The 7-Day Contract (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 1

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July in Spain.

Under the scorching sun, hot and dry winds blew.

A clinking sound came from the plastic bottle in her hand. The large ice cube had now shrunk enough to pass through the bottle’s mouth.

Da Jung barely managed to swallow a single mouthful of water along with the ice chips, then once more took in the masterpiece left behind by a genius architect.

Casa Milà.

One of the many masterpieces left by Antoni Gaudi.

She never imagined the day would come when she’d witness his works in person.

Da Jung had never even dreamed such a day would arrive in her lifetime.

His imagination, which created value found nowhere else in the world; his genius, which seamlessly wove his religious beliefs into every inch of his buildings—

That someone in the 19th century could conceive and realize such an original, beautiful structure felt so fantastical it barely seemed real.

Though monumental works like the Sagrada Família or Park Güell were awe-inspiring, Da Jung especially adored Gaudi’s residential designs.

She loved the mischievous, fairy-tale-like mystique of Casa Batlló, and the elegant grace of Casa Milà, reminiscent of a noblewoman’s flowing gown.

Since both buildings stood on the same street, she’d practically lived on Passeig de Gràcia for several days already—but even after seeing them daily, they remained fresh and never grew tiresome.

Da Jung loved houses.

Warm, affectionate homes filled with the scent of people and heartfelt emotion.

Would the day ever come when such a house emerged from her own hands? Perhaps it was only a dreamlike wish.

But so what if it was vague? Dreams, after all, might someday come true.

The guesthouse, run by a middle-aged Korean couple, was old and outdated. In exchange, however, it offered low lodging fees and two daily Korean meals—a definite advantage and charm.

Da Jung returned early to her accommodation and hurried straight to the shower room. Though private rooms were available, the shared shower facilities meant long waits if she arrived too late.

After showering, she went down to the dining area, which, as always, was nearly empty.

Usually, meals were prepared only for those who had reserved them in advance; non-reserved guests either cooked for themselves in the shared kitchen or ate out.

Though one should eat local cuisine while abroad, Korean blood ran deep. Thus, Da Jung had already decided to take all her meals at the guesthouse during her stay.

Besides, the landlady’s cooking was delicious.

The kindly landlady, with her warm, generous demeanor, handed Da Jung a tray of food, smiling gently.

“Miss from Room 201, please enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you, as always.”

Da Jung beamed and bowed her head deeply. The landlady waved her hand dismissively.

“Oh, stop that. It’s nothing—we just add one more spoonful to what we’re already eating.”

“Still, I truly appreciate it. I’ll dig in.”

Smiling faintly, Da Jung bowed once more, then carried her tray to an empty seat.

Today’s menu was clear doenjang soup and pork-over-rice.

Just as she scooped a generous spoonful of the pork rice—sprinkled with sesame seeds—and lifted it toward her mouth,

a scraping chair sound rang out, followed by a large shadow falling over her.

She blinked, startled, and saw a man placing his tray on the diagonal seat. He was an East Asian man she’d never seen before.

Her eyes rapidly swept the unusually full dining room before returning to his face.

He must be a new guest—but she couldn’t fathom why he’d chosen to sit at the same table.

More than that, she couldn’t close her mouth, stunned by what she was seeing: his strikingly handsome face nearly stole her breath.

Less “flower boy” and more “cool, enigmatic cold beauty,” he possessed an unusually refined appearance she found impossible to look away from.

Quietly lowering her spoonful of rice, Da Jung began counting grains with exaggerated caution—

still unaware how visibly flustered she’d become—as she kept sneaking glances at him.

185? 187?

Tall, with excellent proportions—clear, deep-set eyes, a sharp, high-bridged nose, and lips poised perfectly between delicate and handsome. Even his skin was smooth and luminous like porcelain.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated.

Bringing it to his ear, he launched into fluent English.

Unconsciously attentive, Da Jung’s ears caught fragments of his conversation: he was discussing a gathering with his Harvard peers.

