°£Æí°áÁ¦, ½Å¿ëÄ«µå û±¸ÇÒÀÎ
ÀÎÅÍÆÄÅ© ·Ôµ¥Ä«µå 5% (28,050¿ø)
(ÃÖ´ëÇÒÀÎ 10¸¸¿ø / Àü¿ù½ÇÀû 40¸¸¿ø)
ºÏÇǴϾð ·Ôµ¥Ä«µå 30% (20,670¿ø)
(ÃÖ´ëÇÒÀÎ 3¸¸¿ø / 3¸¸¿ø ÀÌ»ó °áÁ¦)
NH¼îÇÎ&ÀÎÅÍÆÄÅ©Ä«µå 20% (23,620¿ø)
(ÃÖ´ëÇÒÀÎ 4¸¸¿ø / 2¸¸¿ø ÀÌ»ó °áÁ¦)
Close

Love Like the Falling Petals [¾çÀå]

¼Òµæ°øÁ¦

2013³â 9¿ù 9ÀÏ ÀÌÈÄ ´©Àû¼öÄ¡ÀÔ´Ï´Ù.

°øÀ¯Çϱâ
  • ÃâÆÇ»ç : Clover Press, LLC
  • ¹ßÇà : 2023³â 12¿ù 05ÀÏ
  • Âʼö : 320
  • ISBN : 9781951038908
Á¤°¡

32,800¿ø

  • 29,520¿ø (10%ÇÒÀÎ)

    890P (3%Àû¸³)

ÇÒÀÎÇýÅÃ
Àû¸³ÇýÅÃ
  • S-Point Àû¸³Àº ¸¶ÀÌÆäÀÌÁö¿¡¼­ Á÷Á¢ ±¸¸ÅÈ®Á¤ÇϽŠ°æ¿ì¸¸ Àû¸³ µË´Ï´Ù.
Ãß°¡ÇýÅÃ
¹è¼ÛÁ¤º¸
  • 5/20(¿ù) À̳» ¹ß¼Û ¿¹Á¤  (¼­¿ï½Ã °­³²±¸ »ï¼º·Î 512)
  • ¹«·á¹è¼Û
ÁÖ¹®¼ö·®
°¨¼Ò Áõ°¡

º»¹®Áß¿¡¼­

Asakura Haruto sat in the stylist's chair, her scissors snipping briskly, carefully, rhythmically through his hair.

As the stylist, standing behind him, pinched his hair with confidence and experience, his heart pounded in his chest.

His entire body grew warm as the summer sun, and his hands grew damp with sweat. Beneath the cape, Haruto wiped his hands on his jeans and cast a furtive glance at the stylist in the mirror.

She had a cute, roundish face, like a cat's. Her hair was in loose curls, with a bit of tint in it, and she wore a top with a rough border. When she focused, she had a habit of pouting, just a little.

Ariake Misaki. That was the name of the person Haruto would fall in love with.

Dimly he could hear the background music: The Beatles' Penny Lane. It made his face droop like a rice cake that had been on the grill too long.

Miss Ariake was just too cute for words. What combination of genetic inputs had resulted in such cuteness? He felt full of gratitude to her parents.

Suddenly, Misaki glanced at him in the mirror. Startled, he leapt from the chair, like a rocket.



Arrgh! She saw him staring at her!

But all she said was, "What's up?" tilting her head. It seems she hadn't noticed the heat in Haruto's gaze.

"Nothing... hahaha..." Haruto laughed, a little too hard.

Chill! he told himself. Chill! He had come to the salon today with a great purpose in mind. This was not a game. It was the match of a lifetime.

Turning his attention outside the window, he could see there was a narrow lane for cars, and on the other side he could see a cherry tree in bloom. An odd-shaped tree, leaning a bit to the right. The spring sunshine was glorious, and the blossoms, in full bloom, were beautiful. Coaxed by the gentle spring breeze, the petals wafted up high into the sky. The scene outside the window was picture-perfect. Ordinarily, this sight would put him at ease, but all Haruto felt today was pressure.

This weekend would be the peak for the cherry blossoms. When that was past, they would fall. There was no time to lose. This was the day! He had to ask Miss Ariake on a date, to go cherry-blossom viewing.

The background music had moved on to She Loves You, also by the Beatles. It was as if the song were cheering him on. Thank you, John, Paul, and the other two.

