The house was too full of warmth, the kind that made it impossible for Minjae to stay guarded. Dinner was a chaotic orchestra, but somehow harmonious. His mother's marinated meats dominated the table, each accompanied by a sticky note in her sharp, looping handwriting.
Seori-ya, make sure my son doesn't overcook the beef like last time.Yura, if he complains, just ignore him.Yuri, I trust your tastebuds more than his judgment. Don't let me down.
Minjae blinked, staring at the notes as though they might bite. "Why are you three being given authority over my dinner?" he asked, his tone flat but his brows twitching.
Seori leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "Because we earned your mother's trust."
"And because she knows you'll just sit there and burn everything if left unchecked," Yuri added, snatching the tongs from his grip before he could object.
Yura smirked from across the table, balancing a plate in one hand. "Honestly, I don't think he'd even notice until the smoke alarm screamed at him."
Minjae took a deep breath and backed up into his chair, contenting himself with observing how the three women moved in perfect syncopation in the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. The piping hot dishes emerged, the lettuce wraps perfectly arranged, and the laughter was there in every detail. For an instant, this…this chaos and this camaraderie seemed to be normal.
The real chaos began after dinner. Minjae, carrying plates toward the sink, felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Reluctantly, he glanced at it: his mother. He had expected a casual check-in, maybe a joke. Instead, her face filled the screen, sharp and unyielding.
"Yoo. Min. Jae."
"Hi, Mom," he said cautiously. "Pan the camera—let me see who's still there."
Seori waved. Yura gave a mock salute. Yuri flashed a peace sign.
Minjae turned the phone back to himself. "Happy?"
She smiled with the satisfaction of a general surveying her troops. "Good. All accounted for."
"Why are you—" he began, but she cut him off.
"I've been thinking," she said, leaning closer to the camera, voice conspiratorial. "About wedding venues."
Minjae froze mid-step, the plate in his hand threatening to slip. "What?"
Seori choked on her water, Yura's eyes widened, and Yuri burst out laughing. Minjae carefully set the plate down, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I'm just saying," his mother continued, oblivious to his panic, "if you're going to sneak away on a romantic countryside vacation with all three, the least you could do is give me a guest list. Korea might not allow it legally, but there's always Bali."
"M-Mom—!" he sputtered, but she didn't wait for a response.
"Oh, don't 'Mom' me," she snapped. "Yuri even sent me a picture of the four of you grilling like a family. Like a family, Jae."
Yuri grinned. "She deserved to know."
His mother's eyes softened just a fraction. "Yura-ya, did my son behave?"
Yura lifted her hand theatrically. "He's been fed, boss."
"And Seori?"
"…He's been quiet, as always," Seori said, fighting a smile.
"That means he's happy," his mother said approvingly. "That boy never talks when he's actually content. End the call."
"I'll call again tomorrow," she said cheerfully. "Don't forget sunscreen. And be nice. You don't know how lucky you are to be chosen."
The call ended, leaving a long silence in the living room.
"…'Chosen,' huh?" Yuri said, nudging him.
"Your mom's not exactly subtle," Yura muttered.
"She's a menace," Minjae said, burying his face in his hands.
Seori tilted her head, her voice soft. "She's just paying attention."
Later that night, Minjae stepped outside. The stars were sharp, clean, and unjudging. The countryside stretched beyond the house, quiet but alive. He inhaled slowly, letting the cool night air seep into his lungs.
His phone buzzed again. A message from one of the finance juniors:
Sunbae, someone's already setting up a betting pool. They're calling it 'Guess the Bride.'
Another came seconds later:
Are you actually a chaebol heir or just a misunderstood genius? Blink twice tomorrow either way.
He exhaled, a low, soft sound. The messages weren't malicious—not truly—but the rumors were no longer whispers. They were becoming theater. And yet… no one knew. Only speculated. He had guarded his secrets carefully. Still, he wondered if silence could hold forever.
In the dark kitchen, he found Seori leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked quietly.
She looked at him, then toward the window. "Just thinking."
He nodded, leaning back against the counter silently.
"Your mother…" she said after a pause. "She's intense."
"That's one word for it," he replied.
"But she's not wrong," Seori added, voice light. "About the way you look at us."
Minjae froze slightly, unsure what to say. The words hung between them. She gave him a gentle glance and turned to leave, brushing past him.
"…Still," she said over her shoulder, "I think we're the lucky ones."
Minjae stayed in the kitchen, a cup of water in hand, untouched. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. And for the first time in a long while, he didn't know what he was supposed to feel.