Kids These Days
"Ah..."
Kingsley was speechless for the first time.
His broad shoulders slumped heavily—a pitiful sight of a man completely deflated. For a long while he buried his face in both hands before asking, in a hollow voice,
"So... there's no woman who truly loves me?"
The final question of a man whose every illusion had been shattered.
Donovan looked at the sprawled-out Kingsley and spoke.
"Not going to ask why this time?"
"Forget it. I'm already fatally wounded. God. How is it that not even one—not a single one out of five—was real?"
True love? Pure affection?
Not a single grain of that had ever existed to begin with.
Kingsley collapsed into the back seat as if melting into it.
"Ah... I'm Kingsley, you know? I'm Kingsley..."
Muttering self-deprecatingly, Kingsley soon realized something.
Wait a second.
Thinking about it, it was chilling. When he'd first placed the request, the only information he'd given was that there were about four or five women. No prior investigation possible. Zero information provided.
And yet the man sitting next to him had, simply by looking at their faces through the car window, uncovered every secret of their private lives and their true natures.
Only then did the words Donovan had spoken when they first met flash through Kingsley's mind.
My skills are so exceptional that walking around openly about them is a bit dangerous.
That hadn't been some blustering concept. This wasn't a staged show, nor something that could be faked with background checks.
Kingsley slowly turned his head to look at Donovan.
The pitiful, collapsed face of the narcissist was nowhere to be found. His eyes now gleamed with pure awe that had surpassed mere shock.
"...You're the real deal?"
At that, Donovan smirked.
"You caught on pretty quick."
"So that's how it is, huh?"
As if his earlier despair had never existed, Kingsley's eyes sparkled. He stared at Donovan and spoke.
"Then all I have to do is find her from now on, right?"
"What?"
"My true love. If everyone I've met so far was fake, then I just need to find the real one starting now, don't I?"
It was a remarkably swift change of attitude. Kingsley pulled a jet-black plastic card from his pocket and tossed it to Donovan.
"I'll pay the promised fee in advance. It's a membership for our hotel chain."
The card had nothing but a simple zero printed on its surface.
"And let's extend the contract period by one year for now."
As he said this, Kingsley pulled an elegant checkbook and fountain pen from his inner pocket.
Scratch, scratch.
The sound of the pen tip moving without hesitation filled the car.
"I'll pay six million dollars as the extension fee. Five hundred thousand a month, for one year. After a year, we renegotiate the salary. How's that?"
"..."
Six million dollars. An amount well over eight billion Korean won.
After a brief moment of surprise, Donovan's mind began racing.
Six million is genuinely an enormous sum... but this is for a whole year?
He had no sense of what the going rates were in this industry to begin with.
I'll just leave it to the Boss—he's the expert.
Donovan glanced at the checkbook with an indifferent expression, then leaned back casually against the seat.
"Work out the details with my agent. I don't get involved in money matters directly."
"Fair enough—the agent will handle the negotiations. You're not opposed, though, right?"
"Yeah. Given the state you're in, I'll throw in some extra service."
"Got it. I'll contact your agent right away and have them talk it over."
Kingsley nodded with satisfaction and closed the checkbook.
"Ha. Looks like I'll have no choice but to start meeting new people. Thinking about it, that might actually be a good thing..."
Having recovered as if his despair had never happened, he was, in many senses of the word, a truly remarkable client.
Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, New York—where all the money in the world was said to gather.
Rising at its very heart, The Grand Astoria was a world reserved for the top 0.1 percent, a place where a single night could cost an ordinary worker's entire annual salary.
Right in front of the main entrance on the first floor of that hotel, a jet-black Lincoln sedan glided to a stop.
Cole, stepping out of the car, swallowed hard at the overwhelming golden aura of intimidation radiating from the entrance. Donovan, on the other hand, strolled leisurely into the lobby.
"Welcome, sir. The name on your reservation..."
Donovan placed the Level 0 Card on the desk and said,
"The quietest floor. Highest available."
The moment the employee smiled and tapped the card against the terminal—
Ding—
A low, heavy vibration hummed from the device. Then the entire monitor screen went dark, and a single line of simple golden text appeared in the center.
Highest Ownership — Approved
The employee's pupils trembled as if struck by an earthquake. A card he had only heard of in legends throughout decades as a hotelier.
Instead of making a fuss, he drew a sharp breath and bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the desk.
"...We shall make this the finest night of your stay, VVIP."
A discreet emergency button beneath the desk was pressed, and the atmosphere of the lobby flipped in an instant.
From somewhere, the general manager glided soundlessly to Donovan's side. Behind him, a dedicated security team attached themselves like shadows.
"We shall escort you to the Owner's Penthouse."
