“Hyung, I sent it because I couldn’t stand seeing you starve, so don’t argue and just eat. You boiling ramen in a way that looks pathetic? That hurts my pride, so no way.”
What came next grated on Doyeong’s nerves.
“Oh, and hyung.”
“What now? What else?”
“Don’t throw away the receipt.”
Doyeong picked up the long receipt dragged across the floor.
[Orderer: Cheon Ihyeon]
“There’s my name printed here, right?”
“Uh… yeah, but why?”
“Take a verification shot and send it to me. Make sure my name and your face are both in it.”
“…What?”
“I need to confirm that I actually fed you. Make sure you’re really eating, not giving it to the dog or something.”
It wasn’t just a simple request for proof. It was a possessive confirmation ritual to remind him in reality, ‘You exist because of my money.’
“If you don’t send it, tomorrow morning I’ll send a food truck. With a banner that says ‘0 Won Couple Fighting.’ I’ll make the whole neighborhood know.”
“…You’re seriously a crazy bastard.”
Despite cursing, Doyeong shakily pulled out his phone.
That lunatic was the type who would really call a food truck without a second thought.
“Grandma! Take a picture for me.”
“A picture? You’re about to eat—what pictures?”
“Just… someone wanted a proof shot. Gotta at least pay for the food, right?”
Reluctantly, Doyeong posed holding the receipt and the pig’s trotters bone. Grandma said, “Oh dear, our puppy needs to look good~” and awkwardly flipped the phone the wrong way, then fixed it back and pressed the shutter.
Click!
The flash of the old phone burst. Before Doyeong could even check, he pressed send with a ‘whatever’ feeling.
[Message sent successfully]
Ihyeon sat in front of his monitor, resting his chin on his hand with a bored expression as he checked the notification.
“Let’s see.”
He wasn’t expecting much. Just because the voice is nice doesn’t mean the face is good. Ihyeon was cold like that. If Doyeong’s looks were way below his aesthetic standards, he was just going to keep him as a business partner.
After all, if the toy isn’t pretty, the urge to own fades, right?
“A country bumpkin farmer… as long as he doesn’t look like a potato, I guess it’s okay…”
Casually, Ihyeon clicked the photo file.
Pop.
The photo filled the screen.
“……”
His finger froze midair. His breath caught.
The photo quality was terrible. The photographer had taken an atrocious low-angle shot from below. The focus was half off, the burst flash left the face all white, and one corner of the frame was blocked by grandma’s thumb. On top of that, he was holding a pig’s trotters bone in a ridiculous pose.
But—
“…Wow.”
Amidst this chaotic mess, only Doyeong’s face was clear.
The burst flash shattered on Doyeong’s face. Beneath that cruel light wasn’t a crude farmer.
Sweat-drenched, wet black hair disheveled across his forehead, with deep, intense eyes beneath, his brow slightly furrowed from fatigue and heat, carrying a strange melancholy that hinted at a deep story.
His face looked like a still cut from a 1990s Hong Kong noir film.
Bold and masculine but somehow delicate features, a tragic yet captivating atmosphere like he could break at any moment.
The slim collar of his wrinkled T-shirt revealed a thin collarbone; lean muscles on his forearm made the pig’s trotters bone he held seem like a lonely glass of liquor.
Crazy.
Ihyeon stared blankly at the monitor, his heart pounding irregularly.
This wasn’t a farmer. It looked like a fallen noble exiled to the countryside, or a movie protagonist hiding wounded in the sticks.
“You actually live by digging dirt with that face?”
The thought of him picking peppers and driving a tractor with those eyes oddly excited him.
In truth, Ihyeon didn’t care about status. That meant he judged by face, not rank. And Doyeong possessed a rare charm that transcended status and class, enough to catch Ihyeon’s eye.
That face had been breaking sweat and rolling around somewhere I didn’t know.
It was like kicking around a pile of dirt and realizing there was an uncut, flawless diamond burrowed inside.
“Sigh… seriously.”
A grin uncontrollably curled on Ihyeon’s lips. This was no longer mere interest. It was possessiveness.
The voice, skills, personality, and now the looks. He felt even unfamiliar tastes rising.
“A business partner? No more of that.”
Ihyeon immediately saved the photo and set it as his phone wallpaper. Then hesitated briefly before creating a secret folder to back up the original file. The folder was named [One].
