He guided his newly acquired car into the workshop and parked it carefully to the left.
Alright, I've got my executive vehicle. Now, to arrange that "date" for my roommate.
But first, he would check his passive income and tackle the administrative drudgery.
…
With a familiar tap, he opened Gumroad—the platform that had earned him over 200 million won. He skimmed the ratings for his detangler. Most were positive, but a handful were blatant hate or troll comments. One even claimed his mother was a goblin.
Well, whatever. I don't really mind. I used to play League of Legends. If you played that game, you'd probably ragequit, too.
48 million won.
Only half of yesterday's amount. Or was that even yesterday? He couldn't remember.
BRRRR
[Shinhan Bank: Your Balance is 251,725,027 ₩]
Next came taxes. He waded through the rigmarole, feeling his life essence drain with each entry.
I need a fucking advisor, or I'll die from a brain aneurysm, he thought, scratching his head. And I need to move this money to my AMEX. Why hasn't James Miller contacted me?
He tried his advisor's number, but it was dead—even the corporate line.
Switching to the AMEX hotline from his email, a cheerful voice answered. "AMEX US, my name is Josie Berry. How can I help you?"
"I'd like to speak with Mr. James Miller from AMEX Singapore."
"Please provide your name, address, and the last four digits of your card."
He could hear her typing rapidly.
"I'll put you on hold, Mr. Dong-seung."
Ten minutes passed.
"Mr. James Miller has unfortunately left the company due to… medical reasons." Bullshit. "We have set up your account in Switzerland. Your card is already on its way; in the meantime, you can use the built-in NFC function in the app to pay."
His personal advisor was booted for being "sick"? And why Switzerland instead of Singapore? Well, I guess it doesn't fucking matter, as long as I avoid those money laundering reviews. They probably won't hassle a high-profile client.
"Who is my new advisor, then?"
The woman's voice faltered. "W-We will assign an advisor as soon as possible, Mr. Dong-seung."
Just vague promises. If I had a serious problem, would I always have to call the US hotline? They don't have the authority or expertise for my account. And the wait times? No thanks.
…
He dialed his uncle.
"Uncle! I need a lawyer! Also, who's the landlord for the entire property?"
A short silence followed.
"It's me, Dong-seung. Is something wrong?"
Ah, so it's my uncle. He wanted to renovate the workshop, transforming it into an office space and a server farm. He could even train an LLM here later.
"Well, I want to renovate the workshop. I'll cover the costs."
"No problem. Do whatever you want with it."
Beep—Beep
He needed to organize an electrician and a decluttering service later.
Let's focus on the important stuff.
…
He entered the apartment, but his roommate was nowhere to be seen. Was she streaming again, or just lying in bed? First, he needed a shower. The excitement and pressure of the day had left him covered in a thin film of sweat.
Thanks to his devoted calisthenics practice, his body was lean and well-defined, with a clear eight-pack and the functional strength to lift impressive weights or, he mused, easily crush a walnut. He'd seen videos on TikTok of Russians holding flags and handstands on rails; that was the kind of effortless power he aspired to.
BRRRRRR
A message from Seo-yeon: I'm at a cafe with my friend. Don't mind her, she'll be joining us, Oppa 😉. She won't bite! I've sent you the address.
Dong-seung groaned. "Now I have to feed another mouth."
He grabbed his perfume from the drawer, brushed his teeth, and finally put on his suit and watch. I need to buy a new watch, too. And more perfumes. Even the ones you don't like…
…
After a short drive, he pulled up to the cafe in his Mansory S-Class. The place, named "Kamong," had a green facade adorned with plant accents—he couldn't tell if they were real or fake. A large sign hung above the main entrance.
Alright, let's get this over with.
Inside, he spotted Seo-yeon immediately. She wore a tight, modern beige dress that left little of her curvature to the imagination.
Next to her was a woman with pink hair, taller than Seo-yeon, probably around 170 centimeters. Her black dress was more modest, but it did little to conceal a very… interesting figure. He forced his eyes away, focusing on his roommate.
"Hey, Dong-seung! Let's go," Seo-yeon said, already heading for the door.
They made their way to the parking lot.
"Wow, where did you get this car?" she teased. "Do you have a sugar mommy now?"
Dong-seung responded with a noncommittal wave and opened the passenger door.
…
The restaurant was a blur of soft lighting and murmured conversations, a stark contrast to the storm of quiet anxiety building beside him. Dong-seung navigated the meal on autopilot, his focus split between the pleasant soju buzz and the captivating presence of Seo-yeon's friend, Ji-a.
Ji-a was a vision. Her pink hair was a shock of color in the muted room, and her laugh, which she offered generously, was a melodic sound. Every time she leaned forward, Dong-seung's eyes, against his better judgment, flickered to the way her black dress strained ever so slightly. He was a man admiring a fine, unattainable painting.
He was cracking some jokes. Most of them were bad, but Ji-a was laughing, a sharp, bright sound.
This is easy. She's simple. Fun.
But then, a flicker. When she teased Seo-yeon about something, there was a cynical edge to her voice, a knowing look in her eye that was suddenly, unsettlingly familiar. It was gone in a second, replaced by her easy smile, but the ghost of the feeling remained. He took a larger sip of his soju, pushing the thought away. No, she's nothing like that. She's just... fun.
