Love? I can't afford that.
…
"Oh, fuck you!"
Zeke cursed as Yeon's foot connected with his ribs, shoving him off the couch with surprising force. He tumbled onto the hardwood floor with an undignified thud.
"Go cook," she commanded, her tone casual, as if ordering from a menu in her own kitchen.
It had been three days since her inaugural home invasion. After that first day, she arrived each morning between ten and twelve with the regularity of a commuter train, announcing herself with a single press of his doorbell before letting herself in. It didn't help that their houses weren't far apart.
The fuel for her visits was the food. Thanks to his Knowledge of All Mundane Miscellaneous Things, Zeke's cooking existed at the pinnacle of culinary art. The first meal he'd served her had triggered a full-body foodgasm, a euphoric lightning strike to her taste buds.
"Get to cooking, slut. This pimp needs feeding." A rare, almost playful smile tugged at her lips as she watched him shuffle toward the kitchen.
Hah. Am I smiling?
Her fingers rose to touch her mouth, confirming the unfamiliar expression.
If anyone who knew her witnessed this scene, it would have shattered their understanding of Seo Yeon. To the world, she was an introvert of surgical bluntness—the ice queen who could end a conversation with a single, dismissive glance. She preferred efficiency over tact, cutting through social niceties like a scalpel.
That she was now engaged in daily banter with Zeke was as likely as a glacier cracking jokes. Perhaps it was because they shared the same archetype: two solitary creatures who understood solitude intimately. A crackling, static chemistry hung in the air between them.
But she hated him.
…Didn't she?
She only had her brother and his friends in her close circle. Well, and her parents, but they were… parents. Stuck in their ways. Zeke, by giving his all to save them, had earned a permanent entry in her ledger of grudging respect.
But he was a slut, she reminded herself, clinging to the label. Definitely not because she'd once, in a frantic hurry to find her brother, accidentally liked one of his half-naked pictures on Slowgram. That mortifying blip played on repeat in her memory.
So she projected that embarrassment as disgust for his online persona, wrapping her shame in layers of contempt.
The worst part was how her brother and his friends idolized him. They spoke his name with reverent awe. He was encroaching on her territory—the attention, the admiration that was rightfully hers as their cool older sibling.
Then she'd discovered anime. Initially, it was tactical: to understand their obsession, to weaponize it against Zeke if his taste proved poor. She hadn't expected… peak fiction.
Too peak. She needed more.
Thus began her residency.
Now, she didn't hate him as much. He was… tolerable. They could share her social links without the sky falling.
Were they friends yet?
He had to cook more food first. Priorities.
…
"Turning me into your personal chef is absurd. Go home if you're hungry." Zeke dropped the laden plate onto the coffee table with a forceful clack.
"Get me water, slut."
"Hey!" Zeke whined, the petulance clear in his voice. "I only recently found out about that account. Zero ran the whole thing. I am not a slut."
A grown man shouldn't be called that, especially not by his uninvited houseguest.
By now, it was obvious the AI in his home was far superior to standard models—more a personal butler than a simple assistant. Such tech wasn't unheard of, but it required significant wealth and power, only deepening the mystery around him.
"Hmph. Who cares? Why haven't you taken it down, then?"
"What's it to you? I don't owe you money." Annoyance tightened his voice.
"You know, I don't even care if you call me a slut. At least I have internet fame. You're a ghost." He jabbed a finger in her direction. "A nerdy ghost." He blew out an exasperated breath and turned to leave, then spun back, his expression shifting. "You've got the archetype of a closet pervert. Hey, Zero—check if any of those stalker accounts link back to her."
"Eh?" Yeon's confident facade wavered. "He can do that?"
She'd mostly tuned out his chatter before—he talked too much for a self-proclaimed introvert. Too much whining.
{She did like one of your pictures. However, she has no connection to the stalker accounts.}
"Yo… You actually did it?" Yeon's eyes widened in mock horror.
"I thought we were friends! How could you air my dirty laundry like that?"
"Wow." Zeke cut her off, his voice dripping with appalled delight. "You're shameless."
"Hey! It's not what you think! It was an honest mistake!"
"Nuh-uh. I ain't hearing any of it." He looked her dead in the eye, savoring the moment. "Pervert."
"You bastard! You will listen to my explanation now!"
She shot up from the couch. A faint, cold aura shimmered around her, small arcs of lightning snapping at the air with a sharp, electric crackle. The scent of ozone bloomed in the room.
Zeke merely waggled a finger, the picture of casual taunting. "Nuh-uh." He enunciated each syllable slowly, savoring them. "Per. Vert."
"Argh!"
She lunged, a streak of motion trailing lightning in her wake.
…
After a brief, destructive play-fight that left furniture askew and new scorch marks on the walls, Yeon cleared her name through a combination of physical persuasion and creative threats.
"You know," Zeke said, rubbing a singed spot on his sleeve, "from the fact you only liked one picture and your reaction, I'd already guessed the reason. Why didn't you just unlike it? And why antagonize me for your mistake?"
"What?!" Her eyes went round. "You can unlike a picture?"
"Shit." They said in unison, for different reasons—his at the depth of her tech illiteracy, hers at the lost opportunity.
"Jinx." Again, in perfect sync. This time, they burst into laughter.
The sound was cut off by the sharp ring of Yeon's phone.
…
The air in the room thickened, turning palpable and heavy. Lightning arcs erupted around Yeon, no longer playful but furious, scorching the couch and floor with angry, smoking trails.
"Hey! Watch the fucking room!" Zeke shouted, eyeing his furniture with alarm.
"They're hurt." Her voice was hollow, all laughter drained from it.
Boom.
An aura of pure, chilling power erupted from Zeke in response. The temperature plummeted; the windows rattled in their frames. When he spoke, his voice was a void, cold and absolute.
"Where?"