Ha Woori did a little victory shimmy on the sidewalk, her fist punching the air. Freedom. This was it. No drivers, no bodyguards, no household staff. Just her, an oversized suitcase, a duffel bag, and the key to a tiny studio apartment in a building full of normal students.

"See? I can do this," she declared to a passing pigeon, which cooed in what she chose to interpret as enthusiastic support. "This Ha Woori can live alone and isn't helpless!"

Hefting her duffel bag, she grabbed the handle of the massive suitcase and began the great trek towards the building's entrance. The wheels immediately caught on a crack in the pavement.

"Ugh... come on..." she grunted, giving it a mighty tug. It jerked forward a few inches. She braced herself, planted her feet, and pulled with all her might.

Pffft.

Oh no.

A giggle escaped her. "Well, that happened." She glanced around, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "Note to self: core workouts are now a priority."

Suddenly, a voice sliced through the morning air from directly behind her, sharp and utterly horrified.

"Ssibal! What in the world is that smell?!"

Woori spun around, nearly tripping over her suitcase. A young man stood there, silhouetted by the sun. He was handsome in a sharp, angular way, but his face was contorted into a scowl of pure disgust, his prominent nose scrunched up as if he'd just inhaled a cloud of poison.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know anyone was—" she started.

He cut her off, his voice a blade of irritation. "What are you gawking at? Ppali ppali! Some of us have places to be."

Indignation flared in her chest. Rude! She pointed defensively at her luggage. "It's heavy! It's called physics!"

He dragged a hand down his face, letting out a long, suffering "Tch..." He looked from her, to the suitcase, and back to her, his expression that of a man making a calculation to minimize his own suffering.

"Fine," he gritted out, stepping forward and snatching the suitcase handle from her. "Let me do it. Unless you plan on propelling yourself all the way up the stairs."

Woori's jaw dropped. He... he just said that. Out loud.

"You are unbelievably rude," she finally managed, her voice a mix of shock and laughter.

He was already stomping towards the building, her suitcase rolling behind him with insulting ease. "Call it a public service," he threw over his shoulder without looking back. "An olfactory intervention."

He marched up to the second floor, Woori hurrying behind him. She fumbled for her key and unlocked her door. "Just put it here, please!" she said, gesturing to a spot just inside.

He unceremoniously shoved the suitcase over the threshold. As Woori turned to say, "Thank you!", he didn't even acknowledge her. He simply took two long strides to the door directly across the hall, pulled out a key, and disappeared inside, the door slamming shut with a definitive thud.

Woori stared at the blank, painted wood.

Oh. He's my neighbour.

A slow smile spread across her face. "...Quite rude," she murmured to the empty hallway. The sheer, unadulterated normalcy of it! No bowing, no polite deference.

Then her smile widened. "Ah... this is the best! Nobody treats me like a precious princess here!"

---

An hour later, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, Woori wiped her brow. "Phew... such hard work." Her stomach grumbled loudly. "Ah... I'm hungry. Time to—" She paused, a determined glint in her eyes. "No. I decided no privilege. Let's cook!"

In the kitchen, she stared at the unfamiliar stove. "Ah, like this... wait, what does 'sauté until fragrant' even mean?" she muttered, squinting at a cooking tutorial on her phone.

She was so engrossed she didn't notice the faint, acrid smell beginning to seep from her pan.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

A frantic pounding on her door jolted her upright.

A visitor? Already?

Then the smell hit her properly. Wait. My food!

"Open this door!" a voice roared from the hallway—a voice she was already, unfortunately, familiar with. "This burning smell! What in hell are you doing?!"

Panicked, she looked from the smoking pan to the shuddering door. She yanked it open to find Park Hoseok staring at her, his face a mask of pure horror. His sharp eyes darted past her to the kitchen, where a thin plume of smoke was rising.

"...How," he whispered, his voice trembling with a kind of professional outrage. "How could this be? It smells like a tire fire in a chemical plant!"

Woori gave a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of her neck. "Ehe... I can't cook. It's my first time."

He dragged a hand down his face, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "...Just... just stay there. Don't touch anything," he commanded, storming past her into her kitchen. He turned off the burner, grabbed the offending pan with a potholder, and slammed it into the sink. "I'll cook. For you. Tonight."

"Really?" Woori's face lit up. "Thank you! You're a lifesaver!"

He turned to her, his expression deadly serious. "I am saving my life from this burned smell assaulting my apartment across the hall! Not yours!"

---

Twenty minutes later, he slammed a bowl of perfectly cooked rice and a simple but savory-looking doenjang jjigae onto her small table.

"Here. Eat. And don't choke," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Because if you die, I'll be the prime suspect."

"Thanks for the food!" Woori chirped, taking an eager bite of the stew. Her eyes widened. "This... this is..."

It's delicious!!!

"Yah!" Hoseok snapped, scowling. "Just because I told you ppali ppali on the stairs doesn't mean I said to ppali to your own death! Slow down!"

"But it's so good!" she finally managed to exclaim, her eyes sparkling. She took another, happier spoonful. Then, a thought struck her. "Ah! I forgot. My name is Ha Woori! Nice to meet my lifesaver!"

"Tch. Park Hoseok," he muttered, already turning to leave.

In a flash, Woori leaped up and grasped his hand. "Park Hoseok-ssi! Please! Be my cook for my whole college life! And while you're at it, teach me!"

"Y-you—!" He stared at her, utterly flabbergasted by the sheer audacity. A war played out on his sharp features. Finally, he let out a deep, resigned sigh. "...Fine."

A strange look flickered in his eyes, and he added under his breath, almost too quiet to hear, "...for the mission."

Woori’s heart did a little flip. A mission? He’d taken it upon himself! This grumpy, hawk-nosed man saw her helplessness and had secretly appointed himself her guardian angel! Her image of him instantly softened from 'unbelievably rude' to 'unbelievably rude, but with a hidden, squishy center.'

His brow twitched, as if he'd said too much, and he quickly covered, his voice returning to its usual irritable snap. "So you don't die from food poisoning and make my life difficult."

The gruff addition only confirmed her theory. Of course he had to say that. He was the tsundere type!

"Thank you!" Woori beamed, her smile now filled with a new, fond understanding.

Park Hoseok merely scrunched his nose in response.

What a tsundere! Woori thought, utterly delighted by her bizarre, rude, and secretly sweet new neighbour.