Harvard?

Whoa—Da Jung inwardly gasped.

At this point, he was practically a flawless creation rivaling Gaudi’s masterpieces. If his personality and character were equally exceptional, he’d be utterly unfair.

Perhaps sensing her scrutiny, he subtly locked eyes with her. After ending the call, he casually set his phone down.

“What? Does it look tasty?”

Trending

Blunt, informal speech—no, more surprising still: he was Korean.

His indifferent yet openly piercing gaze made her cheeks burn.

“Do you want some?”

Da Jung’s eyes widened. Blinking blankly, she quickly glanced left and right.

He was clearly addressing her, yet his words felt as incomprehensible as a foreign language.

Flustered, she shook her head rapidly and lowered her eyes back to her plate.

No wonder he seemed too perfect—apparently, there *was* a flaw in his personality.

While she was still mulling this over, his voice came again.

“I thought you wanted some—you kept licking it with your eyes.”

“…Huh?”

“Yeah—licking.”

“Lick—lick what…?”

Staring at him, baffled, she met his gaze once more—now directed away from his phone. His slightly furrowed brows carried clear irritation.

“Stop licking. I’m starting to get annoyed.”

Back in her room, Da Jung repeatedly fanned her flushed face.

Judging by the landlady calling him “the bachelor in Room 206,” he must be the new guest who’d just checked in there.

She admitted it—her lingering stares might’ve been bothersome, since she *had* kept gazing at him unconsciously, drawn by his good looks.

But still—

“Who’s licking anything…?”

Grumbling resentfully, she pinched her own brow instead of her guilty eyes.

She had no idea how one could possibly “lick with one’s eyes,” yet he’d treated her innocent, pure gaze like a cow’s rough tongue.

In the end, she’d sheepishly muttered, *“I’m sorry…”*—but though she knew it was her fault, she still felt strangely upset.

Because of him, she’d barely eaten, practically fleeing back to her room—an injustice that lingered bitterly.

Trying to settle her unsettled mood, she picked up her phone mid-thought.

The ringtone stretched on for quite a while.

『…Are you showing off just ‘cause you’re abroad? Calling at dawn?』

The grumbling voice was oddly comforting.

“You’re up at this hour anyway. It’s your morning call.”

『Seriously—you’ve got zero consideration. Having fun on your ‘holy pilgrimage,’ huh?』

Sol Yi’s sarcasm made Da Jung snort-laugh. “Holy pilgrimage” was her friend’s jab at Da Jung’s Antoni Gaudi tour.

“Yeah, I am. Jealous?”

『Jealous? Pfft. If you’re going all the way to Spain, at least meet a man. You’re obviously just running around in the blazing sun taking building photos—why would I envy that?』

Bae Sol Yi. Da Jung’s one and only best friend since middle school first year.

“You *did* say you’d come with me.”

『You want me to bankrupt myself? Offer a sacrifice ritual? I can’t just shut my café for a whole month!』

“Right…”

Unlike Da Jung, who entered university and majored in architecture, Sol Yi boldly forwent higher education.

Her parents, raising four children (two sons, two daughters), prioritized supporting their older kids and didn’t press their youngest daughter—who showed little academic interest—to attend college.

Jumping into life early, Sol Yi saved diligently, took loans, and opened a small café on Seoul’s outskirts just months ago.

『By the way—when’s your first day at Dae Hyun Construction? Are you sure you can afford this leisurely trip?』

“Dae Hyun Construction? I declined. I’ve already signed with Senior Do Jun. I’ll be sipping honey slowly but steadily while drawing a salary from him.”

A shocked gasp erupted on the other end.

『Are you insane? Turning down a *major corporation*? Who do you think you are?』

Da Jung winced at the scolding but smiled wryly.

“Let me have some fun. I’ve been living without catching a breath.”

Truly so. She’d lived each day as if constantly chased.

Due to financial hardship, she’d only barely graduated this year—at twenty-seven, a late graduate.

