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Chapter 2
In this world, there are things that are allowed to happen and things that absolutely should not happen.
In Dasom’s opinion, Han-gyeol, appearing here was clearly the latter case.
Ah—you ask who Han-gyeol, is?
He was Dasom’s senior in university,
A so-called “director beloved by critics,” currently the most acclaimed filmmaker in South Korea.
And…
“Senior… Do you hate me?”
Dasom recalled her first love, wavering under that streetlamp, and shook her head violently.
As if trying to shake off the memory of having clung so pathetically.
What truly mattered wasn’t this—it was that Han-gyeol, had treated her throughout university as if he wanted to devour her.
Whenever their eyes met, there was his prickly criticism and bombastic nagging.
She must still carry that trauma. Otherwise, why would just a brief glimpse of him earlier have sent chills down her spine?
As expected, her biological alert system was accurate.
“Why?”
Rubbing her arms vigorously, Dasom yelped involuntarily.
“Senior, your family is totally rich!”
Even during university, he’d driven a classic foreign car.
Rumors constantly swirled around him—that he was the son of some conglomerate chairman, that he’d inherit the company upon graduation, that he lived alone in a luxury villa worth billions.
She didn’t know which rumors were true or false, but at least one thing was certain: Han-gyeol, came from a wealthy family.
So why? Why would someone like him appear in this tiny officel? Why move in next door to her?
“This isn’t even near a station, there aren’t many convenience facilities around here! The soundproofing is bad, it’s noisy at night from cars, the security is lousy, the CCTV is broken, and the maintenance fees are unnecessarily high—”
“…….”
“Then why do you live here?!”
Dasom’s words poured out urgently. Whether she harbored many complaints about her residence, her speech flowed without hesitation.
Han-gyeol,, listening with a raised eyebrow, simply handed her the chicken bag he’d been holding.
And said just one thing.
“This is my building.”
Which meant the monthly rent Dasom faithfully paid went straight into his bank account.
Which also meant he could evict her anytime he wanted.
In this world, there are three lords:
The Lord in heaven,
The Lord advertisers,
And the Lord landlord.
Having just been received by one of these lords, Dasom promptly shut her mouth.
“…….”
Having unwittingly filed a public complaint in front of the Lord Landlord himself, Dasom gently lowered her gaze.
The chicken in her arms was warm as could be, but inside her heart blew the iciest wind.
“Well, I suppose… Since it’s your own building, you’re perfectly entitled to move in. Yes…”
“…….”
“It’s a really nice building. I love it here too. I never sleep in late, and I can always immediately tell if something’s happening outside. Great!”
Forcing her trembling pupils into submission, Dasom flashed a thumbs-up.
But despite her desperate efforts, Han-gyeol, merely looked down at her with an indifferent gaze.
Dasom reminded herself once again: Han-gyeol, had been the Prickly Demon King who was uniquely cold to her during their university days.
If she let him go like this, she’d surely be evicted before long.
Having no intention of leaving this building yet, Dasom sensed the crisis and urgently grabbed Han-gyeol,’s hand.
“Senior!”
Han-gyeol,’s eyebrow quirked. Dasom spoke as obsequiously as possible.
“W-Would you like to share some chicken?”
It was a desperate measure blurted out, thinking it best to at least get Han-gyeol, seated before talking.
Her urge to clean today must surely have been precognition of this situation.
They say people sometimes unconsciously display superpowers—today, it seemed her predictive abilities had unknowingly awakened.
Even in university, Han-gyeol, had been exceptionally neat. Surely he still was.
“Chicken?”
“Yes, yes! Meeting like this must be fate.”
Fortunately, Han-gyeol, didn’t refuse her offer. He entered her home with her.
Having confirmed her living room was presentable enough for him to see, Dasom breathed a sigh of relief.
“That…”
Then she stopped walking, seeing the screen prominently displayed on the TV.
Sneaking glances at his reaction, Dasom hurriedly added an explanation.
