Cha Su-ah: Seven Days to Ruin
4 p.m. sharp. The massive iron front door of the still-empty first-floor studio swung open, and the sharp click of high heels sliced through the silence of the 100-pyeong vacant space.
"Is this... the mansion you just bought?"
The woman standing at the door exuded an even more imperious aura than I'd imagined. A designer H-line skirt hugging her body like a second skin, a sleek silk blouse. Flawless bob haircut, glasses dripping with intellectual snobbery. Cha Su-ah, the top interior designer in Gangnam.
The moment she stepped inside, instead of sizing me up, she scanned the first floor with a picky eye—moving boxes, the new bar table I'd bought, a lone leather sofa and tea table. Her face twisted into that signature rude expression, like she'd been forced into a place beneath her station.
I lounged obliquely on the sofa, glancing at the red holographic window floating right next to her face in mid-air.
This was her report card, pulled for a cool 2 billion KRW. I had to bite my tongue to stifle the laugh bubbling up.
Fuck, jackpot. Head to toe in millions-worth of luxury brands, acting all high and mighty. But in reality, a wannabe criminal about to ride the prison train in a week, her whole life shattered. All because she siphoned off someone else's 2.2 billion.
And this bitch had no clue about her future, standing ramrod straight like her neck was in a brace. What a moron.
"Hello, I'm Han Siwoo."
I ignored the floating hologram, placed the pre-poured coffee on the table, and flashed my gentlest smile.
Only then did Cha Su-ah look me straight in the eye. Her pupils flickered ever so slightly at my decent face, but she quickly plastered on her cold business smile, crossing her legs as she sat opposite on the sofa.
"Nice to meet you, Artist Han Siwoo. I've heard the rumors. Snagged this prime 100-pyeong standalone mansion in Yeonnam-dong with cash, no loan. Crypto? Or did you inherit a bunch of properties?"
Her first words had teeth. Rich or not, you're just some rootless nouveau riche punk. To me, who knew her rock bottom inside out, it was as cute and ridiculous as a cat caught shitting in the corner hissing at me.
"Just got lucky. The second-floor living space is well-preserved in its original mansion layout, so I'll just add new electronics and furniture for now and use it as-is. I called you, Designer Cha, because I want to turn this first floor into the perfect concept studio for my art. And..."
I deliberately lowered my voice.
"...for the entire basement, perfect soundproofing construction, plus some private secret spaces not on the blueprints. Once the first floor and basement are done, I'll hand the second floor over to you completely."
Cha Su-ah paused fiddling with her coffee cup and snorted derisively.
"Art... nice word for it. Check my portfolio—you'll see I don't take just any space. And secret basement rooms off the blueprints? Illegal mods? I don't touch that with my brand on the line."
"Illegal mods..."
"Plus my fees and full materials consulting for floors 1 and 2? Minimum 2 billion. Can you handle that? Don't overreach just because you're young and full of yourself."
Young and full of yourself? Fuck, she's younger than me. Every word was barbed. Proving she was the dominant one here, an elite worlds above schlubs like me. This embezzler facing a 2.2 billion hole and prison in a week, quoting me 2 billion in fees with her nose in the air?
I sipped my coffee leisurely and nodded coolly.
"2 billion... sounds good. Let's contract."
Her eyes narrowed in surprise at my quick decision.
"More decisive than I thought. Then I'll send the contract template via my company—"
"Ah, but Designer Cha. I'd prefer to contract directly with you personally, not your company. That okay?"
She scoffed, smirking in disbelief.
"Personally? Artist Han, you messing with me? You came to me for my brand, right? Bypassing the corp means tax issues and breaks industry rules. And forgot my personal rate already...?"
"3 billion."
My casual toss cut her off.
"What?"
"If I wire 3 billion cash to your personal account right now. Screw the corp—will you be my exclusive designer, handling the basement mods too?"
Her face twisted unpleasantly in an instant. She adjusted her glasses, glaring coldly.
"Han Siwoo. Insulting people just because you've got money? 3 billion? No idea where it came from, but I don't work that way."
Her snappish tone and sour expression pressed on.
"Why should I entertain your sleazy personal account bullshit? Do I look that desperate for 3 billion?"
She grabbed her papers and luxury bag, standing with utter disdain.
Clueless about prison in a week, upholding her pride to the end, looking down at me like trash. That arrogant gaze.
"Let's call this meeting off. Can't do business with someone lacking basic manners. Find another firm for the studio interiors."
As she turned with a clack of heels toward the door, I leaned deep into the sofa, arm over the back, and murmured softly.
"Next week."
Cha Su-ah's steps halted abruptly at the door handle.
"In 7 days, that precious reputation, job, and pristine life you're fighting for? All down the shitter. 2.2 billion embezzlement hole—too big to fill alone, right?"
A suffocating silence blanketed the vast first-floor studio.
Cha Su-ah's shoulders, gripping the handle, visibly flinched.
She turned her head slowly. Very slowly.
That haughty, arrogant face that had crushed me moments ago? Transformed.
Drained of color, pale as a ghost from its own grave.
"You... what did you just...?"
Her pupils shook wildly, like an earthquake.
No wonder.
She thinks she's smart—falsified the docs perfectly, so stuff 2.2 billion back before the audit, pass it as accounting error or advance payment. No way some nouveau riche artist like me knows this corporate secret. Felt impossible.
Cha Su-ah bit her trembling lips hard. Legs wobbling like she'd collapse, but she was a tough bitch who'd clawed up in Gangnam.
"Where'd you get that third-rate gossip to blackmail me? PI? I'm Cha Su-ah. This slander and threat? I'll call the cops right—"
"Go ahead."
I cut her off with a smirk.
"Before suing me, head back to the office and feel out the audit team's vibe. See if that anonymous embezzlement tip under your name is real. How much hell the routine audit in 7 days will unleash."
"......!"
"Business talk after you've grasped reality."
I nodded toward the shut door.
"Go scrape up the cash somehow. Hustle for a week. Oh, but with all those Gangnam housewives gunning for you? Good luck finding a sucker to loan 2.2 billion cash no collateral."
"You fucking bastard... fuck off!!"
Cha Su-ah spat curses glaring, then fled out the studio door like pursued.
Bang!
The door slammed shut with a harsh boom, silence returning.
I walked to the entrance window, peering through the blinds. There she went, clutching her luxury bag, stumbling in heels to the parking lot. That precious car she'd normally baby? She floored it wildly.
Straight to the office to check. Once she confirms my words are fact, how will that pride lump crumble?
I summoned the app window again.
3. Device Hacking (1 use: 3 billion KRW)
To watch this bitch squirm for 7 days in real-time? Essential. But I held off the pay button.
30 billion per use. Plus 20 for the scan—50 billion on her already. Can't splash cash willy-nilly before knowing how much revenue this high-nosed bitch will generate under me.
I'm not some pleasure-crazed pervert burning money. I'm a businessman calculating profits cold.
For now, let this tough one crash against reality's wall, tumble to the bottom. Watch a few more days, test her.
Ding.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Sujeong's message. The girl who'd ridden me in the basement last night, shaking her hips—now all cute and everyday.
I closed the hologram. The cold, calculating shadow director in my head switched off too.
The perfect separation I'd vowed. Shadow side: ruthless pimp without blood or tears. Daylight: warm, kind oppa to my people, true Han Siwoo.
Yeah. This is life. I won't let this fucked app devour me. I'll live as me.