During leaves of absence, she scrambled nonstop between construction sites, building practical experience and earning tuition. As a result, she’d never gone on the backpacking trip every college student supposedly took.

Yet as the saying goes: after hardship comes joy. Right before graduation, she entered a design competition—for experience—and astonishingly won the grand prize.

Hosted by Dae Hyun Construction, the contest offered generous rewards thanks to its corporate sponsor.

ads

Though offered a job at the company as part of the prize, she rejected it outright. Instead, she used her winnings to fly to Spain—the dream she’d long cherished.

Sol Yi exhaled, utterly dismissive.

『Forget that. Are there any charming, handsome men in Spain?』

“Handsome men?”

The man who’d unsettled her at dinner instantly reappeared in her mind.

Though slightly reluctant, she chose honesty.

“I don’t know about ‘charming’… but I *did* see an extremely handsome man.”

『Oh my—was he alone? A Spaniard?』

“No, Korean. But kind of odd.”

『Perfect! Try flirting with him.』

Clearly, Sol Yi hadn’t heard a word past “handsome.”

“He’s *weird*. Seems like he has a personality disorder.”

『So what if he’s hot? Flirt, flirt!』

That pushy, no-nonsense logic was unmistakably Sol Yi.

Excitement seeped into her voice.

『A passionate one-night stand with a stranger you meet while traveling—no names exchanged, no addresses known. Doesn’t that sound utterly romantic? Think of it as making memories. Just tell him you want to date for the rest of your trip!』

“I’m not doing that. I told you—I’m not getting married.”

『You talk in your sleep and scratch someone else’s leg. Who said anything about *marriage*? Just date—date only!』

Da Jung reflexively scratched her burning cheeks.

True. No one had proposed marriage—but she *had* scratched someone else’s leg pretty hard.

The reason Da Jung reacted so defensively at the mere mention of romance was simple: she was a staunch non-marriage advocate.

And the pivotal figure behind her stance was none other than her mother.

Watching her mother endure two failed marriages, Da Jung realized: if self-destruction had a supreme form, it was marriage.

Thus, even the word “dating” made her instinctively retreat into defense.

Sol Yi, evidently frustrated by her friend’s “life-wasting” ways, pressed on.

『Set marriage aside—seriously, isn’t it problematic that you’ve never even kissed a guy at your age? Shouldn’t you at least know what romantic feelings are before you die?』

“Romance? No thanks.”

Da Jung erected an iron wall. A tongue-click sounded from the other end.

『Might as well talk to a cow. Just wait—you say that now because you haven’t met *the one*. Once he shows up, your hormones will react on their own.』

“You really…”

Embarrassed, Da Jung’s cheeks flared hotter.

She didn’t deny Sol Yi’s point. Marriage and romance *were* logically separable.

Her resistance was to the *institution* of marriage—not to the opposite sex itself. She didn’t hate or reject men.

As a healthy young woman, she naturally admired attractive people—like tonight, when her eyes had involuntarily lingered on that handsome stranger.

Yet perhaps because she’d set “non-marriage” as her life goal, romance and marriage felt inseparable to her.

A man and woman meet, they date—and inevitably, it ends in either marriage or heartbreak.

Neither outcome appealed to her.

She refused to foolishly chain herself to marriage merely out of shared memories or loyalty.

Then was a predetermined-ending romance—exchanging wounds—a wise choice? No. Merely unnecessary, wasteful emotional expenditure.

『Live a little, you fool.』

Da Jung exhaled a half-laugh, half-sigh at Sol Yi’s habitual nagging.

“If you’re bored, wash your feet and sleep.”

『Don’t wanna. I’m saving my foot odor as a gift for when you come back.』

With that childish joke, their uneventful call ended.

Da Jung sprawled across her bed, watching the ceiling fan spin lazily in circles.

Romantic feelings…

Honestly? She *was* curious. What did it feel like to be drawn to someone of the opposite sex?

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