Chapter 17: The Maid Uniform Incident

“Wow—. What kind of refrigerator is this? It’s a food warehouse. I bet more of this spoils and gets thrown out than actually gets cooked.”

If they hired chefs here, they’d be in heaven. The refrigerator wasn’t just packed with all sorts of ingredients—one shelf had professionally wrapped dishes that looked like they came straight from a restaurant.

Did they prepare those so Min Seonwoo could eat conveniently whenever he wanted? I searched for the ingredients I needed from my list while continuously marveling. I wonder if I could take some if it looks like it’s about to spoil? Looking at the fresh abalones in the seafood section, I felt a brief moment of conflict.

After checking the ingredients roughly and pulling out what I needed to prepare right away, I headed to the sink. The seasonings in the cupboard were also unimaginably diverse, and the tableware sparkled.

For a moment, I felt envious of whoever would marry Min Seonwoo. In this case, would it be Yeryeong? Damn, I’m so jealous. If I had any charm, I’d try my luck too—but unfortunately, I’m a very ordinary person.

Let’s just focus on building a connection. Pushing aside my regret, I seriously started cooking. If I took it slow from now, I’d probably finish around the right time.

I need to make a good first impression. Min Seonwoo, I’ll make you food so delicious you won’t miss a 12-course banquet! I declared boldly—in my head, of course.

But this resolve crumbled in less than an hour.

Today must be cursed. The sour smell rose from the floor, climbed up my clothes, and stabbed my nose. The vinegar bottle that slipped from my hand sprayed its liquid all over me, slammed into my instep, and generously blessed the floor as well.

What a mess. At least I can wipe the floor—the problem is my clothes. What do I do about this? Vinegar will leave a smell even if I rinse it with water. No, before that, the area to rinse is so large that washing it might be faster.

Fortunately, the bathroom attached to the waiting room has a shower, so I can wash my body—but I don’t have spare clothes to change into… or do I. For a moment, I thought of that outfit—then quickly shook my head in horror. No, let’s just pretend it doesn’t exist. That’s not an option. Let’s not even define it as clothing.

…But the smell is no joke. My nose is getting numb. Damn it. I’d rather be a pervert than smell like this. I took one step toward the abyss.

“Jinho… ss—…?”

Min Seonwoo came home, just as he’d said, around the time I was supposed to leave work.

“Ah! You’re back?”

“What… are you… right now…”

“You haven’t had dinner yet, right? I set it all out on the table, so go eat.”

I immediately stepped behind the wide-eyed, flustered Min Seonwoo and pushed his back. I knew exactly what he was about to say, so this was a desperate attempt to redirect his attention before he could say it. Like I’d give him a chance to speak. I know better than anyone that my current state looks strange—so just shut up and go eat, okay?

Afraid of hating myself, I didn’t look at anything that could reflect my image after changing. It must be the worst. Fortunately, I don’t have much body hair, so my smooth thighs visible between the long socks and skirt are my greatest consolation.

Hah—f*ck. The fact that I’m even thinking about this is despairing enough, but anyway. I pushed the dazed Min Seonwoo toward the dining room. Personally fixing his head forward whenever he tried to look back, we finally reached the table—spread with a generous dinner: from the cursed chilled jellyfish salad that made my blood boil, to the representative home-cooked dish of soybean paste stew, dried yellow corvina, and various seasoned greens. Even Min Seonwoo, who kept trying to look at me, let out a “Wow—” of admiration.

Bastard, hyung’s skills are something else! Puffed up with pride, I even forgot about my outfit and arrogantly crossed my arms. Fortunately, Min Seonwoo’s eyes were stolen by the lavish table and he didn’t notice—but realizing my own state, my face burned and I demurely lowered my arms again.

“Sit down and eat quickly. I can’t guarantee it’ll taste good.”

The food was getting cold, so I urged him as he stood there blankly, and added some modest words for courtesy. At that, Min Seonwoo seemed to snap out of it, pulled out a chair, sat down, and picked up his utensils.

I focused every nerve in my body on the first spoonful and chopstickful going into his mouth. The bastard who first picked up the cursed jellyfish salad that had put me in this outfit turned his head to look up at me. A bright smile was on his face.

“This is really delicious!”

I… I did it!

“Doesn’t it come to mind at this time of day?”

Who’s the one with that mouth that ruins the appetite during this sacred dinner hour? Even as I glare at him with all my might, Min Seonwoo just laughs it off with a “Hahaha.”

He’s talking about the maid uniform incident from two weeks ago—caused by that damned chilled jellyfish salad that’s now a regular side dish on our dinner table. That moment, which remains the greatest humiliation of my life, must have left quite an impression—because ever since that day, he occasionally makes these ridiculous remarks.

