Do-young's Favorite Random Game (5): Let's Go to My House
That one line, "Let's go to my house," could spark a whole event in any normal relationship between a guy and a girl. But to Do Ha-min, it probably didn't hit with that kind of drama.
The first-floor dojo where we always held kendo lessons, the second-floor living room and kitchen where I'd taught him how to make rolled omelets—he'd been in and out enough times that Ban Family Home wasn't some mystical, fantasy-wrapped palace to him anymore. It was just a familiar spot we'd visited repeatedly, like a standing appointment.
So even though he was startled hearing his own name on my lips, the invitation itself barely registered. Fair enough—after weeks of showing up here every day like clockwork, it'd be ridiculous if he gawked around with his mouth hanging open.
"Ah, Ha-min, come on in. I can't thank you enough for all the times you've saved our bacon."
"Ah, hello, Master."
"Do-young said you'd be helping her study today, so I stocked up on snacks and drinks for you two. Help yourselves, make yourselves at home. Anything you need, just say the word."
"M-Master, you don't have to go that far... I'm doing this because I want to."
"That's exactly why I'm grateful. Her test scores don't matter—just teach her how to park her butt in that chair and actually study this time. I'm counting on you."
"Dad, there's Zero Lime Cola in those drinks, right?"
"Tch. Can't you see I'm talking to Ha-min? It's in the PET bottles—pour yourself some."
Look at this. Even the parents' reaction when the heroine invites the protagonist home felt all twisted from the start.
"What the hell is this treatment? Don't normal dads glare at the guy their daughter brings home like they want to murder him? Why's he giving me that look instead of Do Ha-min?"
"Don't drink straight from the bottle. Pour it into a cup."
"This is favoritism!"
When a daughter brings a boy home to "study," normal dads shoot suspicious glares at the boy, right? They pop into the room with snack excuses, scanning for any funny business, checking for condoms in his wallet, slithering around with snake eyes until they get kicked out, then lurking by the door crack, bulging eyes ready to pounce at the slightest slip.
"Do-young, you listen to everything Ha-min says and study properly. Got it?"
"…."
But Dad's gaze on Do Ha-min was just so... wistful. I wondered if even the real Ban Do-young had ever seen eyes like that from him. The doubt hit me that hard.
"Ha-min, if Do-young tries slacking off or messing with you instead of studying, come straight downstairs and tell me."
"Y-Yes, sir, Master."
"Hey, I'm Ban Do-young here? That guy's about to be stuck in my room with me from now on. We're gonna study alone together—aren't you even a little tense?"
"When have you ever seen Ha-min as a guy?"
With his face already familiar to Mom and Dad, and him being the spark that got me back into kendo and studying after I'd dropped both—it was impossible to make Do Ha-min wary now.
"Alright, head on up to your room. The dojo noise might make it hard to focus in the second-floor living room."
"Th-Thank you, Master."
Even the father—the ultimate gatekeeper of the heroine's home—had fallen to Do Ha-min. He slipped off his shoes more naturally than expected and stepped inside.
Humans adapt quick, sure, but for a certified loser like him to stroll into the world's top beauty's house without batting an eye? In less than a month? Should I marvel at my bulldozer-level plot-pushing skills, or lament turning the prime pure-love event fodder—the heroine's house—into overboiled, thrill-free broth?
"But will he keep that reaction here too?"
Do Ha-min adapting to the heroine's house was a bummer, but no big deal. I still had my secret weapon hidden away—the one that'd show his real reaction.
"C'mon up, Do Ha-min. The second door up there is my room."
"…Third floor. Oh, first time coming up here."
"Right? I rushed out late today, so the bedding's still unmade. The pajamas I slept in are tossed on the bed too."
"S-So what."
"Just... yeah."
Yeah, the real weapon was still under wraps. Ban Do-young's private space—one he'd never set foot in.
"Come in. This is my room. Don't go sniffing around."
"What kinda talk is that?"
"I rushed out this morning without airing it."
"I-I don't care about that. Skipping one day of airing is fine."
"You think you know what I was doing alone in here last night...?"
"…."
Do Ha-min wrinkled his nose without a word. From double daily quotas like some quest grind, I'd gotten a rough gauge now. Tease him just enough, and the buildup shows in his voice. That trembling-eyed stare was right on the brink—silent storm before the outburst.
"Kekeke, look at you getting all serious. My bad, come on in. Unpack your bag, get comfy."
Do-young's Room
A white door with a proudly declaring plaque, tilted slightly right. I opened it and ushered Do Ha-min inside.
"…Then 'scuse me."
"Yeah, sit tight. I'll grab drinks from downstairs. Dad got mango juice too—want that?"
"…You, mango? Not Zero Lime?"
"Tutor's here to teach—gotta serve what the teacher's craving. Dad even said to get you whatever."
"…."
"I hate mango cola, not mango itself."
"Then… mango juice it is."
"Gotcha, hold on!"
