" Ow—okay, okay, I got it. No need to hit me, dude."
Mark grumbled as I lightly smacked his shoulder, but he only chuckled—completely unfazed—as he leaned back again, clearly more interested in joking around than the assignment spread open between us on the table.
We were sitting in the living room of his house—
No… villa.
Even now, I couldn't fully wrap my head around it.
When I had first stepped inside, I had just… paused.
The space was huge. Everything—from the furniture to the décor—quietly screamed expensive. Not flashy, just… effortlessly rich.
My gaze had wandered around in silent awe—
until it landed on him.
Mark, now leaning forward again, brows slightly furrowed as those green eyes scanned the page, actually trying to concentrate.
He looked… normal.
Humble. Easygoing.
Nothing like what I had expected.
Unlike… certain some people.
"Aww, it must be the first time my dear is concentrating this much on his work~"
A warm voice drifted in from the kitchen.
"If you kids need anything, I'll be right around—just call me, okay?"
I turned slightly, offering a polite smile.
"Sure—"
"Mom, stop disturbing us," Mark cut in immediately, not even looking up.
"Right, right~"
I blinked.
…Okay then.
I glanced at the clock on the wall.
My eyes widened slightly.
Shoot.
"Uh… I'm getting late," I murmured, already starting to gather my things.
The words from the call echoed in my mind—
"Be on time. I hate waiting."
…Yeah, he definitely sounded like the type who'd fire me for being even a minute late.
"What for? It's the weekend."
Mark finally looked up, brows knitting in confusion.
I hesitated.
Should I tell him?
"…It's just—I applied for a tutoring job," I said, trying to sound casual. "For a middle schooler."
"What?"
Mark stared at me, clearly caught off guard.
"Yeah, the pay seemed nice and—"
"If you were in need of money, you should have told me."
Mark cut me off abruptly.
I looked up.
His green eyes were fixed on me now, brows drawn together—not teasing this time.
Concern.
…Yeah.
I didn't like where this was going.
"It's not like that," I murmured, my gaze dropping to the table.
Who am I kidding… it's exactly like that.
"Then… just think of it like me paying you for helping me, alright?"
"No—"
The refusal came out too fast.
Too sharp.
I paused, then softened my tone.
"I mean… it's okay. Really.
I shook my head lightly.
"I don't want to trouble you… and it'll just make things awkward between us."
Mark opened his mouth to argue, his expression tightening again—but I didn't give him the chance.
I kept refusing.
Again.
And again.
Until finally_
"…Fine," he exhaled, running a hand through his brown hair, clearly reluctant. "Do what you want."
I let out a small breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Thanks."
Getting out of there felt harder than it should have.
But I managed.
The moment I stepped outside, a chilly breeze brushed past me.
I pulled my hoodie a little closer around myself, adjusting the sleeves. The fabric still felt… new.
A small, quiet satisfaction settled in.
My hoodie.
My cargos.
Bought from my own money—the advance from the café.
No uniform. No restrictions.
I took out my phone, opening the address.
No time to waste.
I started rushing.