edges of childhood itself. As illustrator Seo Su-yeon describes it, she imagined "the peaceful sleep of someone who has spent a long time wandering through places they've never been," and true to that vision, the illustrations that follow are carefully composed yet dreamlike and beautiful. At times the art moves in harmony with the text, and at other times it deliberately diverges from it—bringing the world imagined by the words to even more vivid life. This is illustrator Seo Su-yeon's first picture book. Known for the unique and striking personal artwork she posts to social media each night after work under the name 'After-Work Drawings,' she brings that same distinctive style here, this time shaped into a flowing narrative. After refining the story through many rounds of revision, she completed the images using a combination of wet and dry media—oil paint, oil pastel, colored pencil, and pencil—achieving a look that shifts between heavy and light, soft and textured. It's truly difficult to live by the clock, always hoping that when you wake up, it will still be midday. Sometimes there's a thrill in waiting for something, but in everyday life, we're constantly checking the clock, our phones, the time display in the corner of a screen, trying to gauge how urgent our schedule is. And what we usually mutter to ourselves is about the reward waiting at the end of it all: the weekend. But has the weekend ever once gone by slowly? This picture book doesn't wish for a month, or even a year, but for a hundred years to pass. How wonderful it would be to say, after resting for a hundred years, that you feel absolutely great. Just imagining it feels vast and freeing. And filling this world of "just imagining," step by step, are the footsteps of a red-haired boy. His translucent body wanders on peacefully for a long, long time, and when he returns from his hundred years of rest, the warmth of midday is still there waiting. A wonderful imagination is always the answer.