“Staring at it like that won’t get you anywhere. No more causing trouble this time.”
He must’ve assumed Go Hoon was eyeing the display case again, scheming to knock down another whiskey bottle.
“Myaang.”
‘That’s not what I’m doing, you little shit.’ My head’s already a mess, and this bastard just keeps throwing fuel on the fire.
Even as that grumpy thought crossed his mind, his gaze naturally dropped to Baek Jung-yoon’s foot. The injury seemed to be nearly healed now.
The bandage that had been on all week had come off entirely since last night. A few days ago, he’d still been limping, but now he walked normally again.
After unintentionally seeing Baek Jung-yoon bleed, even someone as thick-skinned as Go Hoon found his resolve shaken. Whenever Baek Jung-yoon was around, he’d end up trailing after him, and if he came back from a short trip outside, Go Hoon would instinctively rush up and rub against him in greeting.
Why did he have to act so recklessly and make people worry? Sure, it was clear he cared—but could he not think about his own body, too? I mean, I’m just a cat, for god’s sake.
Whether at the clinic or at home, every time Go Hoon had tried to escape, it felt like Baek Jung-yoon ended up getting hurt.
Go Hoon didn’t want his actions to result in Baek Jung-yoon getting injured. But somehow, unintentionally, that kept happening.
And so, ever since Baek Jung-yoon got hurt, Go Hoon hadn’t dared attempt anything new. Gradually, he was becoming more and more accustomed to life as a cat.
He didn’t like the way Baek Jung-yoon seemed ready to give him his liver and gallbladder, figuratively speaking. That gentle, ticklish gaze irritated him too. Honestly, it was getting harder to resist the complacency creeping in, thanks to the unconditional affection Baek Jung-yoon gave him.
“Uuung─.”
Letting out a disgruntled cry, Go Hoon whipped around and padded into the living room. He felt Baek Jung-yoon’s sharp gaze stabbing into the back of his head but ignored it.
Once he stood in the center of the room, his eyes drifted toward the front door. Something new had been added to the house: a secondary door installed right in front of the shoe cabinet.
It had appeared out of nowhere one day. Like the display case, this new inner door came equipped with a secure lock. There was absolutely no way Go Hoon could open it with just brute strength.
Why the hell did he install something like that all of a sudden? Go Hoon frowned. Surely Baek Jung-yoon hadn’t noticed him staring longingly at the front door sometimes. No way. Shaking his head, Go Hoon still couldn’t shake the nagging unease.
Now that an extra barrier stood in the way, it was even harder to leave this house of his own will. What would become of his life if he just settled in here like this? He’d agonized over it countless times, but no answer ever came.
Feeling heavy-hearted, he went to the bathroom, did his business, and pressed down with both hind legs to flush. Slipping out through the slightly ajar door with fluid ease, he spotted Baek Jung-yoon on the couch, resting his chin on his hand, eyeing him with a strange look.
“You know, sometimes you really seem like a person.”
Go Hoon froze. His chest tensed.
Before, if he’d heard something like that, he would’ve scrambled to show off how human he still was. But now, even that instinct was fading.
Was it better to reveal his secret and come clean to Baek Jung-yoon? Or should he just keep riding this out like some freeloading parasite, enjoying the cushy life while Baek Jung-yoon stayed blissfully unaware?
Honestly… this lifestyle wasn’t half bad.
They say humans are creatures of adaptation. But at this point, he wasn’t even sure if the word “human” still applied to him. His sense of identity was starting to crumble.
Being a mute cat felt easier—physically and emotionally—than being human. Living as a simple, instinct-driven animal without all the complicated logic and morality oddly suited his nature.
Of course, that was only because his surroundings were stable and comfortable. He couldn’t deny that he was able to indulge in these carefree thoughts because he was currently living in Baek Jung-yoon’s home.
A life with no worries. Nothing to stress over. No unfair treatment like in the human world, no cutthroat grind to study and work just to survive, no desperate clinging to the bare minimum of dignity.
There’s a saying: “A dog’s life is the best life.” But change just one syllable, and it fits Go Hoon perfectly. A cat’s life is the best life.
Receiving someone’s complete, unconditional affection… Go Hoon didn’t mind it. Maybe it was because it was the first time he’d ever experienced something like that—it was borderline addictive.
Who wouldn’t welcome a peaceful life free of hardships? Some might say it’s boring, but from Go Hoon’s perspective, that kind of life was a blessing.
He learned that early on, during the 19 years he spent in the orphanage. Life was never kind to Go Hoon.
He’d been abandoned as a newborn. Late one night, a woman out on a stroll discovered him among a pile of trash in a filthy alley.
The police, having received a report of a child being abandoned, reviewed all nearby CCTV footage, but they never found who had dumped him on the roadside.
There wasn’t a trace. The area was covered in cameras, but not a single one captured a suspect. The cops concluded that the person had cleverly avoided the angles—exploited a blind spot.
Apparently, baby boxes had been introduced about ten years ago. If one had existed the year he was born, would his parents have left him there instead? He sometimes wondered. Maybe his parents didn’t even have enough affection for him to do that much.
For an abandoned child, deprivation is inevitable. And Go Hoon had known lack from the beginning. He had never once owned clothes or shoes that actually fit. Everything he wore had always been either far too big or too small.
Food was no exception. At the orphanage, each meal had a fixed budget—breakfast, lunch, and dinner all combined didn’t even reach 8,000 won. So the kids were always hungry, and Go Hoon was no different. He barely had any memories of ever feeling full.
Even so, Go Hoon didn’t hate that place. In fact, he liked it. Because at the orphanage, he had people he could—at least in his own way—call family.
People often say the world is a cruel and chaotic place these days, but even so, there are still good people out there. The director of Yeongsol Orphanage, where Go Hoon had stayed, was one of them.
She worked tirelessly for the children. She always cared for them with deep love and affection. “Just because they live in an orphanage doesn’t mean they don’t deserve culture and fun,” she’d say, calling in favors from connections to get the kids into a musical every few years.
She always did her best to ensure the children had as many varied experiences as possible.
In that sense, maybe Go Hoon was actually one of the luckier ones—because he had met a real adult who truly cared. But the world wasn’t filled with people like her. Outside the orphanage, things were far colder and harsher.
No human can live by their own strength alone. As you grow older, you’re inevitably pushed into society.
Just the fact that he had no parents made people look at him differently—through tinted lenses. There were always more people who treated him with suspicion or hostility than with kindness.
Fortunately, thanks to his large frame and sharp features, he’d never been bullied or ostracized for being a social outcast.
Most kids who grow up in orphanages are shorter than average. It’s because they don’t get proper nutrition. So his unusual physique must’ve been purely genetic. Even if his parents had abandoned him, at least they’d given him that much—and for that, he was vaguely grateful.
Of course, his appearance hadn’t always worked in his favor. At least once a year, someone would start trouble with him for no reason. Usually, it was some punk thug.
“What the fuck are you looking at, asshole?”
