The Journey Begins in the Bathroom
"Ah, then we'll go ahead and finalize the contract just like that!"
"Yes, please handle it appropriately."
Her face lit up, and for some reason, it put me in a good mood. Well, I'd already put her through enough embarrassment earlier, so this much was the least I could do. How much was the standard commission anyway?
"Then, for now, I'd like to entrust the interior remodeling to you as well. Is that okay?"
"Sure, no problem. Just do the contract first—there's nothing major that could go wrong on the real estate side."
With her permission secured, we headed to the real estate office to draw up the contract. Staring at the paperwork with my name on it, the reality of actually moving out hit me all at once. I started second-guessing if I'd been too reckless stamping my seal without a solid plan. But it was fine. The house was in decent shape to begin with, and after remodeling, it'd be a fantastic place.
"Alright, let's go with this."
We quickly returned to the real estate office and finalized the contract. To anyone else, it might've seemed like no big deal, but to me, it was the first contract stamped in my own name. I'd done one before with my parents for the villa I was living in now, so it hadn't felt personal back then. But this time? This was truly my house. Sure, it was a jeonse lease, but still—my own place.
"Just stamp here, and we're good."
"I don't have a stamp."
"Figured as much. A signature will do just fine."
I chuckled at the agent, who nodded knowingly and pointed to the spot on the contract. With a flourish, I signed it decisively and handed it back.
"Young folks like you sure are straightforward."
"You bet."
Whatever discomfort she'd felt from that earlier incident seemed to have vanished; she was beaming now, brighter than I could've imagined. Made sense, though. Word was, real estate agents pulled in commissions worth several houses per deal. Even after whatever had happened, she hadn't kicked me out—probably because I was a cash cow. A smirking customer like me, anyway.
With the signature done, I genuinely felt like a landlord. Nice.
"Contract complete. So, we'll start with the remodeling. When would you like to begin?"
Since I wasn't the owner, she probably needed to coordinate the schedule with them. I mentioned the date I'd already had in mind. Of course, it hadn't been cleared with any remodeling companies yet, so things could shift—I made sure to mention that.
"As the tenant, honestly, as long as you pay the jeonse deposit, the owner won't care much."
True enough. Remodeling only improved the place—no downsides for the landlord. That explained why they'd greenlit it without much hassle.
"Yeah, I can wire the deposit right away anyway."
"The place is vacant, so we could even close the deal immediately if you transfer now."
I asked for the account details while grinning at her. She provided them without missing a beat.
"Just send it here."
She'd already looped in the owner, so no need for extra calls. Once the deposit was wired, the agent shot me a subtle glance. Commission time, no doubt.
"I like people who keep things straight."
I held out my hand, and she finally passed over the paper with her account info, looking a bit bashful. Not her first rodeo in real estate, so why the shyness now? Handling the payments myself—deposit, commission, everything—stirred an indescribable rush. Felt like I was truly in charge.
"How much for the commission?"
"The usual average rate."
I transferred roughly the standard amount first, then eyed her expression for confirmation. She nodded eagerly. My work here was done.
"Whew, I'm beat. Guess it's time to head home."
House-hunting two places in one day had worn me out. Time to crash. As I glanced at her, she seemed lost in thought.
"Agent?"
"Oh, yes! Thanks for your hard work. I'll note the move-in date as the one on the contract."
Did real estate agents usually track move-in dates? Whatever—I nodded and let it slide.
"Alright, see you."
"Yes, take care. If any issues come up, I'll give you a call."
She scanned my phone number on the contract like she was committing it to memory. Probably just my imagination. We exchanged goodbyes, and I headed home, feeling lighter than ever. Sure, now I had to scout interior firms and handle a bunch of stuff, but it beat living in this cramped hole by a mile. Even with my stuff only half-unpacked, the one-room just felt wrong.
"Hm, maybe it's because my family home was over 30 pyeong."
I couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but that was probably the biggest factor. Mom had always said moving from a big place to a small one was brutal. Made sense why the half-empty one-room had dragged me down so much.
"Ah, now that I think about it, I miss Mom's side dishes."
That familiar taste everyone grows up with. It'd been a while. She'd cooked some stuff when I visited recently, but no proper banchan. Probably too focused on the lottery win—paying off our debts in one go wasn't easy.
"Haa... Maybe I should head down to the family home this time."
But Mom and Dad were about to leave for their overseas trip soon.