“Oh, that… I was just picking something to watch while eating chicken! And your film happened to be on OTT. So I was thinking of watching it…”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, haha. Um, should we not watch it? Come to think of it, some people feel embarrassed watching their own work with others…”
“No, let’s watch.”
“Yes, sir.”
Being exactly the type who did feel embarrassed watching her own work with others, Dasom felt slightly awkward as she set the chicken bag on the table.
Han-gyeol, sat on the sofa with a composed expression.
“Senior, would you like some beer?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Okay. Then I’ll just get mine.”
Shooting anxious sidelong glances at Han-gyeol, Dasom quickly scurried toward the kitchen as if seeking refuge. Soon came the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing.
Han-gyeol,l, who had been staring blankly at the TV, finally turned his head only after Dasom had disappeared.
He could see a small back figure busily preparing something in the kitchen.
It was their first meeting since graduating university—a reunion after a full five years.
Yet unlike him, Dasom showed no signs of awkwardness or fluster.
For some reason, that both pleased him and didn’t.
The way she’d unhesitatingly let an unfamiliar man into her home late at night…
“Unchanged, Chae Dasom.”
Unwary, bright, and spacey—all of it.
Clenching and unclenching the fist resting on his thigh, Han-gyeol, muttered self-deprecatingly. He’d been gripping too hard; his fingertips tingled.
Truthfully, he hadn’t planned to come inside. He’d intended only to deliver the chicken and return to his own place.
But the moment he saw the varied expressions crossing Dasom’s face, he’d impulsively answered yes.
Perhaps it was the manifestation of some desire.
That this small, spacey junior of his—even now, five years later, he still…
“Senior… Do you hate me?”
“…No.”
Had there been more he wanted to say? To those pitiful eyes wavering under the streetlamp.
Come to think of it, she really had been oblivious. How could she have looked at someone who delayed his own graduation because of her and thought only that he hated her?
Recalling that snowy night, Han-gyeol, suddenly let out a short laugh. It felt as though a cold wind brushed past his ears.
For an instant, he wondered if that foolish Chae Dasom still thought the same way even now.
Which was why, unable even to consider standing up, he remained seated quietly on the sofa.
Meanwhile, Dasom returned.
“Senior, I got out a new cup!”
She announced as if to reassure him, poured Coke from the chicken bag into the empty mug placed before him.
“Enjoy your meal. This is my favorite chicken, so senior, you can order it often from now on too.”
Dasom spoke demurely and opened the chicken bag. Then she placed one drumstick toward him.
But even after receiving a drumstick—of all things—Han-gyeol, showed no particular reaction. If anything, his expression seemed to harden further.
‘So you’re saying you always ate the drumsticks yourself?’
Being a rich man’s son, a chicken drumstick probably wasn’t something he particularly lacked.
A muttered “how annoying” almost escaped her lips, but Dasom recalled his status as Lord Landlord and barely swallowed the words.
“Do you perhaps prefer wings?”
Though she wanted to just give up entirely, Dasom found a wing and reverently offered it before Han-gyeol,
A sense of crisis crept over her—was she going to end up eating only the breast meat at this rate?
I bought this. I paid for this chicken.
But faced with the critical task of appeasing the Lord Landlord, Dasom, crying on the inside, placed the remaining drumstick before Han-gyeol, as well.
“Never mind that, just play the movie.”
Without sparing the chicken a glance, Han-gyeol, moistened his dry lips with Coke and gestured toward the TV with his chin.
Only then did Dasom fumble for the remote.
She pressed a button, and the film began. A gentle melody signaling the opening sequence flowed out.
“I really like this opening sequence. It’s like it makes you anticipate the events to come, doesn’t it?”
Dasom shook her rattle carefully, watching Han-gyeol,’s expression.
But he merely stared at the screen, expressionless.
Not only was there not a trace of impression on his face—he even looked, at a glance, somewhat bored.
Well, as the director, he’d probably seen this footage countless times. He’d even done the editing himself, they said.
Perhaps to Han-gyeol, praise of this degree sounded utterly commonplace.
Taking a sip of beer, Dasom recalled this fact with renewed awareness.
Next.
