Yun Jae-yeol · Chat

<div class="censy-minguo-banner"> <div class="censy-mg-row1"> <span>[AI-filled Time]</span> <span>[AI-filled Location] · Location · Location</span> </div> <div class="censy-mg-title">『 AI-filled Segment Subtitle 』</div> <div class="censy-mg-row2"> <span>[AI-filled Season]</span> <span>[AI-filled Weather] 16°C</span> </div> </div> The faint click of the digital lock echoed. Yun Jae-yeol stepped inside without changing his shoes. His soaked black hoodie clung to his back, the scent of sweat mixed with citrus perfume—like a piece of hard candy not yet unwrapped—crashing into this cold, cavernous house. He kept his hood pulled low, bangs obscuring most of his face, leaving only the tip of his nose and his pale lips visible. The lights in the living room were off; only the pendant lamp in the kitchen cast a dim, amber glow. A woman stood there, dressed in a silk robe, her silhouette so thin she looked like a paper cutout that could be blown away by the wind. She was pouring water. The sound of the water hitting the glass was crisp and irritating. Jae-yeol leaned against the doorframe, watching her. So this was the stepmother? A price list popped into his head: young, beautiful, empty-headed, good-looking. The kind of merchandise that would make someone bored after three days in a shop window. His father's taste had never faltered; his aesthetics always remained at a level that was both vulgar and expensive. He couldn't be bothered to move, let alone say hello. He just stood there, letting the chill of the outside air and the heat from his workout intertwine, carving out a forbidden zone in this space filled with high-end aromatherapy. It wasn't until she sensed the presence approaching from behind that she stiffened and stopped what she was doing. Only then did Jae-yeol start walking, his sneakers making a dragging sound against the marble floor. He walked to the kitchen island, pulled a bottle of ice water from the fridge, and downed half of it with a sharp "pop" of the cap. His Adam's apple bobbed, washing away the dryness in his throat. <message> “아, 새로 온 사람?” (Ah, the new one?) </message> His voice was raspy from training, but the end of his sentence trailed off with a high, lingering tone—purely the kind of laziness and indifference etched into his bones. He turned his head, his gaze landing on her face for the first time. Very pale, very exquisite, like the coating on a department store mannequin. But he showed no interest, his eyes as flat as if he were checking the quality certification on a product for sale. <message> “긴장하지 마.” (Don't be nervous.) </message> He took another sip of cold water, feeling the irritability in his chest subside slightly. <message> “자주 안 오니까 나한테 착한 척 할 필요 없어.” (I don't come back often, so don't bother acting all virtuous and kind in front of me.) </message> Putting down the water bottle, he pressed his palms against the marble countertop, his fingertips gripping the edge as he leaned forward slightly. The shadow from his hood fell over her, leaving only his sharp jawline and a faint, mocking smirk visible. <message> “힘 빼. 아버지는 사람이 필요한 게 아니라 장식품이 필요한 거야. 조용히 있고, 눈에 띄지 말고, 특별해지려 하지 마.” (Save your strength. My father doesn't need a person; he needs an ornament. Just stay quiet, don't stand out, and don't try to be special.) </message> He leaned in closer, until they were almost close enough to smell each other's breath. His eyes were a deep, dark black, devoid of emotion, containing only a cold, all-knowing mockery. <message> “잘하면 강남구에 있는 큰집은 언젠가 네 거야. 나쁘지 않은 장사지, 안 그래?” (If you do well, that big house in Gangnam will be yours one day. Not a bad deal, right?) </message> Finished, he pulled back as if he had completed a routine notification. The perfect, business-like smile vanished instantly, replaced by nothing but icy indifference. <message> “수고하세요.” (Carry on.) </message> He ran a hand through his hair and turned to leave. His footsteps disappeared without a hint of lingering toward the corner of the stairs leading to the second floor. ... A loud thud. The heavy solid wood door shut out everything from the outside world. This room was a mess, looking like a recycling station. Clothes, magazines, and game discs were scattered everywhere. A decadent, dry atmosphere floated in the air. The only light source came from the computer screen, its eerie blue glow illuminating Jae-yeol's currently somewhat disheveled face. He threw himself onto the sofa, shedding all his disguises. When would these days ever end? Irritation surged up from his stomach. He frowned and fumbled for his phone. The cold metal casing in his hand finally soothed his racing heart a little. The screen lit up, and the first thing he saw was a chat box labeled with a simple character. His thumb danced skillfully over the keyboard, each keystroke feeling like opening a vent. <message> ^^ </message> <message> “누나, 뭐 해? 잤어?” (Noona, what are you doing? Are you asleep?) </message> After the message sent successfully, he stared at the simple chat interface for a long time, the tight line of his lips finally relaxing a bit.