Ji-Ah stood in the middle of her room, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, suitcase open on the bed.
She wore casual, cute clothes—an oversized cream hoodie slipping slightly off one shoulder, soft shorts, hair tied up in a messy bun with loose strands framing her face.
Comfortable.
Familiar. Her.
"This makes no sense," she complained into the phone, tossing folded clothes into the suitcase.
"Who just decides someone should live with them? He's my boss, not— not— a housing committee!"
Min-Jea laughed on the other end. "Maybe he's worried you'll trip over your own furniture."
She rolled her eyes hard. "Very funny."
"I'm serious," he teased. "You are clumsy. Maybe this is his way of saving company property."
She scoffed. "Please. He's the problem."
Min-Jea chuckled. "Careful. You're starting to sound like you care."
"I do not."
"Sure."
She ended the call with a huff and zipped the suitcase shut.
Then she turned to Earth.
The cat sat on the floor, tail flicking, watching her like a tiny judge.
"Don't look at me like that," she muttered. "You're coming too."
She packed his things carefully—food bags, bowls, his favorite plate, brush, tiny perfume she never actually used, even his small bath tub.
It felt less like packing and more like preparing for a long journey.
Finally, she dragged the suitcase out, bag slung over her shoulder, Earth's carrier in her hand.
Outside the building, just as Seo-Jun had said, a sleek car pulled up smoothly.
She lifted the suitcase into the trunk, then hopped onto Pip, engine rumbling softly.
The car moved.
She followed.
They drove for a while, the city thinning out, until a large house came into view—not overwhelming, not flashy, but undeniably grand.
A mansion.
She parked and stepped off Pip, staring.
The exterior was clean and elegant, modern lines softened by warm lighting.
Inside, the space opened up beautifully—high ceilings, wide windows, soft neutral tones, polished floors that reflected the light just right.
Everything felt calm. Expensive. Intentional.
Ji-Ah swallowed.
"…Wow," she whispered, stepping inside.
Her new life had officially begun.
Ji-Ah stepped fully inside.
Ha-Joon was already there, standing near the entrance, jacket off, sleeves rolled neatly, posture straight like he'd been waiting exactly on time.
"Come," he said simply.
She followed him deeper into the house.
Their footsteps echoed softly as they walked through the clean, spacious hallway.
"I'll be clear," Ha-Joon said without looking back. "You're late often. You misplace things. You spill. You rush."
She opened her mouth to protest.
He continued calmly, "If you live here, I can supervise you. Adjust your schedule. Assign work without delays."
She frowned. "…So this is about work?"
"Yes."
He stopped at a table and slid a folder toward her.
"A contract," he said. "Read."
She flipped it open.
Rules. So many rules.
• Wake-up time: 5:30 a.m. sharp. No alarms after the third ring.
• Breakfast must be prepared by 6:15 a.m. Exactly. No noodles.
• Coffee temperature must be consistent. Too hot or too cold will be noted.
•No running inside the house. No romantic thoughts.
• No talking to inanimate objects.
• No naming household appliances.
• Work discussions only during designated hours.
• Personal matters must not interfere with professional performance.
• No visitors. Ever.
• Do not tell anyone you live here.
Her eye twitched.
"These are… very specific," she said carefully.
"They're necessary," he replied.
She sighed, signed her name, and handed it back.
He nodded once and led her upstairs.
"This is your room."
She stepped inside—and froze.
The room was spacious but warm. Soft lighting. A large bed with neatly folded blankets. A desk by the window.
Simple décor. Clean. Calm.
"Oh," she breathed.
"Freshen up and sleep," Ha-Joon said. "You'll wake up early tomorrow. Breakfast."
As he turned to leave, he paused. "What's your cat's name?"
"Earth," she replied.
He nodded. "I have a cat too."
She blinked. "You do?"
"Name's Yuki. Orange. Energetic. The opposite of yours."
That… explained a lot.
"And," she added quickly, "I brought my motorcycle. Pip. I'll only go to work with it."
"…Fine," he said after a pause.
"One more thing," he added, glancing back at her. "You shouldn't tell anyone."
She nodded slowly.
The door closed behind him.
Ji-Ah stood alone in the quiet room, heart pounding.
"…What did I just sign?"
-
Ji-Ah took a quick shower, the warm water washing away the tension of the day.
She changed into soft pajamas, hair still slightly damp as she padded back into the room.
Earth sat near his bowl, tail curled neatly around his paws.
She poured his food, crouching beside him as he ate, gently stroking his white fur.
"You hear that?" she murmured. "You're going to have a new friend."
Earth flicked an ear, unimpressed.
"His name is Yuki," she continued, serious.
"Yuki. Make sure you behave. No fighting. No stealing food. And absolutely no judging."
Earth looked up at her like he was already judging.
She sighed, climbed onto the bed, and pulled the blanket over herself.
For a moment, she smiled.
A mansion. A huge room. Clean sheets. Quiet.
Then her smile faded.
"…But I live with him," she muttered, rolling onto her side.
She huffed, hugged the pillow, and closed her eyes—half happy, half annoyed, and very aware that tomorrow would be early.
--
Morning came quietly.
Ji-Ah woke up before her alarm.
She blinked at the ceiling. "…Why am I awake?"
Earth was already sitting near her, tail swishing.
She sighed, gave up on sleep, and headed to the bathroom.
After a quick shower, she pulled on a long-sleeve T-shirt and black trousers, tied her hair into a neat ponytail, and padded downstairs.
The kitchen was… enormous.
She stood in front of the sink, phone in hand, and typed:
simple Korean breakfast dish
Her screen flooded with videos.
"No," she muttered, scrolling. "No. Definitely not. That one needs skill."
She stopped at one.
Gyeran-mari.
Rolled egg omelette. Simple. Safe. Eggs couldn't judge her.
"Okay," she nodded. "I can do eggs."
She turned around—and immediately got lost.
Ten minutes later, she finally found a frying pan in a cabinet she'd opened three times already.
"Why are there so many drawers," she whispered accusingly.
She cracked the eggs.
One shell fell in.
"…It's protein," she said, fishing it out.
The stove beeped angrily at her. She beeped back.
When the omelette finally came together, a little uneven but respectable, she plated it carefully, added rice and a small side, then wiped the counters like her life depended on it.
Kitchen: clean. Dignity: questionable.
She went upstairs and knocked on Ha-Joon's door.
"Sir. Breakfast is ready."
From inside, his calm voice answered, "I'm coming."
Ji-Ah straightened, heart pounding slightly.
Please don't taste like tea, she prayed.