Ring. Ring. Ring.
The sound drilled straight into Jisoo's skull.
It was hot — unbearably hot. Summer had arrived the moment the semester ended, and even the fan beside his bed felt useless. Sweat clung to his skin as he shifted under the sheets, half-asleep, eyes barely open. He got up and ran toward the phone.
"Mm… what happened, Mom?" he mumbled into the phone.
"Jisoo," his mother said, breathless. "Can you bring me some clothes? I spilled soup on myself."
He sat up instantly, panic slicing through the haze of sleep.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice sharp now. "Was it hot? Did you get burned?"
"No, no," she said quickly. "I'm fine. Just… bring something to change into."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he replied without hesitation.
He hung up and got out of bed.
Moving fast, he pulled clothes from the cupboard — a clean blouse, trousers, a light shawl — folding them with care. Before leaving, he stopped by his sister's room.
"Princess."
She was sprawled on her bed, phone held above her face, recording herself.
She glanced at him and immediately threw a pillow.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped. "Knock before entering, idiot."
"I'm going out," he said calmly. "Are you hungry?"
"No. Just leave," she replied, already back to her screen.
"I'll bring something when I get back," he said.
She didn't answer.
Jisoo left the house quietly.
He chose to walk.
The sun was ruthless, burning the pavement, the air thick and heavy. His shirt clung to his back as sweat trickled down his neck, but he kept going. He didn't want to waste money. Walking was slower painful, even but it was free.
By the time he reached the place, his legs ached.
The house loomed in front of him.
Huge.
He had been here as a child, but standing there now, it still felt unreal. The gates alone were taller than most buildings. Even after growing up, even after years, the size of it hadn't shrunk.
A guard stopped him.
"Who are you here to see?"
"My mother," Jisoo replied. "She works here."
The guard studied him for a moment, then nodded and let him in.
As Jisoo walked through the grounds, his eyes caught on something that made his chest tighten.
A school uniform.
A maid was hanging it carefully on a line, smoothing the fabric as if it were sacred.
It was from the most expensive school in the country.
His throat went dry.
I wish I could study there, he thought bitterly.
Inside, the house was even more overwhelming — marble floors, expensive furniture, walls that felt too clean, too cold. He didn't linger. He went straight to his mother and handed her the clothes.
"Go," she said quickly, not even looking at him. "And don't let Mr. Choi see you."
That stopped him.
"Why?" he asked, confused.
She didn't answer. Just waved him away.
Jisoo turned to leave — but the house was a maze. Corridor after corridor looked the same. He tried asking a maid for directions, then another, but each turn only led him deeper inside.
Finally, he found himself standing in front of a massive wooden door.
An office.
He hesitated, staring at the polished furniture nearby, the quiet authority of the space pressing down on him.
Then the door opened.
Mr. Choi stepped out.
Tall. Well-dressed. Calm in a way that made people nervous.
He looked at Jisoo briefly.
"Boy," he said, voice flat. "Bring me a coffee."
And walked back inside.
Jisoo froze.
He pointed at himself. "Sir… me?"
No response.
The door closed.
Anger flared in his chest. From where? he thought. Am I a servant now?
Still, he turned and left the house, went down the road, and bought coffee from the nearest café. Just because he was scared that what will be the consequences as he turned, the guard stared at him in disbelief.
"Why are you here again?"
"Mr. Choi asked me to bring coffee," Jisoo replied.
The guard hesitated — then let him in.
By the time Jisoo reached the office door, he was exhausted. Sweat soaked his shirt. He wiped his face, straightened his clothes, and knocked.
"Come in."
Mr. Choi sat behind the desk, fingers folded, watching him closely.
"Sir," Jisoo said, placing the cup down carefully. "Your coffee."
Mr. Choi scanned him slowly — from his messy hair to his worn shoes.
"When I said bring coffee," he said calmly, "I meant from the kitchen. Why did you buy one?"
Fear crawled up Jisoo's spine.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said quickly, bowing. "I misunderstood. I'll bring another one."
"Leave it."
Mr. Choi picked up the cup and took a sip.
He paused.
"…This is good."
Jisoo stayed silent.
"Where did you buy it?" Mr. Choi asked.
"A café," Jisoo replied quietly. "Green Sky."
Mr. Choi leaned back.
"Bring me this coffee," he said, eyes sharp, "every day. Same time."
Jisoo bowed deeply.
"Yes, sir."
And left — unaware that this small moment had just tied him to something far bigger than he understood.