"I did it! I did it!"

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.

The morning of orientation day buzzed with a promise Ha Woori could almost taste. Freedom had a scent, and today it smelled like her cheap-but-delightful strawberry body wash and the crisp, new cotton of her simple white blouse and navy-blue pleated skirt. After a long, contemplative bath, she stood before the mirror, adjusting the collar. Perfect. She looked… normal. She looked like a Sogang student.

A sharp, familiar knock rattled her door.

“This is Park Hoseok…” a voice announced, followed by a long-suffering sigh. “…coming here for your breakfast. Yah! Open it! I need breakfast too!”

A grin spread across Woori’s face. She pulled the door open to find him standing there, and her smile widened. He was dressed for orientation day, just like her, but where she had chosen a soft blouse and skirt, he wore a crisp, light-blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled precisely to his elbows and dark trousers. It was sharp, simple, and a world away from the graphic tees she'd seen on other guys moving in. He was also carrying a bag of groceries. Her heart did a little flip. He really is a new student too!

"Let's cook!" she declared, her voice bright with excitement.

She followed him into her small kitchen, watching as he moved with an efficiency that was almost startling. He washed his hands, laid out the ingredients—eggs, scallions, rice—and began prepping with sharp, precise motions.

As he started cracking eggs into a bowl with one hand, he let out a low "Tch..." and muttered, almost to himself, "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm only doing this because it's faster than cooking twice. Why would I cook in my place and then come here? It's inefficient."

Woori watched him, a slow, understanding smile gracing her lips. Ah, she thought, her "tsundere" theory solidifying. He's using logic to hide his kindness.

Seizing the moment, she clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in slightly. "Since you're already here being efficient, Park Hoseok-ssi, you should also teach me. That was part of the promise, remember? You cook and you teach."

His chopping motion stuttered for a fraction of a second. He didn't look up from the scallions. "...What?"

"So I can learn! It's the most efficient way, right?" she pressed, her voice bright and logical. "That way, I won't almost burn the building down again and disturb you."

He let out a deep, resigned sigh that seemed to come from his very soul. "Fine," he grumbled, the word sharp with irritation. He pointed his knife at the cutting board. "Watch. The scallions need to be uniform. Inconsistent pieces cook at different rates. It's amateurish."

Woori nodded eagerly, her eyes fixed on his hands. "Uniform. Got it!" As he demonstrated the proper grip, a practical thought cut through her excitement. Wait, Woori, what if he's not? This place is close to Sogang, but also to other colleges... that was too fast!

"Park Hoseok-ssi," she began, trying to sound casual. "Are you a student too? I just assumed since this area is so close to Sogang..."

"Yes. Sogang," he confirmed, his attention still locked on the pan as he tested its temperature with a few drops of water. "New student."

Woori's heart did a little victory dance. So it's right! "Me too!" she chirped, her smile returning in full force.

He continued to grumble under his breath about "basic knife skills" and "wasted good ingredients," but he also began narrating his actions in a curt, clipped tone. "The pan is at the right temperature when water droplets sizzle. Not before. Now, pour the eggs like this—evenly."

Minutes later, a simple but perfect breakfast was on her table: fluffy rice, a steaming rolled omelette (gyeran mari) flecked with those uniformly cut scallions, and a small side of kimchi.

"Again, thank you, Park Hoseok-ssi!" Woori beamed, clapping her hands together. "And thank you for the first lesson!"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already sitting on the floor across the low table with a portion of food he'd made for himself. "Don't expect a curriculum."

After they finished eating, he stood without a word and carried his empty dishes to her sink. In one fluid motion, he rolled his sleeves up higher on his forearms, turned on the tap, and instantly began scrubbing.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable. "Yours."

Woori, a little startled by his efficiency, hurried over and handed him her dirty dishes. "I... I can clean them, you know. Later."

Hoseok didn't pause his scrubbing. "......and risk grime cracking and hardening? No chance," he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's better to clean it right after you've finished eating."

Woori watched, fascinated by his brisk, methodical movements. "Then I will observe you," she declared, leaning against the counter.

Hoseok didn't even look up from the suds. "Whatever."

He finished quickly, placing the spotless dishes on the drying rack with a quiet finality. Without another word, he headed for the door. "I'm going back to my place to get my bag."

"Okay!" Woori chirped. As he reappeared in the hallway, slinging a backpack over one shoulder, she bounded out of her apartment, locking the door behind her.

"As fellow students and both new, let's walk together, Park Hoseok-ssi!" she announced, beaming up at him.