He made up his mind. He started a conversation about nothing at all, and then changed the subject to cherry blossoms.

"What kind of sweets do you like?"

"Hmm. Maybe pudding."

"For me it's sakura mochi! Cherry? Yeah, now is the season. I think the peak will be this week. Next week it's supposed to rain. Ah! Would you like to go with me, to see the cherry blossoms?"

This, this was the only way. A pick-up line both natural and stylish. Here, here we go! Wait! Hold on a minute! The segue from sakura mochi to cherry blossoms may have been too abrupt. Maybe it would be better to start with, "It's cherry blossom season."

Before opening his mouth, he tried to gather courage from every part of his body, but he just froze up. His cut hair, falling to the floor, was like the sand in an hourglass. His butt itched. He shut his eyes tight, and opened his mouth:

"Che... cher... cherrie... cherries..."

Ah, screw it! He couldn't even say "cherries"! His voice came out sounding just like the scissors. What a loser! No time for this! Just ask her! Pull yourself together, man!

"Have you been busy lately?"

Misaki asked him, before he could say more.

"Yeah. Actually, no." The sudden question left him speechless.

"But it's so great that you're a professional photographer! Independent! Winning prizes! So cool! And you're only 24, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"How about that! Just one year's difference. How about that. I have to try harder. What kind of pictures have you been shooting lately? Oh, it's spring. I guess that means cherry blossoms, right?"

Cherry blossoms! This is his chance! Screwing up all his courage, Haruto turned around to look at her.

"It's cherry blossom season. Would you like to ..."

And before he knew it, he heard the sharp sound of the scissors.

Her hands motionless, Misaki's face turned an unlikely shade of blue.

What was up? Had she miscut his hair? Not to worry!

It was then he noticed the blood on the scissors.

"What the heck?"

In the next instant, the woman in the next chair looked his way and let out a scream as if she was in a horror film. That brought the entire room to complete silence.

Then, one of the male employees barked, "Quick, bring a towel!"

"Call an ambulance!"

Haruto, not understanding what was happening, leaned his head to one side. What was going on? He turned to look at Misaki, who had tears in her eyes, her face a blank.

She was saying faintly, "I am so sorry..."



Why was she crying? Could she be so upset at the idea of going with him to see the cherry blossoms? He was on the verge of tears himself.

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked anxiously, a forced smile on his face. She pointed to the floor, her finger trembling. There lay a piece of an earlobe, covered in blood.

Ah, an earlobe. Whose could it be?

His.

Turning to the mirror, seeing his own left cheek smeared with blood, he fell out of the chair.

"Arrrgh... It's my earlobe...!!" he gasped.

When he came to, the background music in the shop had segued to "Help!"

How could this be?

-- Keisuke Uyama ¡ª Love Like the Falling Petals

Ã¥¼Ò°³

Unleash the power of true love with the English translation of the captivating Japanese best-selling novel by Keisuke Uyama, LOVE LIKE THE FALLING PETALS. This heart-wrenching tale takes you on an emotional journey as a young couple navigates the ups and downs of life and relationships. Set in the stunning landscape of Japan, the novel paints a vivid picture of the country's culture and traditions, while exploring the universal themes of love, sacrifice, and the power of the human spirit. Written with raw emotion and masterful storytelling, LOVE LIKE THE FALLING PETALS is a must-read for anyone who has ever fallen in love. Don't miss out on this moving and unforgettable story!

¹®ÇÐ ºÐ¾ß¿¡¼­ ¸¹Àº ȸ¿øÀÌ ±¸¸ÅÇÑ Ã¥

    ¸®ºä

    0.0 (ÃÑ 0°Ç)

    100ÀÚÆò

    ÀÛ¼º½Ã À¯ÀÇ»çÇ×

    ÆòÁ¡
    0/100ÀÚ
    µî·ÏÇϱâ

    100ÀÚÆò

    0.0
    (ÃÑ 0°Ç)

    ÆǸÅÀÚÁ¤º¸

    • ÀÎÅÍÆÄÅ©µµ¼­¿¡ µî·ÏµÈ ¿ÀǸ¶ÄÏ »óÇ°Àº ±× ³»¿ë°ú Ã¥ÀÓÀÌ ¸ðµÎ ÆǸÅÀÚ¿¡°Ô ÀÖÀ¸¸ç, ÀÎÅÍÆÄÅ©µµ¼­´Â ÇØ´ç »óÇ°°ú ³»¿ë¿¡ ´ëÇØ Ã¥ÀÓÁöÁö ¾Ê½À´Ï´Ù.

