The moment I stepped through the door, a scene worthy of a palace unfolded before me. I’d always thought my own house was nothing to scoff at, but this place existed on an entirely different level. A chandelier that screamed expensive hung from the high ceiling, the floor was polished marble, and even the furniture in sight radiated luxury. You could tell at a glance that every piece had been crafted painstakingly, one detail at a time, by a master artisan.
Should I just replace everything in my room with stuff like this?
Half joking, half serious, I was taking it all in when I sensed someone behind me.
“Hey! I’m not done talking—!”
In the next instant, a hand grabbed my shoulder roughly. I reacted without thinking—caught the wrist, twisted it, and flipped the person over my hip.
“Guhk!”
The man slammed flat onto his back, and the hard marble floor must have hurt like hell, because he rolled around in agony. I stared at him blankly, then apologized a beat too late.
“…My mistake.”
I did feel bad about doing that to a stranger, but when you’ve lived a life where your survival depends on it, you tend to be sensitive about people grabbing you from behind.
…Huh. My strength’s still there?
I clenched and unclenched my fist. I’d assumed that since this body was smaller, my strength would be weaker too—but if anything, it felt even better than before. I’d just thrown a man bigger than me without exerting any real effort. Was it because I was younger now? Being in my prime twenties again filled my body with a vitality I hadn’t felt in years. Right now, it felt like I could even pull off a one-against-ten fight—something only my younger self had been capable of.
“You little shit! Aagh!”
“…For a kid, you’ve got way too much energy.”
“Who are you calling a kid?! Let go of me! Aagh!”
I looked down at the kid in front of me. Maybe it was all that youthful blood boiling in him, but even after getting thrown, he still came at me with his fists clenched. So I twisted his arm behind his back this time. He immediately started screaming bloody murder.
Serves you right.
Built like a tank, yet he sure whines a lot.
“What kind of strength is this?! Aaaagh! It’s gonna break—my arm’s gonna break!”
I tilted my head at his words.
“…This won’t break it. Want me to actually snap it?”
I’ve broken plenty. I know.
“N-no—no, no! Aagh!”
God, my ears hurt.
Kids like this—full of bluster—you had to crush their spirit early or they’d get out of hand. But…
That had been my philosophy when I was young. Now, I didn’t feel like going that far. I slowly loosened my grip, easing the force I’d been applying. I guess I’ve gotten soft with age.
“Y-you…!”
The moment I let go, he scrambled backward, glaring at me with fire in his eyes. Still, at least he’d learned something—he didn’t charge at me again.
Well, he’s got spirit, I’ll give him that.
I walked past the fuming kid.
Ah, right.
Almost forgot to ask.
“Hey.”
I stopped and turned back. He flinched and hurriedly retreated, putting distance between us, clearly on guard.
“…W-what?”
“…Where’s the kitchen? You said you were hungry, didn’t you?”
“F-follow me.”
His face looked like it had a lot it wanted to say, but he seemed unwilling to keep talking to me. Still, he must really have been hungry—he guided me without further complaint. I followed behind him.
“Oh. This is something else.”
I stared around the kitchen he led me to, my face slack with amazement. It had everything. The facilities were insanely good.
The first thing I did was head for the refrigerator and open it. Inside, it was packed with fresh vegetables, fruits, and beautifully marbled cuts of meat. And that wasn’t all—there weren’t one, but four refrigerators in total.
I’m hungry.
Seeing such fresh ingredients made my own stomach growl. Was there rice? I checked the rice cooker. Thankfully, it was full of perfectly cooked rice. With rice ready, things got easy. Maybe I’d make something simple—stir-fried spicy pork. In the morning, nothing beats a fresh meat dish. I took out the ingredients and started cooking with practiced ease.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Hey!”
I tried to ignore him, but his voice got obnoxiously loud.
“…Are you calling me right now?”
“Yeah… I am! You! Housekeeper!”
“Housekeeper?”
He just called me a housekeeper?
The unfamiliar label caught me off guard. Well—truth be told, I’d already sensed it. None of what was happening made sense. If I thought about it coldly, I’d probably died back then. I should have moved on, but instead I’d somehow latched onto this unfamiliar young body. So I didn’t know him, but he clearly knew me—that was the bizarre situation I was in.
But… a housekeeper?