He looked down at her, his sharp features etched with pure annoyance. He let out a short, exasperated breath.

"Don't slow me down," he grumbled, already turning to stride down the hallway.

Woori hurried to fall into step beside him, her smile unwavering. "I won't!"

And as they stepped out of the building into the morning sun, heading for the university, Woori was sure of it. This was going to be the best adventure ever.

The morning sun was warm on their shoulders as they joined the stream of other students heading toward Sogang University. True to his word, Park Hoseok set a brisk pace, his focus straight ahead. After a minute, he pulled out his phone and earbuds, deftly placing one in his right ear. The left one remained conspicuously absent.

Woori, trotting slightly to keep up, recognized the gesture for what it was—a classic tsundere move. He was creating a barrier, but a flimsy one, leaving one ear open just in case she said something important… or, more likely, in case he needed to snap at her for something.

Determined to break the silence and learn more about her mysterious neighbour, she decided to start with a simple, friendly topic.

"So, Park Hoseok-ssi, what's your favourite food?" she asked, her voice cheerful. "Mine is erm..."

Her confidence faltered. Ah. Panic, cold and sharp, prickled at the back of her neck. I've never had cheap street food. Her culinary world had been a curated rotation of five-star hotel buffets, private chef's tasting menus, and delicacies flown in from other countries. Naming any of those would shatter her "normal student" cover instantly.

Her eyes darted around, searching for an answer, and landed on a poster plastered on a nearby convenience store. It featured a vibrant, steaming plate of tteokbokki.

"Tteokbokki!" she blurted out a little too loudly, the word feeling foreign yet exciting on her tongue. It was what all the office staff at her father's company always talked about craving during their breaks. It had to be a universally beloved choice, right?

Hoseok, who had been steadfastly ignoring her, finally cut his eyes toward her. He raised one sharp brow, a silent, skeptical question.

He let out a short sigh, the very picture of annoyance. "I don't have a favourite. Anything is fine. But if it's a drink..." he began, his tone dismissive, before trailing off slightly. "...it's banana milk."

He chanced a look at her and immediately stiffened. "You're laughing."

Indeed, she was. A giggle had escaped her, and now she was trying, and failing, to suppress a full-blown, beaming smile.

"I'm not!" she lied, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's just... it's very... soft. For you." The image of this sharp, scowling man, with his intense eyes and weapon-grade sarcasm, happily sipping on a sweet, creamy carton of banana milk was too perfectly contradictory. It was the ultimate tsundere beverage!

He glared straight ahead, his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "It's efficient. It's protein and calories," he defended, his voice even more clipped than usual.

"Of course," Woori agreed, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. "Very efficient. Not sweet or cute at all."

He didn't dignify that with a response, instead choosing to increase his walking speed by a fraction.

---

They arrived at the university's main plaza, a chaotic, buzzing sea of new students. The air was thick with excited chatter and the rustling of orientation pamphlets. All around them, clusters were forming. A group of girls nearby were already laughing and exchanging social media handles, while a bunch of guys were comparing their high school backgrounds.

Woori stuck close to Hoseok's side, a steady anchor in the unfamiliar chaos. She watched the social whirlwind around them with wide, curious eyes, but made no move to join in.

Hoseok, who had been scanning the crowd with a tense, watchful expression, finally looked down at her. His sharp brow was furrowed in a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

"Yah," he said, his voice a low grumble. "Why are you just standing here? Shouldn't you be over there, doing that... girly gossip? The dilly-dallying?"

Woori looked up at him, her expression genuinely puzzled. "Gossip? But I don't know them. Maybe I'll talk to them later, but..." She gave him a small, decisive smile. "...my first friend is right here. So I'm staying with you."

Hoseok stared at her, completely thrown. For a second, his defensive scowl faltered. "...Who, again, is this first friend?"

"You! Of course!" Woori said, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

A flicker of something complex—sharp, swift, and unmistakably guilty—passed through his dark eyes. It was there and gone in an instant, vanishing behind his usual mask of irritation before Woori could even process it. He clicked his tongue and looked away, back toward the stage where the university president was preparing to speak.

"Tch. Whatever. Just don't expect me to do any dilly-dallying with you," he muttered, but he made no move to shoo her away. He simply stood his ground, a permanent scowl on his face, as Woori happily maintained her position beside her "first friend."

And for Woori, that was more than enough. She had successfully secured her spot. Now, all she had to do was make sure her grumpy, banana-milk-loving friend actually enjoyed his first day.