Saturday morning didn't start with an alarm.
I woke up to the muffled, elegant notes of a piano drifting up from the hall.
Ha-neul was playing again—something classical, intricate, and surprisingly peaceful. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling my chest and shoulders finally beginning to loosen up.
I rolled out of bed, went through a series of deep stretches, and pounded out fifty push-ups just to make sure the "Mountain" was still under the skin.
After a quick wash, I headed downstairs, the smell of toasted bread and coffee drawing me toward the kitchen.
Vrrr. Vrrr.
My phone buzzed on the counter just as I was reaching for the juice.
"Hello?" I whispered into the receiver.
"Delivery service," a gruff voice answered. "I'm at the gate. I have a fragile package for Lee Min-hyuk."
My heart did a somber backflip.
The vase.
The Joseon-style, million-won stress-purchase was here.
"San-ah? Who is it?" Mrs. Lee asked, walking into the kitchen with a stack of laundry. She looked much more rested today, her eyes bright with curiosity.
My brain stalled.
Lying to a veteran journalist was like trying to hide a fire with a paper napkin.
"Uh..." I stammered, looking at the door. "It's... it's my girlfriend. Sora."
Mrs. Lee's face transformed instantly.
A wide, knowing smile broke across her lips.
"Oh! Sora-ssi? How sweet. Are you going to see her today?"
She looked me up and down—my oversized track suit, slightly messy hair, and worn-out sneakers.
"Are you going on a date in... this?" she asked, her voice dripping with maternal judgment. She let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Go on, then. But tomorrow, we are all going out together. Family shopping. I cannot have my son looking like a gym rat while he's dating a trainee."
"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, moving toward the front door.
As I reached the garden path, the front gate creaked open. Ha-neul walked in, carrying a wooden crate filled with fresh greens and plants—likely a request from Mrs. Lee for the weekend's side dishes.
"Hey," she said, squinting at me. "Why are you running? And why do you look like you're about to commit a crime?"
She looked back toward the street.
"Also, there's some creep in a truck near the gate. He's staring at the house."
Before she could finish the sentence, I lunged forward. Since she was holding the heavy crate with both hands, she couldn't swat me away. I clamped my hand over her mouth, pulling her close.
"Listen to me very carefully," I hissed into her ear. "That 'creep' is a delivery man. He has a package for your father. If your mother finds out what's in it, we are all dead. I'm going on a 'date' with Sora to cover for the delivery. Do not say a word."
I let go. Ha-neul blinked, her face turning a bright shade of indignant red. She looked like she wanted to scream, but then she looked at the house, then back at me, and finally nodded.
"You're dead if Mom finds out," she whispered. "And you owe me."
"Deal."
I walked out to the street. The delivery man was standing by the back of a padded van, holding a large, bubble-wrapped box with "FRAGILE" stickers plastered all over it.
"San?" he asked.
"That's me."
I signed the digital document with a shaky hand. The man handed me the package. It was heavier than I expected, and the weight was distributed awkwardly.
"Careful," the man warned.
He climbed back into his cab and drove off, leaving me standing on the quiet residential sidewalk in my baggy track suit.
I looked down at the box.
Inside was a million-won piece of history.
I couldn't just walk back into the house with it—Mrs. Lee was probably watching from the window, expecting me to head toward the bus stop for my "date."
I stood there, alone on the street, clutching the Joseon vase to my chest like a stolen child.
"Now what?" I whispered to the empty air.