The word naturally brought the novel I’d read right before collapsing to mind. The protagonist of that book had been a housekeeper too, hadn’t she? And I was pretty sure there’d been a foul-tempered third son in that gangster family…
Even as I thought about it, I didn’t stop cooking. Before long, a fragrant, mouth-watering stir-fried pork came together under my hands. The aroma filled the kitchen, and at some point, the guy who’d been picking a fight went quiet.
I made it myself, but damn—it looks good.
I placed the pork atop steaming white rice and set the plate in front of him, then sat down across from him with my own bowl. His face twisted back into a scowl.
“Hah. You really have lost it. Do you even know where you are, sitting down like—”
“What’s your name?”
He fell silent.
He seemed to hesitate, then finally opened his mouth.
“…Hey, housekeeper. Don’t you think you should go see a doctor or something?”
Judging by his expression, he genuinely thought I’d lost my mind. The look in his eyes was the exact one people reserve for lunatics.
I just shrugged. Honestly, I was curious too—whether I was sane, or actually crazy like he said. I needed to confirm that. I stared at him insistently, urging him to answer. He fidgeted, then let out a long sigh and replied unwillingly.
“…Jung Hwangyu.”
Jung Hwangyu. A familiar name.
“You’re twenty, the third son of a gangster family, right?”
“…What the hell? You remember everything! You bastard! You scared me! Are you messing with me?!”
Thinking I was mocking him, Jung Hwangyu slammed his fist down on the table and jumped to his feet. I stared at him blankly.
This is definitely…
I think I’ve entered that book.
Park Gyumin.
No wonder the name hadn’t felt unfamiliar.
Looking at Jung Hwangyu—alive and breathing right in front of me—I realized he was one of the male lead candidates from the novel I’d read. That meant I could roughly piece together where I was, and who I was supposed to be.
The housekeeper who’d been in this gangster household before the heroine arrived. The unfortunate character who, after the heroine showed up, fell for her fox-like charms, got used and discarded, and ended up stabbed to death in her place.
Damn it.
A curse rose to my lips.
…That bastard Park Hanseo. He said he’d get me dating. Is this what he meant by romance?
No matter how hard I tried not to blame the kid, I couldn’t help it. Overnight, I’d gone from a gangster boss to a doomed housekeeper. All I could do was click my tongue at this cursed reality.
*****
…What’s with him? Why isn’t he reacting at all?
Jung Hwangyu was throwing a fit, cursing up a storm, yet all the while he kept sneaking glances at Park Gyumin.
But Gyumin paid him no attention, sunk deep in thought. That left Hwangyu dumbfounded.
Did he really lose it?
He’d been acting strange since morning.
Park Gyumin, who’d come into the household as a housekeeper two months ago, had always been introverted and timid. Just talking to him would make him tremble like a leaf. But today’s Park Gyumin was strange—far too strange.
Normally, after morning training, he’d have breakfast ready without being told. But today, he stayed holed up in his room until Hwangyu went to check on him—only to have the guy suddenly talk back casually and even try to square up to him. And the strength—what the hell was that? Hwangyu, honed by constant training, had been completely overpowered with one hand. He’d been shocked to the core.
That chestnut-sized body was hiding strength like that…?
That was why, even while raging, Hwangyu couldn’t help but watch Gyumin carefully.
But what the hell? He’s not even paying attention to me at all.
Hwangyu stopped swearing and glared daggers at Gyumin, but Gyumin—unlike usual—just wore that vacant expression, muttering to himself about something unknown, before picking up his spoon and starting to eat.
The absurdity of it made Hwangyu click his tongue.
I really should take him to a hospital.
Eating together?
That was ridiculous enough—but the nerve of him, eating first without knowing his place.
This was unacceptable. Gritting his teeth, Hwangyu moved to flip the table—
What… is that smell?
The rich aroma of the spicy pork hit his nose, stopping him cold. His gaze drifted naturally to the food Gyumin had prepared. Until now, Gyumin’s cooking had been nothing special—edible, at best. But this smell was something else entirely.
The scent rising from that pork was anything but ordinary. Hwangyu, who’d grown up eating nothing but top-tier food and had a refined palate, found his mouth watering.
…He’s eating that like it’s nothing.
Watching Gyumin mix the pork into the white rice and shovel it in, Hwangyu swallowed hard.
In the end, realizing that flipping the table would only hurt himself, Hwangyu hesitated, then quietly sat back down. Gyumin clearly didn’t care about him anyway—he’d at least taste it first, then decide whether to flip it or not.
And the moment he took a huge bite of the pork—
Th-this taste…!