“The laundry room is over there.”
I couldn’t comprehend the first words coming from the man who had been silently watching the uninvited guest.
“Pardon?”
When I asked in confusion, his gaze traveled downwards. He slowly alternated his stare between my hands. It was as if he was searching for something that wasn’t there, and finally, he let out a small, incredulous laugh.
“And here I thought, you were sneaking down at this hour because you had a wet dream or something.”
It took me a moment to process the meaning of his words. As soon as I understood, my face flushed red. Was he checking my hands to see if I was secretly holding wet underwear? A slight shiver of embarrassment washed over me. The stark contrast between his refined appearance and his crude remark was unsettling.
“Go ahead and do what you need to. Don’t mind me.”
He twirled the object in his hand slightly. Clink. A clear sound rang out. The amber liquid in the crystal glass he held glimmered. The ice inside clinked against the glass with a cheerful sound. In the silent kitchen, that sound was as loud and clear as my breathing in the car from before.
‘Song Yewoon sounds prettier.’
I avoided his gaze, afraid he might say that again. If I turned and left the kitchen now, it would seem like I was running away in fear. Although he had indicated first that he didn’t want to interact, I didn’t want to reveal how much I was consciously avoiding him.
After some hesitation, I stepped into the kitchen. Carefully, I took a mug from the shelf and filled it with warm water from the dispenser. I could feel his gaze on me from not far away, watching everything I did, but I didn’t show it. When the water filled the cup with a soft gurgle and stopped, his low voice interrupted.
“It must be hard to sleep with the sudden comfort of a nice house.”
That was the first comment from him after realizing that my purpose for coming to the kitchen was warm water.
I didn’t feel miserable, despite his undeniable statement. Knowing my place had always been one of my greatest strengths. I merely shifted my gaze from the steaming cup to him.
He wore a black shirt with a few buttons undone near the collar, but the belt fitted fastened around his waist made the shirt feel suffocatingly secure. It was 3 AM, a quiet and dark time which wouldn’t call for such attire. He looked more like someone who had just come home rather than someone who had missed sleep because of work. Thinking I had mistaken him for my future stepfather seemed absurd in retrospect. While pondering this, I kept my gaze fixed on him, and he also did not look away, swirling the glass in his hand. The glass tilted, and the amber liquid touched his lips.
The luxurious crystal glass, the amber liquid, and a few ice cubes—everything exuded a stark difference in class.
I had many fathers who were alcoholics. They were drinking every hour of every day, but all they had in their hands was a green bottle. They would pour clear liquor into their rice bowls or drink directly from the bottle. I had never seen anyone drink alcohol with such dignity and grace in my life. Perhaps that’s why I stood there as if nailed to the wall, unable to tear my eyes away.
“Have a good night.”
I came to my senses, took a step back, and bowed my head. Holding the cup, I turned to leave the kitchen.
“Stop right there.”
No, I had intended to leave. But the voice that called me to stop struck me like lightning, causing me to freeze in place against my will. I couldn’t turn around, just stood there as if rooted to the spot. There were clattering sounds behind me, and the noise of some unknown machine. I debated whether to turn around. Then, something was extended toward me, making me almost drop the cup I was holding in surprise. I quickly turned to see the person who had approached so quietly.
“Warm water is only effective if your body is soaked in it.”
At the end of my dazed gaze, I saw a steaming cup of milk. When I just stared at it, the cup in my hand was taken by his empty hand, and into my now empty hand in the air, he gave me the warm mug of milk. The milk had a lot of fine foam on top. The cup, which had seemed small in his manly hands, now looked so large in mine that it seemed I couldn’t drink it all at once. I stood there, momentarily dazed.
Clink.
The sound of the cup I had been holding before hit the table, which brought me back to my senses.
“Follow me.”
In my situation, staying freely in this house, did I have the right to refuse his command?
Silently, I followed the man who had kindly heated the milk for me. As soon as we left the kitchen, the light turned off automatically. I hadn’t seen him reach out to press anything, so it seemed the kitchen light had a sensor that reacted to movement. Nothing about this house, even the special features, was surprising anymore. Once the dim kitchen light went out, the house was darker than it had been when I had walked by moonlight. Yet, I had no trouble following him, perhaps because the pitch black lights seemed to shine brighter than the dimly lit kitchen.
The man walked toward a place I had never ventured. Turning left near the stairs leading to my room, we entered a corridor I had never even been curious about. The corridor stretched endlessly. It felt similar to when I first saw the vast garden upon arriving at this mansion. There were no windows to let in moonlight, making it dark, but as we walked into the darkness, my eyes adjusted enough to make out several doors. As we reached the end of the corridor, which was long enough that it could have at least four doors, I realized what I had thought was a wall in front of him was actually a door because a faint light was seeping through the gap underneath.
Instinctively, I knew this was his territory—from the corridor to the space behind this door.
The door before me looked like the entrance to a secret garden. Its antique wooden design was so unrealistic that it felt almost dreamlike.
Slowly, the door opened before him, and bright light spilled out, illuminating the straight corridor. The space inside was brightly lit, as if waiting for his return from the kitchen.
Finally, the room was revealed. Its overwhelming sight made my mouth drop open in awe. It was as large as a garden and as high as a living room. In the center of the high ceiling hung a sparkling chandelier. The crystals of the chandelier were shining down on…
“Humanities or Sciences?”
“Pardon?”
Startled by the unexpected question, I turned my head. The man, who had entered ahead of me, was standing by a bookshelf, his head turned to look at me. What had he just asked? I racked my brain and answered hesitantly.
“I’m in Humanities.”
I wondered if that was the right answer. Did “Humanities” and “Sciences” have another meaning besides what I knew? When I answered in a small voice, unsure of myself, he turned away from me and began to scan the bookshelves in front of him. Standing stiffly, without the slightest slack in his posture. Yes, a bookshelf.
I gazed in awe at the sight unfolding behind him.
The chandelier’s crystals sparkled and shone, illuminating a blue study.
Not blue because of the light, but because it was clear and fresh, giving it a blue hue.
A library is always best suited to warm red tones with long shafts of sunlight streaming in. The wooden bookshelves, made of solid wood with the smell of old wood, typically retained their natural color, adding to the atmosphere.
However, his study was different. It wasn’t the typical cozy red-hued study. It felt bright and refreshing, like a terrace with books under a blue sky. It felt as though cool breezes were blowing in rather than warm sunlight. The bookshelves, which lined the open and spacious room, were so tall that one needed a ladder to reach the top shelves. The study was so expansive that it would be impossible to maintain without someone dedicated to its upkeep. If you weren’t the owner of the study, you’d never be able to find the book you wanted.
Standing in the middle of the blue study, I realized this house, and especially this study inside it, was not a place for me.
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