“That could’ve been a disaster. What if someone else saw it first?”
He obsessively ran his finger across Doyeong’s eyes in the photo—the same eyes glaring back holding that pig’s trotters bone.
“Cute. No, sexy.”
Now Doyeong was no mere toy.
He had to own him, to make that languid, tragic gaze tremble with tears or excitement—just for him.
“Ha, this is possible.”
Ihyeon’s eyes shimmered dangerously.
What Doyeong didn’t know was that the ruined photo grandma took wasn’t only the leash unlocking a wild beast, but the catalyst pouring gasoline on Ihyeon’s possession.
10 P.M.
For the average gamer in South Korea, this was the time they’d gulp caffeine and fire up, saying “Time to burn it tonight.”
But in the outskirts of Gyeonggi-do, at the blue gate house, things were different.
“Ughhh…”
Doyeong’s head lolled dangerously like a spinning top as he sat at his desk.
The shabby rabbit character on his monitor seemed to match his state, aimlessly running against the wall.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rabbit’s footfalls echoing as it bounced in place.
[Party] 0: Hyung.
[Party] 0: Breaking through that wall soon.
[Party] 0: Sleepy?
0 fluttered his six wings, crouched by the rabbit, and lit a campfire right in front of it. The rabbit only stopped when the crackling fire blocked its path.
“You okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Through the headset came 0’s—or rather, Cheon Ihyeon’s—voice. Low and languid, but clearly meant to keep the other awake.
“Uh… no… not sleepy…”
Doyeong murmured, rubbing his eyes. His eyelids felt like lead.
Hard to blame him: he was a full-time farmer who had gotten up at 5 A.M., spent the day under the blazing sun tending to pepper seedlings, wrestled a broken tractor. For a farmer, 10 P.M. was like 4 A.M. for a city person, deep into the night.
“Haah…”
Doyeong yawned long and loud. The unfiltered yawn and the smacking noise traveled through the mic.
In his penthouse in Seoul, Ihyeon enjoyed those sounds like ASMR, curling his lips upward.
Unlike himself, who couldn’t sleep even when medicated, that defenselessness oddly excited him.
“Hyung, you really are a farmer.”
Ihyeon rested his chin on his hand and muttered lazily.
“People faking a concept are usually most active at this hour. But you, hyung, you’re like a battery-powered machine drained dry.”
“…I told you, it’s not a concept.”
Doyeong mumbled drowsily, his words slurred.
“Tomorrow… they say it’ll rain at dawn… gotta cover with plastic…”
“Plastic cover?”
“Yeah… and a lot more…”
A ranker worrying more about putting plastic on crops than boss fight patterns in the game. Ihyeon chuckled dryly.
“Cover or no cover, if you sleep now your stuff’s gonna drop. You know that, right?”
“I know… that’s why I’m holding out…”
Doyeong forced his eyes open.
Tractor. 50,000,000 Won.
And the pig’s trotters bill he just ate.
Chanting those words like a mantra, he pinched his thigh. Then his gaze drifted to the corner of the desk. The white pill bottle dropped earlier was rolling on the floor.
[Emergency Nerve Sedative]
Thanks to the horrific memories that made him quit gaming, his hands trembled before logging in. Every chat message tightened his chest. Panic surged when he felt someone’s eyes on him.
So he took a pill. But now?
‘…I’m okay.’
Doyeong blinked, staring at his own hand.
His fingertips holding the mouse didn’t tremble. The tight chest pressure was gone.
The reason was obvious.
Because of that loud guy. Talking to him, feeding him, teasing him—there was no room for trauma to slip through.
‘Noisy…’
Annoying, selfish, exhausting.
He was scared to be left alone in the silence, but this guy wouldn’t leave him be for even a second.
“Hyung.”
Could he be a better guy than he thought? The voice came again, a little lower and stickier than before.
“Don’t sleep and answer me. Let’s at least do introductions while we’re at it.”
“What…”
“I’ve given my name, but you haven’t. An owner has to check a pet’s name tag. What if you’re a stray?”
Even his hazy mind sensed the insult. Stray?
Stop insulting strangers, you freak. Also woah both of Doyeong’s grandparents are alive? When he’s already over 30? That’s rare