    »óÈ£

    (ÁÖ)±³º¸¹®°í

    ´ëÇ¥ÀÚ¸í

    ¾Èº´Çö

    »ç¾÷ÀÚµî·Ï¹øÈ£

    102-81-11670

    ¿¬¶ôó

    1544-1900

    ÀüÀÚ¿ìÆíÁÖ¼Ò

    callcenter@kyobobook.co.kr

    Åë½ÅÆǸž÷½Å°í¹øÈ£

    01-0653

    ¿µ¾÷¼ÒÀçÁö

    ¼­¿ïƯº°½Ã Á¾·Î±¸ Á¾·Î 1(Á¾·Î1°¡,±³º¸ºôµù)

    ±³È¯/ȯºÒ

    ¹ÝÇ°/±³È¯ ¹æ¹ý

    ¡®¸¶ÀÌÆäÀÌÁö > Ãë¼Ò/¹ÝÇ°/±³È¯/ȯºÒ¡¯ ¿¡¼­ ½Åû ¶Ç´Â 1:1 ¹®ÀÇ °Ô½ÃÆÇ ¹× °í°´¼¾ÅÍ(1577-2555)¿¡¼­ ½Åû °¡´É

    ¹ÝÇ°/±³È¯°¡´É ±â°£

    º¯½É ¹ÝÇ°ÀÇ °æ¿ì Ãâ°í¿Ï·á ÈÄ 6ÀÏ(¿µ¾÷ÀÏ ±âÁØ) À̳»±îÁö¸¸ °¡´É
    ´Ü, »óÇ°ÀÇ °áÇÔ ¹× °è¾à³»¿ë°ú ´Ù¸¦ °æ¿ì ¹®Á¦Á¡ ¹ß°ß ÈÄ 30ÀÏ À̳»

    ¹ÝÇ°/±³È¯ ºñ¿ë

    º¯½É ȤÀº ±¸¸ÅÂø¿À·Î ÀÎÇÑ ¹ÝÇ°/±³È¯Àº ¹Ý¼Û·á °í°´ ºÎ´ã
    »óÇ°À̳ª ¼­ºñ½º ÀÚüÀÇ ÇÏÀÚ·Î ÀÎÇÑ ±³È¯/¹ÝÇ°Àº ¹Ý¼Û·á ÆǸÅÀÚ ºÎ´ã

    ¹ÝÇ°/±³È¯ ºÒ°¡ »çÀ¯

    ·¼ÒºñÀÚÀÇ Ã¥ÀÓ ÀÖ´Â »çÀ¯·Î »óÇ° µîÀÌ ¼Õ½Ç ¶Ç´Â ÈÑ¼ÕµÈ °æ¿ì
    (´ÜÁö È®ÀÎÀ» À§ÇÑ Æ÷Àå ÈѼÕÀº Á¦¿Ü)

    ·¼ÒºñÀÚÀÇ »ç¿ë, Æ÷Àå °³ºÀ¿¡ ÀÇÇØ »óÇ° µîÀÇ °¡Ä¡°¡ ÇöÀúÈ÷ °¨¼ÒÇÑ °æ¿ì
    ¿¹) È­ÀåÇ°, ½ÄÇ°, °¡ÀüÁ¦Ç°(¾Ç¼¼¼­¸® Æ÷ÇÔ) µî

    ·º¹Á¦°¡ °¡´ÉÇÑ »óÇ° µîÀÇ Æ÷ÀåÀ» ÈѼÕÇÑ °æ¿ì
    ¿¹) À½¹Ý/DVD/ºñµð¿À, ¼ÒÇÁÆ®¿þ¾î, ¸¸È­Ã¥, ÀâÁö, ¿µ»ó È­º¸Áý