I tossed my bag in the room, left him alone, and headed to the second floor. Better dial back the rage-stoking for now—let him simmer past the brink. An outburst could spark some unforeseen mess. No way I wanted him bailing mid-tease and heading back to school.
Besides, the moment he stepped into Ban Do-young's room, I wouldn't even need to mess with him anymore.
"What, Ban Do-young? Why're you back already."
"Mango juice run."
"Weird. Thought you'd crave cola over anything."
"Hoh, even the original heroine's fave was Zero Cola? Figured it'd be some Starbucks Pepero-Papi-Pupepo Frappuccino with tapioca pearls, tall size."
"What're you on about."
"Anyway, craving mango today! My mood's mango!"
"Pronounce it right, you idiot."
-Gulp. I poured a big glass of 100% mango juice from the fridge and chugged. Mango's best straight juice, not cola. Lime's the opposite.
"So, what mischief is our protagonist up to, left alone in the heroine's room?"
Ban Do-young's room brimmed with heroine traces primed to poke the protagonist. No teasing needed—even without me there, stepping in meant constant provocation.
"Whatcha doing with your fingers together like that."
"Domain expansion—Virgin Room Raider."
"The hell?"
Let's see if you stay this chill inside. Alone in a disheveled room thick with the heroine's life scent and traces, airing skipped from rushing out.
"Hoo… Haven't even started studying, but I'm already wiped."
After Do-young headed downstairs for drinks, Ha-min was alone in her room. He set his bag by hers, but with only one desk chair, he plopped on the floor using the bed as a backrest. No way could he sit on sheets still holding her scent.
"So this is her room…."
She wasn't kidding about rushing out this morning. Not filthy, but cluttered vibes. No airing, yet no weird smells—actually, a nice one. Probably her cosmetics.
A rumpled blanket, sky-blue pajamas draped lightly atop. By color and size, men's pajamas. Women's might cramp her tall frame. Maybe Dad Ban Do-che's, or her brother in the military's.
Made sense—girls with brothers sometimes swipe trunks as shorts.
"Wh-What am I doing? Staring like an idiot. Rude."
Realizing he was blankly eyeing her bed, Ha-min smacked his head and forced his gaze away.
"Ah, the trophies."
Next: awards and medals on the dresser, all labeled Ban Do-young.
"Whoa… insane. All from kendo tournaments, huh. Makes sense—she was a prodigy kid."
Gazing at shining talent and sweat-earned achievements stirred something warm in the heart. Especially for Ha-min, about to guide her neglected studies—those past glories hit deeper. The plaques seemed to whisper: She can do it. Look how hard she worked, how she reaped the rewards. Not like him, flunking his dream high school and fleeing to obscurity.
"Wow, one every year. Amazing. Ah, this…"
A familiar little girl in a frame by the awards: young Do-young, post-tournament loss, sobbing in Mom Cheok Jun-sook's arms. He'd seen her elementary pic before, so it felt nostalgic despite first sight.
"She had days like this too, huh… hehe."
Cute. A laugh slipped out. Learning this new side of her tugged his lips up unconsciously.
"Gah, no! Can't giggle over a classmate's kid pics!"
-Thwack. Tension gone again, he punched his temple to snap out. Anything to erase that dopey grin over her childhood.
"Enough… all this distraction. Prep for studying. Don't get sidetracked when she gets back."
Ha-min steeled himself, spreading workbooks and pens on the small round table.
"Wonder if it's okay to lend her my pens…"
He hesitated sharing his. Mock exam ink-pen trauma. Good or bad aside, it wrecked focus—any whiff revived those memories.
"Studying anyway—her desk pens should be fine…"
He stood for a pen from her desk.
"Pic here too."
A frame: kid Do-young partying with friends in kendo tee. Around 3rd-4th grade, like the other.
These pics as centerpieces? Probably her happiest time.
"Sa-hyung and Hye-rang. Besties since elementary."
Much younger, but obvious—Choi Sa-hyung and Yoo Hye-rang clung to her, grown straight from those kid selves. Sa-hyung's, uh, extra faithfully.
"Huh, cone hat and cake… wait, is this."
20xx/09/06
[Happy 10th Birthday to Our Beloved Do-young.]
"…Ah, got it. Her birthday."
Unintentionally uncovering her closely guarded birthday. Ha-min reflexively snapped a phone pic of the date, then dashed back to his seat—Do-young's footsteps on the stairs.
…
"I'm back—nothing happen while I was gone?"
"Nnh…"
"Too bad. Anyway, here—your precious mango juice."
"Th-Thanks."
Ha-min played it cool, taking the juice with a straight face and sipping.
"How's that 100% 'thicc' mango taste you were after?"
"Pffft—!"
"Hey, why spit! I said mango, not mangko!"
"Kuhk! Kuhk!"
Do-young and Ha-min finally started studying after scrubbing the sticky mango mess off the floor.