Ji-Ah stepped into the house and stopped short.
Too quiet.
Not the calm, cozy quiet—this was the kind that made a big house feel even bigger.
"Hello…?" she called softly.
No answer.
She slipped off her shoes and sighed. "Figures."
A soft weight brushed against her leg.
She looked down and smiled immediately. "Earth."
The white cat walked up like he owned the place, tail flicking once. Ji-Ah crouched and ran her fingers through his fur, slow and familiar.
"I missed you too," she whispered.
Then—zoom.
An orange blur appeared beside them.
"Yuki," she laughed as the energetic cat squeezed in, practically demanding attention.
She stroked both of them, one hand moving calmly, the other trying to keep up with Yuki's enthusiasm.
"Alright, alright," she murmured. "Everyone gets love."
For a moment, she just stayed there, smiling.
Then reality tapped her shoulder.
She stood up, glanced at the clock, and muttered, "I should cook before he comes back."
The kitchen lights flicked on.
Ji-Ah tied her hair up again, rolled her sleeves, and pulled out her phone.
She reread the recipe he had told her earlier, lips moving silently.
"Okay… simple," she said, though her tone said she didn't believe it.
Rice washed carefully. Vegetables chopped unevenly—but with effort. Sauce measured, then re-measured because she didn't trust herself.
The pan heated.
She almost grabbed sugar instead of salt and froze mid-motion.
"…Nope. Not today."
She stirred slowly, sniffed, tasted once—
Her face tightened.
She added a little more seasoning.
Tasted again.
"…Acceptable," she nodded seriously, as if she were judging a cooking competition.
She wiped the counter, plated neatly—
Then—
The front door opened.
Click.
Footsteps followed.
Steady. Unhurried.
Ha-Joon.
He walked straight into the kitchen, loosened his watch slightly, and sat down at the dining table without saying a word.
Ji-Ah stiffened for half a second, then moved.
She placed the plate down carefully in front of him.
He ate in silence.
One bite.
Then another.
Her eyes followed every movement, her hands clasped together like she was waiting for exam results.
He glanced up.
"Did you eat?" he asked.
She blinked. "No."
"Serve yourself," he said simply, standing up. "And eat."
She nodded quickly. "Yes—"
He paused, then added, as if it were a minor detail—
"I know the house feels quiet."
She looked at him.
"From tomorrow," he continued calmly, "it won't."
Her brows knit together.
"My younger brother is coming."
"…A little Brother?" she echoed.
"Don't expect a child," Ha-Joon said. "He's twenty-five."
She stared.
"He's just like you," he added, already turning away. "You'll get along."
And with that, he left the kitchen.
Ji-Ah stood there, stunned.
"…Just like me?" she whispered. "That's not comforting."
She shook her head, served herself food, and sat down slowly.
The house was still quiet.
But it felt… different.
Her phone buzzed.
She picked it up.
A photo from Min-Jea—cake, candles, laughter everywhere.
Min-Jea: Celebrating our boss's birthday
Ji-Ah smiled and typed back.
Ji-Ah: Oh. Save me the cake.
She set the phone down, took a bite of her food, and leaned back.
Big house. Two cats. A difficult boss.
And now… a brother.
"…I should start charging rent for emotional stress," she muttered, smiling despite herself.
--
Ji-Ah padded down the hallway toward her room, the soft lights along the walls casting long, quiet shadows.
This place was too big at night.
Too many doors. Too many secrets.
She was just about to turn the corner when she noticed it—
One door, slightly open.
Light spilled out from the crack, warm and golden, cutting through the dim hallway like an invitation.
Ji-Ah slowed.
"…Huh."
Curiosity, her oldest enemy, tapped her on the shoulder.
She took a step closer. Then another.
She pushed the door open.
Her breath caught.
It was a small room—cozy, almost hidden—nothing like the rest of the mansion. The walls were lined with instruments.
A guitar resting against a stand. A flute laid carefully in its case. A compact drum set tucked neatly into the corner.
But at the center of the room—
A piano.
Black. Polished. Quietly waiting.
Ji-Ah smiled without realizing it.
"…Wow."
She stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. Her fingers brushed through her hair, a nervous habit, as she approached it like it might disappear if she moved too fast.
She sat down.
The bench creaked softly.
She lifted her hands, hovering for a second—then pressed one key.
A single note rang out. Soft. Clear.
Another followed.
Slow. Gentle. Deliberate.
Her shoulders relaxed as her fingers moved again, the melody familiar, something she had carried with her for years.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing loud. Just steady, comforting notes filling the room.
Then—
"You like it?"
Ji-Ah froze.
She turned quickly.
Ha-Joon stood by the door, already changed into simple pajamas, one hand tucked casually into his pocket.
His expression was neutral, but his eyes were calm—observing, not judging.
She nodded slowly.
Then suddenly clapped her hands together, enthusiasm spilling out before she could stop it.
"Yes! I—I love pianos," she said quickly, words tumbling out. "I used to play a little. Not professionally or anything, just—when things got noisy in my head. I like how they sound. They feel… steady."
She stopped, realizing she'd rambled.
Ha-Joon didn't interrupt.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key.
He held it out to her.
She blinked. "What's this?"
"From today," he said evenly, "this room is yours."
Her eyes widened.
"You can practice here. Play the piano. Sing. Do whatever you need," he continued. "This will be your comfort zone."
She stared at the key, then took it carefully, like it meant something fragile.
"…Thank you," she said, voice softer now. "Really."
Her smile returned—bright, genuine—and without thinking, she stepped forward.
Then stopped.
Mid-step.
Her smile faded just a little as reality clicked back into place.
She pulled her hands back, shook her head once, and straightened.
"Th-thank you," she repeated, calmer this time.
Ha-Joon only nodded.
No comment. No awkwardness.
He turned and walked out, the door closing quietly behind him.
Ji-Ah stood there for a long moment.
Then she looked down at the key in her palm.
At the piano.
At the room that suddenly felt like hers.
"…Okay," she whispered to herself, a small smile forming again.
"This might actually be survivable."