The Changed House, and My Mother
He nodded, hoisted his suitcase onto his shoulder, and headed upstairs to his room.
Stepping into the room at the far end of the second floor, he found that—unlike the rest of the completely transformed house—his own space alone greeted him as if time had frozen the moment he left for the military. Everything stood still, waiting exactly as he had left it.
He began unpacking his things one by one. As he sorted through the considerable pile of luggage, he spent a while reminiscing about the not-so-short military life he had built for himself. He suddenly wondered how the comrades who had already gone home were spending time with their families. At the same time, the faces of the juniors left behind rose one after another in his mind.
He was finishing the last of the packing with a wry smile when he sensed a presence and looked toward the open doorway.
Mi-ho had appeared in front of his room, already changed into comfortable shorts and a loose T-shirt.
“All packed up?”
“Yeah… almost done… Did you contact the sisters?”
“Mm-hm. Seo-a said the center’s wrapping up early so she’ll join us, and So-jo’s still on set but she’ll come the moment they finish… Looks like everyone’s timing will roughly line up.”
“Nice.”
Mi-ho glanced at the remaining clutter and figured it would take him a little longer.
“Looks like you’ll need a bit more time… Then Mom will get ready to head out. I’ll wash up, change, and come find you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Han Pan watched his mother disappear from the doorway and went back to packing. The house—completely altered except for his own room—felt terribly unfamiliar, yet at the same time strangely intriguing. Especially the quite changed appearance of his mother stirred an indescribable flutter of excitement inside him.
He quickly finished the rest of the luggage, showered, then pulled everyday clothes from the closet and put them on. Civilian clothes after so long felt awkward. The short hair and tanned face in the mirror still made him look like a man freshly discharged from the army, but he decided the hair he’d grown out in preparation for returning to society wouldn’t look too out of place, and left the room.
Just as he was about to head downstairs to the living room, the door to what he assumed was his mother’s room stood slightly ajar. Curiosity sparked, and he quietly drifted toward it. He didn’t know why he was sneaking, only that some instinct insisted he had to.
After a brief hesitation in front of the door, he knocked on the half-open panel.
“Hm? Son?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“Oh, just a second… I haven’t finished getting dressed yet.”
“Okay, then I’ll wait downstairs in the living room.”
“No—wait, I’m done… Just a moment…”
Han Pan lingered at the threshold a little longer, then could no longer restrain the rising curiosity and peered through the crack into the room.
The first thing that struck him was the soft gray tone of the interior. Next came the clean white bed, neatly made, topped with a vivid red bedspread that looked almost provocatively bright. It was quite seductive; he found himself wondering whether his mother had always had this kind of taste. Shifting his gaze, he caught her half-wearing a pair of white denim jeans, struggling to pull them the rest of the way up.
They were tight enough that getting them on took some effort, and in that moment his eyes landed on the bright white lace thong she was wearing underneath. Han Pan could hardly believe his mother wore panties like that—yet, remembering the outfit she had greeted him in earlier, it suddenly seemed entirely possible.
After a few soft grunts of effort she finally got the jeans up and zipped them. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, checking her reflection, then pivoted toward the door where he stood. Han Pan straightened in a hurry.
“Come in, son!”
“Yes.”
He stepped into the room as if nothing had happened. The space was bright and cheerful—light gray walls giving it an airy, chic atmosphere that suited his transformed mother perfectly. What stood out most was a walk-in dressing area connected off to one side, filled with clothes, bags, and accessories that clearly reflected Mi-ho’s taste. One entire wall was devoted to shoes; rows upon rows of high heels stood neatly arranged. Even at a glance they looked expensive and luxurious.
Han Pan wondered when his mother had started pursuing this kind of high-end style. She seemed thoroughly captivated by the hobby of dressing herself up.
“How is it?” he asked, turning his head this way and that before meeting her eyes.
“What?”
His gaze flicked briefly over her figure.
“This room.”
“Ah…”
For a second he had thought she was asking about her body; her reply snapped him back.
