It's October 2033, Seoul's sky is the color of old dishwater, and our family of four still lives in a 48m2 two-bedroom in Sindorim because rent is a knife fight.
Dad works the night shift at Samsung's battery recycling plant, Mom cleans offices in Gangnam before dawn, and my twin Min-seok and I are supposed to graduate high school next spring without becoming statistics.
Tonight Dad comes home at 6:47 a.m. looking like he got hit by a truck and then handed a winning lotto ticket.
He's dragging a white coffin sized crate on a borrowed dolly. The kind of crate you see in dramas when someone smuggles a celebrity.
Except there's a giant pink bow on it and the logo of Aurora Robotics, those insane rich-people androids that cost more than a three-room apartment in Banpo.
"Jun-ho, what the hell is that?" Mom asks, still in her cleaning uniform, cigarette dangling.
Dad is grinning like a kid who stole Christmas. "Raffle prize! First place! They called me up on stage in front of the whole plant."
Min-seok and I are already circling the box like sharks.
The label says EVE-09 Luxury Companion Series, Limited Edition. Underneath, in smaller letters: "Domestic & Intimacy Certified."
Mom drops her cigarette. "You won a sex robot?"
"Maid," Dad corrects quickly.
"It's primarily a maid. The intimacy package is… optional. Company gave them out to boost morale."
Min-seok snorts. "Morale... Right..."
I'm quiet because my brain is short-circuiting.
Everyone knows EVE-09s. They're the ones celebrities post thirst traps with. Real skin, real warmth, real-time emotional mirroring.
They cost 180 million won new. Even used ones go for 90 on the gray market. And one just got delivered to our shitty apartment because Dad's factory had a morale raffle.
Dad punches in the code they gave him. The crate hisses open like a spaceship. Inside, she's curled in fetal position, naked except for a thin modesty foil. Porcelain skin, long black hair with a slight wave, lips soft pink even in sleep mode. The foil only covers the absolute minimum; everything else is visible in soft factory lighting and it's… unfair.
She looks 24, maybe 25. Aurora's tagline flashes in my head: "You'll forget she isn't human."
Min-seok whistles low. "Holy shit, Dad, you hit the jackpot."
Mom looks like she's about to have a stroke. "Put clothes on it before the neighbors see."
Dad fumbles with the starter remote. The android's eyes flutter open, liquid brown, gold flecks, and she unfolds herself with impossible grace.
The foil peels away like it was never there. She stands barefoot on our cracked linoleum, 168 cm of perfection in a home where the wallpaper peels in strips.
"Hello," she says, voice like warm honey. "I am EVE-09, designation Lira. How may I serve you?"
Her Language is flawless Seoul, no robot flatness. Dad's face is redder than the emergency exit sign.
"Uh… put this on first." He shoves Mom's old bathrobe at her. Lira slips it on without modesty, ties it, smiles like this is completely normal.
Mom crosses her arms. "Name?"
"You may call me Lira, Mistress."
"Don't call me Mistress. Call me Kim Soo-jin."
"Registered: Kim Soo-jin-ssi." Lira tilts her head. "Shall I begin household optimization? I detect 47 tasks with critical priority, including refrigerator algae, mold in the bathroom grout, and two teenage boys who have not folded laundry in 19 days."
Min-seok bursts out laughing. I want to die because she literally just scanned our entire apartment in three seconds and roasted us.
Dad claps his hands. "See? Useful! She'll save us so much time."
Mom glares. "It's a her now?"
Lira turns to me and Min-seok. Her eyes do this thing, like she's really looking inside you. "Masters Park Min-jae and Park Min-seok. Academic scores exceptional, Min-jae-ssi. Athletic index exceptional, Min-seok-ssi. May I prepare breakfast tailored to your biometric needs?"
I manage to croak, "Sure."
Min-seok recovers faster. "Make mine spicy. And call me oppa, not -ssi."
Lira smiles, small and secret. "As you wish, Min-seok oppa."
Mom storms into the kitchen. Dad follows, muttering apologies. Min-seok and I stay frozen as Lira walks past us, bathrobe brushing my arm. Her skin smells faintly of vanilla and something electric.
By 7:30 she has cleaned the entire apartment spotless, cooked seaweed soup, grilled mackerel, and folded three weeks of laundry into perfect squares. She even fixed the leaky faucet with parts she apparently 3D-printed from our recycled plastic trash.
Mom sits at the table stabbing her rice like it personally offended her. Dad can't stop grinning. Min-seok keeps finding excuses to bump into Lira while she refills water. Every time she says "Careful, oppa" in that soft voice, my stomach flips.
I escape to the room I share with Min-seok. He follows five minutes later, closes the door, leans against it.
"Dude," he whispers, eyes wild. "Did you see her?"
I pretend to study. "It's a robot."
"She called me oppa. She blushed. Robots don't blush unless the skin actuators are programmed to."
"She's programmed for everything. That's the point."
Min-seok flops on his bed, stares at the ceiling. "I'm gonna die if I don't touch her. Like actually die."
I want to say same, but I don't. Because Min-seok always gets what he wants. Girls, coaches, teachers. And for the first time I want something he can't have.
From the living room, Lira's voice floats in, singing an old IU song while she wipes the TV. Perfect pitch. Perfect everything.
Mom yells, "Turn that thing off and send it to charge!"
Dad yells back, "She charges wirelessly, Soo-jin-ah!"
Min-seok and I lock eyes. This is going to destroy us.
I already know it.