The smell of frying eggs hit me before I even opened my eyes.
For a blissful second, I thought I was still dreaming—then my sister's voice shattered the illusion.
"Oppa! If you don't wake up in five minutes, I'm eating your share!"
I groaned and rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. "So-mi, it's Saturday. Let a man rot in peace."
"Rot later! Mom's cooking actual food today!"
That got me. Mrs. Han only cooked actual breakfast—eggs, seaweed soup, kimchi pancakes—on special occasions or when she was in an unusually good mood. I dragged myself out of bed, hair sticking out in every direction, and stumbled to the kitchen.
The small apartment was already alive. My mother stood by the stove, apron on, humming softly. My sister was scrolling through her phone at the table, wearing my hoodie without permission. And sitting on the couch, halfway through his second helping of rice, was my older brother Ji-yoon, the soldier.
"Hyung? You're back?" I blinked.
He grinned. "Surprise. Got leave for a few days. Thought I'd remind the family what a productive son looks like."
So-mi snorted. "You mean what a messy eater looks like."
"Watch it, kid," he said, pointing with his chopsticks. "Military training, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah. Discipline. Muscles. Boredom."
Their bickering filled the room like background music I hadn't realized I'd missed.
I sat down and reached for a pancake. Mrs. Han swatted my hand with the spatula. "Wash your face first, Jihoon."
"Ma, you've known me twenty-six years. I'm basically sterile at this point."
"Go," she said firmly. "You look like something the cat dragged in."
I sighed, trudged to the bathroom, and splashed cold water over my face. The reflection that looked back was familiar again—tired eyes, sarcastic mouth.
When I returned, the table was full—rice, soup, fried eggs, and enough side dishes to make any detective question his salary. I sat down, clapped my hands together, and said, "I hereby declare this breakfast a truce zone."
"Between who?" So-mi asked.
"Between me and the universe," I said, picking up my chopsticks. "It's been trying to kill me lately."
Ji-yoon raised an eyebrow. "Again? I leave for six months, and you're already in existential crisis mode."
"I call it professional development," I said.
Mrs. Han sighed, setting another bowl down. "Can't you boys talk about nice things? Like marriage?"
So-mi gagged dramatically. "Mom, please."
"Not you," Mrs. Han said sweetly. "Your brother's almost thirty."
I choked on my rice. "We're not doing this before coffee."
Ji-yoon smirked. "He's got a girlfriend, though. Yoon Ha-eun, right?"
So-mi gasped. "You do? Oppa!"
I glared at him. "You talk to her once and suddenly it's national news?"
"Hey, she's nice. Pretty, too. Way out of your league, honestly."
"Thank you for your support," I said dryly.
So-mi leaned on her elbows. "So when are we meeting her?"
"When I finish paying rent."
They laughed. Mrs. Han didn't. "Speaking of rent—"
A knock interrupted her. Three slow, deliberate taps on the door.
Ji-yoon and So-mi exchanged a look. "She's here," they whispered.
Mrs. Park. The Landlord.
I sighed. "You guys pretend I'm not home."
The knock came again, sharper. "Detective Han! I know you're in there! You still owe me half a month!"
So-mi giggled. "Run for your life, oppa."
I dragged myself to the door and opened it just enough to meet Mrs. Park's unimpressed gaze. She was in her sixties, tiny but fierce, with curlers in her hair and the expression of someone who'd seen through humanity centuries ago.
"Good morning, Mrs. Park," I said with forced cheer.
"Morning won't stay good if you keep avoiding me," she snapped. "You think rent pays itself?"
"I was just about to transfer it—"
"Don't lie. I checked your electricity meter. You're still home all day."
"You check my—what?"
"Don't question my methods," she said. "You detectives think only you can investigate?"
Ji-yoon snorted from the table. "She's got you there."
Mrs. Park leaned forward. "You want an extension, you bring me receipts or extra chores. The roof needs patching again."
"Can I pay in emotional labor?" I asked weakly.
"You can pay in cash, Detective Han."
Mrs. Han appeared with a polite smile. "Ah, Mrs. Park! Have some pancakes."
The landlord's face softened immediately. "Oh, Mrs. Han, you always know how to melt my heart." She accepted the plate, then glared at me again. "But don't think pancakes erase debt."
"Yes, ma'am."
When she finally left, the whole family burst into laughter.
So-mi wiped her eyes. "You should just marry her, oppa. Free rent."
"Ha. Ha."
Mrs. Han patted my shoulder. "You work too hard, Jihoon. I'll help you this month."
I shook my head. "No, Ma. I've got it."
She gave me a long look—the kind that said she didn't believe a word but loved me anyway.
After breakfast, Ji-yoon and I went for a walk. The street smelled of bread and car exhaust, kids chasing each other past small shops. He carried a convenience-store coffee; I had a half-melted ice cream.
"So," he said. "How's the detective life? Still chasing bad guys?"
"More like chasing paperwork," I said. "And occasionally ghosts."
He laughed. "You always say weird stuff like that."
"I mean it," I said quietly, then shrugged. "But yeah, mostly paperwork."
He nudged my shoulder. "You know, I envy you sometimes. You get to stay here. See Mom, So-mi. Have real mornings like this."
"You're the one saving the country," I said.
He smiled faintly. "Maybe. But saving home's harder."
We walked in silence for a while. The wind carried a faint warmth, the first hints of spring.
Later, back at the apartment, So-mi was sprawled on the floor doing homework and complaining about tuition. Mrs. Han was watering plants, humming an old ballad. Ji-yoon napped on the couch, his snores steady and comforting.
I sat by the window, watching sunlight slide across the floorboards. The quiet felt sacred.
It was strange—after everything I'd seen, the fog, the hall, the girl in the mirror—this felt more unreal. Ordinary life shouldn't be so peaceful, and yet it was. Maybe that was the point.
So-mi suddenly looked up. "Oppa, what are you thinking about?"
"Life," I said.
She rolled her eyes. "Again? You need a new hobby."
"I have one. It's called paying rent."
Evening settled quietly. Ji-yoon packed for his return to base, promising to call. So-mi disappeared into her room with snacks. Mrs. Han fell asleep watching dramas. I ended up on the balcony again, the city lights blinking like constellations.
Ha-eun texted:
Ha-eun: "Survived the landlord?"
Me: "Barely. She took pancakes as collateral."
Ha-eun: "Smart woman."
Me: "You'd get along."
Ha-eun: "We'd gang up on you."
Me: "I regret texting you."
Ha-eun: "No, you don't."
I stared at the screen for a while, smiling.
The night breeze was cool against my face. Somewhere below, someone was playing a saxophone badly but with passion. The sound floated up between the lights, imperfect but alive.
I thought of Ji-yoon's words—saving home's harder. Maybe truth wasn't always about secrets or cosmic knowledge. Maybe sometimes it was just this—holding onto the small, ordinary moments that proved you existed.
I leaned back in my chair, watching the stars fade behind the city haze.
Tomorrow would bring more cases, more mysteries, maybe more colors. But tonight, life was simple.