“Well… it’s so different from the Mom I used to know that it’s hard to put into words… but the atmosphere feels kind of romantic? Or sexy, maybe?”
“Haha, really?”
“Yeah. Especially these high heels—they’re no joke.”
He pointed toward the heel section. Every pair was impressively tall; the colors varied wildly, and some of the shapes looked almost impossible to walk in.
“Right? Mom’s been a little obsessed with killer heels lately. Wearing them around makes my self-esteem shoot up or something.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm. It’s a bit weird to say out loud, but… guys seem to look at me more too… hehe.”
“Mom, what the hell… hahaha.”
“Don’t laugh—Mom’s kind of serious. I’m going to date a little and live enjoyably from now on!”
Han Pan’s mind flashed back to his father at the airport and the woman named Hye-su standing beside him.
“Ah, yeah, yeah. Mom should start a whole new life too… Respect! Respect!”
Mi-ho smiled at that, brushed past him, and began deliberating over her shoe collection before selecting a pair. They were white heels that matched the white jeans perfectly—simple in design, yet with an elegantly smooth line. The sole, however, was a blood-red that felt distinctly provocative.
As she picked them up, Han Pan said, “Sexy.”
“Aren’t they?”
“Yeah. They go really well with what you’re wearing.”
“Hoho, really?”
Pleased by the compliment, Mi-ho set the heels down and slowly slipped them on. The added height brought her almost level with Han Pan.
“Wow, those are seriously high. How many centimeters?”
“Hmm… about twelve, I think?”
“No joke…”
“Right? It felt weird at first, but once you get used to walking in the high ones you can’t go back to low… I’ve got even taller ones, hohoho.”
She said it while turning to examine herself in the full-length mirror. Every curve that should stand out stood out; every line that should cinch in cinched in—it was a truly killer silhouette. Even the fairly loose T-shirt couldn’t hide the full swell of her breasts. Her narrow waist and the lush flare of her hips strained the denim as if it might split. Exaggerating only a little, both her figure and face could easily pass for early thirties. The heels only accentuated the curve of her ass further, and Han Pan felt the quiet stir of lust deep in his chest.
The sudden awareness of what he was feeling flustered him; he turned his head and drew a long breath.
“Uh… Mom, let’s go… we’re gonna be late.”
“Yeah, okay… let’s go, son.”
Mi-ho gave him a confident little smile and followed as he led the way toward the living room. The sharp click of her heels echoed through the entire house, and the sound subtly worked on him.
He glanced back. “So you wear shoes inside the house now?”
Mi-ho laughed. “Mom’s picked up a weird habit lately. Just like the house in America—it’s more comfortable keeping shoes on, so I don’t go barefoot anymore. I just end up wearing something… Well, the housekeeper comes every morning and cleans everything anyway.”
“Huh? Really? …Then me too?”
“Whatever’s comfortable for you.”
“Does So-jo noona do the same?”
“Yeah. After the floors changed from wood to marble she said her feet get cold, so she either wears slippers or just walks in with shoes on.”
“Got it…”
Han Pan felt oddly self-conscious standing there in only socks. “It’s gotten a lot more American… shoes indoors, the pool outside…”
Watching his mild bewilderment, Mi-ho said, “New start, new style, right? Since I sell imported cars I figured I might as well try living a little foreign.”
Han Pan tilted his head, then decided the reasoning made a certain sense. What was clear was that his mother wanted a genuine new beginning—and he wanted to support that.
In the hallway leading down to the garage he pulled his own shoes from the old cabinet and slipped them on, stealing a glance at his mother as she passed him on her way to the car. Killer figure, he thought. At the same time the Western MILF videos he watched so often began swirling through his head. Like it or not, his mother was exactly what people called a MILF, and the fact that he would now be living under the same roof with a woman like that was simply reality. Scenes of MILFs seducing younger men in order to devour them flickered unbidden; he wondered, for a dangerous second, what it would be like if his own mother ever did the same.
He shook his head hard, erasing the thoughts, followed her out, and climbed into her car. Moments later the vehicle pulled away from the house.