As they walked under the manager's guidance, goosebumps rose along Cole's spine. As the security personnel moved discreetly, the crowded lobby parted like the miracle of Moses, clearing a path for Donovan.
The people who came and went through this hotel's lobby were those who had never once in their lives stepped aside for anyone first—people for whom receiving top-tier VIP treatment wherever they went was as natural as breathing.
Even they, faced with a scale of protocol they had never experienced in their lives, stopped with astonished faces, cleared the way, and stole glances at Donovan.
Who on earth is that? The general manager himself is out here providing the escort?
That direction leads to the Owner's Penthouse. An Asian man is using that place?
Countless gazes mixed with shock and curiosity poured down at once, but Donovan paid them no mind whatsoever.
An elevator exclusive to the top floor, without even buttons. When Donovan lightly tapped his card against the panel, the doors closed with a soft chime.
Soon, just as his ears began to pop slightly—
Whoosh—
When the doors opened and they arrived at the penthouse, Cole's jaw dropped.
"Th-this is..."
This was no mere luxury suite.
A multi-level structure spanning several thousand square feet. The dazzling New York nightscape spread beneath their feet beyond floor-to-ceiling glass was merely the beginning. A private bar, a transparent infinity pool that seemed to touch the clouds, a cypress-wood sauna, a private fitness room—every amenity the hotel offered was contained within. What's more, staff for each amenity would come up at a mere call, so guests had no need to go downstairs at all.
In essence, the entire hotel was contained within this single Owner's Penthouse.
While Cole stood there, lost and staring blankly, Donovan casually shrugged off his suit jacket, tossed it aside, and sank into a plush sofa. His demeanor was as comfortable as if he'd returned to his own bedroom.
Donovan turned his head toward the general manager, who stood at rigid attention.
"Manager."
"Yes, VVIP. Please—anything you desire."
"It's about time I had some new clothes made. Can the tailor shop make a house call?"
"Of course. New York's finest master tailor is under exclusive permanent contract with our hotel. I shall summon him to come up immediately."
It was just as dinner service was beginning, but before a Level 0 Card, a tailor shop's reservation schedule meant nothing.
"Good. And for dinner—"
"Yes. What cuisine shall we prepare? Today's chef's recommendation is a course featuring the finest Almas caviar and truffles..."
"Do you do Korean food, by any chance?"
"...Pardon?"
"A spicy, rich doenjang stew, please. In a somewhat rustic Korean BBQ restaurant style."
An utterly humble order thrown at a general manager prepared to serve dishes worth tens of thousands of dollars. But instead of making a fuss, the general manager bowed deeply and politely requested understanding.
"VVIP, I am deeply sorry, but meal preparation may take a little time. We do not have a dedicated Korean chef permanently stationed at our hotel."
"No problem. I'm not in a rush, so take your time."
"Thank you. We shall ensure the wait is never wasted—we will serve you the most perfect Korean meal in all of New York."
His voice was calm, but a peculiar resolve even flickered in the general manager's eyes.
As the manager withdrew respectfully, Donovan rose, rolling his stiff neck.
"Cole. There are plenty of empty rooms—pick somewhere comfortable and rest. I'm going to soak in the sauna for a bit."
Donovan headed into the sauna. Cole could only stand there blankly, alternating his gaze between that leisurely retreating figure and the New York skyscrapers spread beneath his feet.
Some time later.
When Donovan emerged from the sauna in a robe, a perfect meal set like a work of art had been arranged on the living room table.
When the pure silver dome cover was lifted, the aroma of doenjang stew bubbling away in a top-grade earthenware pot filled the entire penthouse—the ultimate fermented soybean paste stew, packed with the richness of premium Korean beef and organic ingredients, a dish into which the visiting chef had poured his very soul. Beside it sat neat side dishes and glistening white rice.
Without hesitation, Donovan picked up a silver spoon and took a big mouthful of the broth.
"...Ahh! That's the stuff."
A genuine exclamation of satisfaction.
With the nightscape of skyscrapers where hundreds of millions of dollars changed hands at his back, Donovan began earnestly mixing rice into the earthenware pot and eating in silence.
"The chef nailed the seasoning perfectly. Cole, come eat too. Before it gets cold."
"..."
Cole approached hesitantly, staring blankly at Donovan eating rice mixed into what he could only describe as a mysterious brown soup with an unidentifiable smell.
An overwhelming composure that remained unfazed even before breathtaking wealth and power—enjoying it all as naturally as everyday life. Feeling a profound sense of awe, Cole carefully lifted his spoon.
With a skeptical expression, he took a spoonful of the brown soup—and his pupils dilated wildly.
And then—
"...Ahh!"
He understood Donovan's reaction completely.