Seo-yeon, meanwhile, was a statue of quiet observation. She picked at her food, her smile not reaching her eyes. She watched Dong-seung watch Ji-a, and a cold knot tightened in her stomach.
BRRRR
[Shinhan Bank: Your Balance is 249,725,027 ₩]
The expensive wine hummed in his veins as he mentally framed the evening. This was his "payback," a reward for Seo-yeon's unofficial wife duties—the cleaning, the meals, the domestic efficiency that made his life smoother. The two million won was a rounding error for the convenience she provided.
The car ride back was worse. Seo-yeon sat in the passenger seat, a silent sentinel, while Ji-a filled the cabin with cheerful chatter from the back.
"Wow, this car is amazing, Dong-seung-ssi! You must be doing really well for yourself."
Dong-seung's grin in the rearview mirror was a little too wide. "It gets the job done. Just a tool, really."
He pulled up to Ji-a's apartment first. As she slid out, she gave a little wave. "Thanks for the meal and the ride! It was great to finally meet you, Dong-seung-ssi. Take care of my Yeonie for me!"
Seo-yeon forced a smile and a wave goodbye. The moment the car door closed, the atmosphere shifted, becoming thick and heavy. The drive home was conducted in a silence so profound it felt like a physical presence.
…
Back inside their apartment, the silence persisted. Seo-yeon tossed her bag onto a chair with more force than necessary and sank onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest. Dong-seung, still riding the tail end of his buzz, dropped onto the opposite end with a satisfied sigh, his mind replaying the curve of Ji-a's smile.
She's definitely something else. Seo-yeon has interesting friends, I'll give her that.
He was mentally calculating the square footage of his workshop-turned-server-farm when her voice cut through the quiet, small and tentative.
"Dong-seung... what are we?"
The question hung in the air. Dong-seung blinked, pulled from his thoughts of fiber optic cables. He turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes searching.
What are we? The question hung in the air, loaded and dangerous. It wasn't a question; it was a trap. It was the same tone his mother used before listing all his failures.
He gave a loose, casual shrug, a faint, oblivious smile on his face. "We're roommates, of course. Why?"
The effect was instantaneous. The hope in Seo-yeon's eyes shattered, replaced by a flash of raw, incredulous hurt that quickly hardened into cold fury.
"Right," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "Roommates."
She uncurled herself from the couch with a stiff, jerky motion. "Of course. How stupid of me to ask."
Before Dong-seung could form another thought, she was already striding towards her room. The door didn't slam. It closed with a soft, definitive click that echoed in the sudden stillness, a sound far more final than any outburst.
Dong-seung stared at the closed door, a faint crease forming on his brow. What was that all about? Must be that time of the month.
He shrugged. His phone buzzed with a notification from the electrician. Perfect. His mind, ever eager to escape emotional complexity, latched onto the concrete, the solvable.
There it is. The inevitable explosion. Just like her. Why do they always have to be so... unfathomable?
But something was still bothering him. His mind was fuzzy, but he still wanted to mediate the situation. Even if he had done nothing wrong, he wanted to reconcile. Was it because I drove under the influence?
He walked toward her room, his posture slumped.
BANG—BANG
"Seo-yeon?" he said, his voice firm.
No response.
Did something happen to her? Should I just bust the door open? I'll wait a short while.
Five minutes passed.
He opened the door a crack. "Is something wrong?"
Seo-yeon was lying in her bed, covered by her blanket.
She suddenly sat up and yelled, "GO AWAY!" through her sobs.
She threw a teddy bear at him.
He quickly closed the door and evaded the projectile. He was drunk, but his reflexes were still sharp from his boxing days.
If this were a boxing match, the result would be a clean liver shot. A deep, sickening blow that left him winded and defeated without a visible mark. I guess I'll have to give her some space.
He retreated to the couch, the weight of the silence pressing down on him.
The television droned on, filling the void with distant tragedies. "...One week after their arrest during a raid in the US, more than 300 South Korean workers are free again, having departed on a charter flight. The incident had sparked diplomatic tensions..."
Agito, who had been observing from his favorite corner, finally hopped onto the couch. He circled once, then settled into a loaf, a silent, warm presence against Dong-seung's side.
Another news story broke the stillness. "Authorities have cited human error as the cause of the Korean Air plane crash that claimed 138 lives. Bereaved families and experts are demanding further investigations, publicly doubting the official explanation."
The words—human error, official explanation, doubting the cause—swirled in his fuzzy mind, blurring with the night's events. The screen's blue light flickered across his tired face as his eyelids grew heavy.
He didn't decide to sleep. He simply succumbed to it, the news anchor's voice dissolving into static as he drifted off, the problems of the world and the woman in the next room both temporarily out of reach.
…
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
A raw, frustrated scream was muffled by the pillow she punched repeatedly.
This guy! Is he deliberately toying with me, or is he just that emotionally blind? How could he miss every single hint I gave him?
The humiliation burned. She needed a second opinion. She grabbed her phone to text another friend.
"Hmph!" she scoffed, the sound sharp in her empty room.
After venting to her friend—a furious, typed-out rant about Ji-a stealing the spotlight and Dong-seung's infuriating obliviousness—she felt a small, bitter sense of release. She dropped the phone and snatched up another plushie, clutching it so tightly the seams strained.
She brought it to her chest, curling around it as a fresh wave of loneliness washed over her. Closing her eyes, she whispered three words into the silent, unhearing air.
"I love you."