    ·½Ã°£ÀÇ °æ°ú¿¡ ÀÇÇØ ÀçÆǸŰ¡ °ï¶õÇÑ Á¤µµ·Î °¡Ä¡°¡ ÇöÀúÈ÷ °¨¼ÒÇÑ °æ¿ì

    ·ÀüÀÚ»ó°Å·¡ µî¿¡¼­ÀÇ ¼ÒºñÀÚº¸È£¿¡ °üÇÑ ¹ý·üÀÌ Á¤ÇÏ´Â ¼ÒºñÀÚ Ã»¾àöȸ Á¦ÇÑ ³»¿ë¿¡ ÇØ´çµÇ´Â °æ¿ì

    »óÇ° Ç°Àý

    °ø±Þ»ç(ÃâÆÇ»ç) Àç°í »çÁ¤¿¡ ÀÇÇØ Ç°Àý/Áö¿¬µÉ ¼ö ÀÖÀ½

    ¼ÒºñÀÚ ÇÇÇغ¸»ó
    ȯºÒÁö¿¬¿¡ µû¸¥ ¹è»ó

    ·»óÇ°ÀÇ ºÒ·®¿¡ ÀÇÇÑ ±³È¯, A/S, ȯºÒ, Ç°Áúº¸Áõ ¹× ÇÇÇغ¸»ó µî¿¡ °üÇÑ »çÇ×Àº ¼ÒºñÀÚºÐÀïÇØ°á ±âÁØ (°øÁ¤°Å·¡À§¿øȸ °í½Ã)¿¡ ÁØÇÏ¿© 󸮵Ê

    ·´ë±Ý ȯºÒ ¹× ȯºÒÁö¿¬¿¡ µû¸¥ ¹è»ó±Ý Áö±Þ Á¶°Ç, ÀýÂ÷ µîÀº ÀüÀÚ»ó°Å·¡ µî¿¡¼­ÀÇ ¼ÒºñÀÚ º¸È£¿¡ °üÇÑ ¹ý·ü¿¡ µû¶ó ó¸®ÇÔ

    (ÁÖ)KGÀ̴Ͻýº ±¸¸Å¾ÈÀü¼­ºñ½º¼­ºñ½º °¡ÀÔ»ç½Ç È®ÀÎ

    (ÁÖ)ÀÎÅÍÆÄÅ©Ä¿¸Ó½º´Â ȸ¿ø´ÔµéÀÇ ¾ÈÀü°Å·¡¸¦ À§ÇØ ±¸¸Å±Ý¾×, °áÁ¦¼ö´Ü¿¡ »ó°ü¾øÀÌ (ÁÖ)ÀÎÅÍÆÄÅ©Ä¿¸Ó½º¸¦ ÅëÇÑ ¸ðµç °Å·¡¿¡ ´ëÇÏ¿©
    (ÁÖ)KGÀ̴Ͻýº°¡ Á¦°øÇÏ´Â ±¸¸Å¾ÈÀü¼­ºñ½º¸¦ Àû¿ëÇÏ°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.

    ¹è¼Û¾È³»

    • ±³º¸¹®°í »óÇ°Àº Åùè·Î ¹è¼ÛµÇ¸ç, Ãâ°í¿Ï·á 1~2Àϳ» »óÇ°À» ¹Þ¾Æ º¸½Ç ¼ö ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.

    • Ãâ°í°¡´É ½Ã°£ÀÌ ¼­·Î ´Ù¸¥ »óÇ°À» ÇÔ²² ÁÖ¹®ÇÒ °æ¿ì Ãâ°í°¡´É ½Ã°£ÀÌ °¡Àå ±ä »óÇ°À» ±âÁØÀ¸·Î ¹è¼ÛµË´Ï´Ù.

    • ±ººÎ´ë, ±³µµ¼Ò µî ƯÁ¤±â°üÀº ¿ìü±¹ Åù踸 ¹è¼Û°¡´ÉÇÕ´Ï´Ù.

    • ¹è¼Ûºñ´Â ¾÷ü ¹è¼Ûºñ Á¤Ã¥¿¡ µû¸¨´Ï´Ù.

    • - µµ¼­ ±¸¸Å ½Ã 15,000¿ø ÀÌ»ó ¹«·á¹è¼Û, 15,000¿ø ¹Ì¸¸ 2,500¿ø - »óÇ°º° ¹è¼Ûºñ°¡ ÀÖ´Â °æ¿ì, »óÇ°º° ¹è¼Ûºñ Á¤Ã¥ Àû¿ë