These days, every day felt like a dream to Lily.
Her dad, who used to bury himself in work day and night, now came home early and smiled at her warmly. Thanks to that, her mom hummed more often, and laughter bloomed throughout the house all day long. On top of that, she'd scored a perfect hundred on a math pop quiz a few days ago. With her worries gone, playing with her friends was so much more fun.
That the start of all these miracles was thanks to a one-dollar magical hideout right in the middle of Times Square—Zen Psychic—was Lily's perfect little secret.
"Lily, something good happening with you lately?"
Even when her friends asked with curious eyes during lunch, Lily just kept her mouth shut and grinned bashfully.
But there was one exception. Her best friend, Mia.
"Mia, is it the view count again?"
During lunch, Lily asked as she watched Mia sighing over her smartphone.
"Yeah... They're really not coming in lately. I'm totally doomed."
Mia propped her chin on her hand with a gloomy face. She was a fairly successful ten-year-old TikToker. She used to get steadily rising views and growing fame whenever she posted dance videos, but lately every video she uploaded was hitting rock bottom.
Adults might snort at such a worry, but for Mia, there was no problem more serious than this.
Lily suddenly thought of her magical hideout.
Would the mister be able to solve this kind of problem too?
It was fine to tell Mia. Lily looked at her and said quietly,
"Mia, want to go somewhere with me after school today?"
"Huh? Where...?"
"My secret place. It's a real magical place. If you go there, all your worries get completely solved!"
"Really? Where is it? Does it solve view count problems like this too?"
When Mia asked, half-doubting, Lily grinned bashfully.
"Probably?"
"Well, might as well try once. Let's go!"
After school, Lily led Mia—half curious, half hopeful—by the hand and opened the door to Zen Psychic.
Jingle.
"I'm he— wait?"
Lily's confident steps into the shop came to an abrupt halt. Mia, following behind, also widened her eyes and couldn't close her mouth.
Normally there was just a single desk sitting bare, but today a lavish three-tier dessert tray that looked like something out of a movie sat atop it—colorful macarons, slice cakes sparkling like jewels, and elegant teacups giving off a subtle fragrance.
"Li-Lily... what is this place? This is seriously amazing!"
"R-right? I told you this place was no joke!"
Lily answered with a shrug, caught off guard. Her eyes sparkled like stars with anticipation.
He must have prepared this in advance knowing I'd bring a friend today!
Of course, it was a complete misunderstanding. They were simply refreshments delivered from the hotel chain using the membership card.
From the back, Donovan leisurely sipping tea beckoned the two children with a flick of his hand.
"Brought a friend today, huh? Come on over and have some of this."
"Wow, thank you!"
Lily popped a strawberry macaron so sweet it nearly brought tears to her eyes into her mouth, then pulled a crumpled one-dollar bill from her pocket and slapped it onto the table.
"This is my best friend Mia! Mister, today please solve Mia's problem instead of mine!"
"Is that so?"
Donovan set down his teacup with a look of interest.
"What's the problem?"
Mia pulled out her smartphone and set it firmly on the table.
"I, um, actually do TikTok. I was doing pretty well, but... lately my views are completely tanking and I'm so mad I could die!"
"What? View counts?"
He had never imagined a problem like this would come up.
...So this is what kids are like these days?
Donovan looked at Mia with a dubious expression, but she paid no mind and continued.
"Yes! Normally when I posted dance videos, the hearts would just pour in. Views kept climbing too."
"And that's not happening lately?"
"Exactly. But it's all because of my mom and dad!"
Mia clenched her small fists, seething with frustration. Beside her, Lily—munching on a lemon macaron—nodded vigorously.
"She's right. Mia used to be our class's TikTok star, but the videos she's been posting lately are so boring. I thought they were school promotional videos!"
Under her friend's brutal truth bomb, Mia made a teary face and clung to Donovan.
"Both my parents work at a TV station, you know? But they keep meddling with my channel! Saying a fifteen-second video needs some kind of setup-development-climax-resolution structure, or that the camera angle is wrong!"
Complaints poured from Mia's mouth like rapid fire.
"When I do what Mom and Dad say, the views plummet and all my friends unfollowed me! And still, they take my phone and even inspect the edited versions, saying 'broadcasts need quality to survive'!"
"And weirdly, it just keeps getting worse, you know? It was way more fun when Mia did it alone."
At Lily's perfectly timed commentary, Mia slammed the table and shoved the one-dollar bill toward Donovan.
"I really want to blow up my views with my own power and show my mom and dad! TikTok and TV programs are completely different!"
Mia looked at Donovan with blazing eyes and asked,
"Mister, what kind of video should I film tomorrow to go viral?!"
At that question—
the physiognomist's vision went dark.