Kang Jin-woo arrived at college with exactly ₩13,500 in his wallet, two packs of instant ramen, and a dangerous amount of overconfidence.
He stared up at the massive dormitory building that loomed like a corporate tower from a dystopian movie. "Ah," he sighed, eyes glinting. "So this is where broke students are forged into desperate entrepreneurs."
Jin-woo had a simple goal: graduate with zero debt and, ideally, turn a profit along the way. He didn't come here for knowledge. He came for opportunity—and maybe free snacks.
As he dragged his suitcase across the courtyard, he muttered a quiet prayer. "God of Discounts, Lord of Budget Deals… guide me to the cheapest living conditions possible. Preferably with Wi-Fi."
The front desk was a battlefield. Students lined up with their documents, wide-eyed and overwhelmed. Jin-woo, of course, skipped the line entirely.
He slid up to the counter and gave the dorm supervisor a charming smile. "Excuse me, hyung-nim, you look like the kind of man who drinks his coffee black and reads philosophy."
The supervisor blinked. "What?"
"I'm Kang Jin-woo, freshman. I was assigned to Room 4B, but I was hoping… purely due to allergies and spiritual alignment… I could be reassigned."
"Spiritual what?"
"To 4C." Jin-woo slid a pre-written medical certificate across the counter. It had been printed from a sketchy website titled "Docs4U.org" at a PC bang earlier that morning. "Dust allergy. Room 4B faces the laundry exhaust vents."
The supervisor squinted. "That doesn't make—"
"I totally get it. Bureaucracy is hard." Jin-woo smiled wider. "But if I die from breathing in lint, that's on you."
The man sighed and handed him a keycard. "Room 4C. If the other resident complains, you're moving back."
"Bless you. I'll name my first child after you," Jin-woo said, snatching the key before the guy could change his mind.
Room 4C was on the third floor, tucked between the communal bathroom and the mysterious Room 4D, from which someone was currently blasting trot music at full volume.
Jin-woo entered cautiously, expecting the worst: moldy wallpaper, half a bunk bed, maybe a dying goldfish in the corner. What he got instead was…
Clean sheets. A faint scent of shampoo. A tidy desk with feminine handwriting on a sticky note:"Don't forget to unplug the kettle. And water the succulent."
Jin-woo froze. "Wait."
He turned toward the lower bunk.
A figure was sleeping under a blanket, only the outline of long hair visible. The blanket slipped slightly, revealing a bare shoulder.
"Wait, wait, wait—"
He panicked, tripping over his own suitcase and crashing into the edge of the desk. A half-empty bottle of conditioner fell and hit him square on the head.
The girl stirred.
Jin-woo scrambled back, hiding behind a curtain like a medieval peasant in the presence of royalty. He peeked out, terrified. The figure shifted again, then snuggled deeper into the blanket.
He whispered to himself, "Did I… just move into a room with a girl?"
The door had no pink signs. No glittery shoes. Not even a passive-aggressive sticky note saying "Don't touch my food unless you want to die." Classic girl signs. He had seen none.
"This must be a mistake," he muttered, heart racing.
And then she sat up.
Hair disheveled, eyes half-open, and—yes—blanket still barely covering her, the girl yawned like a sleepy cat. She looked around… and saw him.
Silence.
Jin-woo did the only thing a reasonable man would do in that moment.
He bowed.
"I'm sorry please don't call the police I swear I'm not a pervert I'm just budget-conscious and spiritually allergic to lint I didn't know this was your room I thought it was empty I didn't see anything oh god please don't sue me I have nothing to give—"
She blinked. "...Hi?"
Jin-woo straightened slightly. "Hi."
She squinted. "You're new?"
He nodded furiously. "Totally new. Very sorry. Very clothed. Very confused."
There was a long pause. Then, to his shock, she laughed.
"Oh. You're the 'miracle roommate' they warned me about."
"Warned?"
She stretched, pulling on a sweatshirt in one smooth motion. "Yeah. Some guy told me a 'creatively persuasive' freshman might show up. Didn't expect him to bow like a monk and hyperventilate, though."
Jin-woo exhaled slowly, trying to recover his dignity. It was somewhere near the conditioner bottle.
"I'm Kang Jin-woo," he said. "First-year. Economics major. Side major in frugality."
She stood up, offered a hand. "Seo Yuna. Third year. Psychology major. Side major in not getting flustered when strange boys barge into my room."
He shook her hand carefully. "Pleasure. Also, again, sorry for—"
"You really didn't see anything, did you?"
"I saw only justice. And maybe a shoulder. But mostly justice."
She smirked. "You're weird."
"I accept that as a compliment."
Yuna grabbed a water bottle and flopped back onto her bed. "Well, the room's meant for two, so I guess you're in. But if you snore, you're sleeping in the hallway."
"I don't snore. I whisper financial advice in my sleep."
"Even worse."
Later that evening, Jin-woo unpacked his modest belongings onto the top bunk. He glanced at the lower bed where Yuna was watching a drama on her tablet.
"So, uh… house rules?"
She looked up. "Don't touch my conditioner. Don't steal my snacks. And don't bring any girls in without warning."
"Girls? Me? Pfft. I'm married to capitalism."
"Sure, Romeo."
Jin-woo grinned. "What about boys? Can you bring them in?"
"Only if they bring fried chicken."
"Noted."
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. First day of college, he thought. And I already have a hot roommate, a roof over my head, and a free soda from a vending machine. Truly, I am unstoppable.
Then a spider descended from the ceiling directly onto his face.
He screamed.
From the lower bunk: "You're really making a strong first impression, Jin-woo."