A few days after I first made dinner, Min Seonwoo and I had become the kind of relationship where we ate together every evening. Thanks to my natural cooking skills capturing his palate.

Remembering how Min Seonwoo had gently refused my offer to make dinner, I suddenly felt immensely proud. Developing into this kind of relationship so naturally—I never knew I had this much social skill. It felt like discovering a new talent. And more than anything, this dinner time was crucial for a very important reason, which made me even prouder.

Contrary to my expectation that being in the same house, right next door, would mean plenty of encounters, I actually had very little time with Min Seonwoo. He wasn’t home much to begin with, and even when he was, I stayed in the waiting room and only got called when needed—so there wasn’t much chance to talk.

Aside from occasionally running to ask about absurd items left on the waiting room desk or table—like cat ears, collars with bells, or tails with double-sided tape—we had almost no private conversations.

So this dinner time played an incredibly, incredibly, INCREDIBLY important role in building intimacy. It gave us time to sit face to face and exchange all sorts of talk.

Min Seonwoo ate at a moderate pace, so we could have more conversation than expected. At first, we only had superficial talk—how’s the seasoning, any food you want to eat next—but after two weeks, we could now have fairly deep conversations.

For example:

“So that’s what I’m saying! Hyung, you were too soft on them, don’t you think?”

“Is that so? I don’t think—”

“Trust me, hyung. I saw it in a drama—in those situations, you should do it like this! Make a scary face and say something sharp.”

Like this, we even gossip about his subordinates at work. Though whatever I say, Min Seonwoo just laughs it off.

Still, this is something! The wall he had on the first day—even though we haven’t fully dropped formal speech—was quite solid. He’d continue conversations gently with a kind tone, but something felt lacking, which kept making me anxious. So I talked more, acted sillier, and tried my best to make him laugh—which is why we’ve gotten this close.

After all, funny guys are popular. Ah, seriously, why am I so talented?

“You dropped another one, Jinho-ssi.”

I’d been lost in thought when Min Seonwoo’s firm voice reached me. I must have loosened my grip while thinking—a piece of side dish must have fallen from my chopsticks.

“…You don’t have to point out every single one.”

Muttering while avoiding his stern gaze, his long-fingered hand picked up the dropped food with his chopsticks and brought it to his mouth.

“Come on, you shouldn’t waste food.”

Min Seonwoo, despite being gentle, was unexpectedly strict—particularly about etiquette and formality. Whenever I made mistakes, he’d point them out without hesitation and correct them—I could feel that bone-deep.

On the second day of work, I finally saw the “proper uniform” Min Seonwoo had mentioned—it looked like a modified hanbok, or maybe a massage therapist’s outfit. The short-sleeved black top had strings for fastening on the side, and the black bottom was a pair of loose, wide-legged pants. The comfort when I tried it on was, needless to say, excellent. It was clearly made for easy movement.

The problem was that the fastening part used strings—and since I have zero dexterity, my knots were inevitably a mess. But being cool, I naturally didn’t care and just tied them sloppily. Then the vibration called me to the next room—I opened the door and walked in. The moment he saw me, Min Seonwoo’s brow furrowed sharply.

‘What’s wrong?’

I asked, wondering if I’d done something wrong. He gestured with his finger. Thinking he wanted me to come closer, I walked right up to him—and he spoke in a firm tone I’d never heard before.

‘That’s not how you tie a knot.’

His hands, as firm as his voice, undid my sloppy knots. He even untied the inner knot, exposing bare skin—but his expression was so serious as he explained the proper way to tie it that I couldn’t bring myself to protest.

‘Got it?’

When he asked in formal speech again, I reflexively nodded—but unfortunately, I still didn’t really get it. So just as we had dinner together every evening, Min Seonwoo tying my strings every morning became part of the routine.

Other than that—like now, when I dropped food while eating, he’d pick it up and feed it to me, or re-teach me how to use chopsticks. When my hair or clothes were disheveled, he’d call me over to fix them. And whenever I accidentally let out rough language, he’d correct me with proper words.

“I told you not to hold your chopsticks and spoon together.”

Even the usually kind him became quite stern at times like that—there was no room for argument. I quickly followed his corrections every time.

Partly out of embarrassment, but mostly because unlike the first time when he’d say it with a smile, from the second time onward he’d harden his face and switch to casual speech. Same when I repeated a mistake I’d already been told about.

Of course, I didn’t have zero rebellious feelings. Just a week ago, I’d talked back once.

It felt a bit much for a grown adult to need help getting dressed every single time—so I tied it sloppily, went to him, and said I’d just do it this way since there was no major inconvenience.

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