The 7-Day Contract (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 3
The bright sunlight had long since claimed the windowsill.
9:45 a.m.
It was unusual for Da Jung to linger in bed this late. She usually headed downstairs before 10 to have breakfast, but for some reason, she simply didn’t feel like it today.
The previous day’s woman’s disgraceful outburst and rampage seemed to have dragged on for quite a while. Although she was eventually calmed down by the group’s intervention, it was almost shameful—being fellow Koreans in a foreign land.
The man who’d walked arm-in-arm with her all the way up to the second floor simply dropped Da Jung off in front of Room 201 and returned to his own room without a word.
In the first place, the woman had approached Da Jung because of Room 206.
Compared to Da Jung’s understated demeanor, the woman must’ve intended to appeal to him by emphasizing her youth and exaggerated cuteness.
Da Jung wasn’t oblivious to this—but she saw no reason to voluntarily become a sacrificial pawn in an artificially manufactured rivalry.
Naturally, it wasn’t pleasant. So when she saw the woman fly into a rage after being brushed off, Da Jung couldn’t help but feel not just amused, but thoroughly satisfied.
Honestly, Room 206’s reaction had been unexpected.
She’d been baffled at the time, yet somehow, it hadn’t felt unpleasant.
It was as if she’d suddenly become someone a little special—and for no apparent reason, her heart fluttered.
That intense gaze fixed on her, the firm muscles and warmth against her shoulder, his pleasant scent.
And the rude aura exuded by his self-centered tone and manner of speaking.
Every detail of that moment remained so vivid, her heart raced as if she were about to jump off a bungee platform.
Utterly unable to identify the source of this embarrassing sensation, Da Jung clutched the blanket and rolled around in bed.
Suddenly, a faint sound caught her ear. Thinking she might’ve misheard, she listened more closely—and the sound grew clearer.
Knock, knock.
Someone was knocking on her door.
Aside from the landlady, no one ever came to her room personally.
Rustling herself up, she slowly shuffled over, grabbed the doorknob, and turned it. Blinking blearily at the figure outside, Da Jung slammed the door shut again and whirled back around.
Good heavens!
She clutched her disheveled hair in horror, her entire body and mind seemingly frozen in place.
She couldn’t fathom—let alone accept—why Room 206 was standing outside her door.
Knock, knock.
At the renewed knocking, she snapped out of her daze and dashed to the mirror—only to clamp a hand over her mouth just in time to stifle a scream.
Her hair looked like a wild bird’s nest, her eyes were puffy. She’d never been this shocked by her own appearance before.
She quickly rubbed her eyes and tried to run her fingers through her long hair down to her waist, but the result was dismal.
The puffiness remained, and her naturally wavy hair—loose and uncombed—only looked more disheveled, as though she’d just woken up.
Knock, knock.
The impatient knocking resumed. It was just a knock—but the real problem was how palpably the man’s temperament outside seemed to grow fiercer by the second.
Pacing anxiously, Da Jung finally slapped her own cheeks and turned resolutely toward the door.
Taking a deep breath, she suddenly yanked the doorknob—and instantly met the arrogant man’s gaze.
He was already tall, but he added to it by tilting his chin up about ten degrees, looking down at others. Somehow, it made her instinctively shrink back—even without reason.
“W-what is it…?”
“Why didn’t you come down to eat?”
If *that* was the sole reason he’d knocked so abruptly, it was deeply surprising.
“I wasn’t… I wasn’t hungry…”
Grrrrumble.
The timing was impeccable. Reflexively clutching her stomach, Da Jung froze, her expression one of resigned despair.
The man’s indifferent gaze settled on her forehead—round, gentle, and seemingly just right for flicking.
Should she try? The impulse flickered—but no matter how reckless she might be, she wasn’t *that* stupid.
Still, seeing her avoid eye contact like a guilty child irked him for no good reason.
“Take responsibility. I missed my meal because of you.”
Her puffy eyes widened.
“How is that *my* fault…?”
“I told you. I can’t eat alone.”
“…”
She’d suspected he was odd, but this was clearly beyond just “a little strange.”
The man raised his arm to check his wristwatch.
“Breakfast time’s over. What do you plan to do?”
“What can *I* do about that…?”
“There’s an old saying elders always repeat: A missed meal is one you’ll never get back in your whole life.”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
“I can’t live at a loss—and because of you, I’ve lost one meal.”
“Oh…”
There was no logic in it, yet somehow, she felt oddly guilty.
Whether intentional or not, she suspected it had more to do with remembering how he’d helped her the day before.
“How do you expect me to take responsibility?”
His tone was childish, petulant—but so utterly confident that Da Jung found herself seriously pondering the question.
When she hesitated, unable to give an immediate answer, he declared:
“Ten minutes.”
“What?”
“I’ll wait exactly ten minutes. Get ready and come down.”
“…”
The man was, as always, impolite.
Yet for some reason—she didn’t actually mind his rudeness.
With barely time to wash her face in a rush, she changed into light clothes and hurried out of the room.
She judged it unwise to keep waiting the man—who clung so obsessively to the value of a single meal—for long.
Hurrying down the stairs, she spotted the housekeeper cleaning the living room.
“Miss from Room 201 slept in, huh?”
“Good morning, landlady.”
Da Jung bowed politely and turned her gaze outside—where the back of Room 206 loomed, pacing restlessly beyond the door.
“I’m sorry for the commotion I caused last night.”
Waving her hand dismissively, the landlady replied:
“What’s it to you? People like that show up sometimes—don’t worry about it. I’d already discussed sending them off with my husband, and they ended up leaving on their own.”
“They left?”
“Well, once sober, they must’ve felt embarrassed too. The young men with her left as well—though who knows if they’ll cause trouble somewhere else. Honestly, some folks really go out of their way to disgrace the nation.”
The landlady clicked her tongue in exasperation, then paused mid-sweep and straightened.
“But where are *you* off to?”
“Yes—I’m going to eat breakfast. Sorry I missed the morning meal…”
“Don’t apologize—we’re paid for all this. But…”
Suddenly lowering her voice, the landlady leaned in.
“That young man from Room 206’s been waiting since earlier—is he going with you?”
“Huh? Oh—well, haha…”
Da Jung fumbled a vague reply, and the landlady gave her a sly, knowing wink.
“Ohhh, that explains it! No wonder—he sat in the dining room all morning without eating, then finally went upstairs. He must’ve been waiting to eat with you. Seize the opportunity while you still can!”
Too awkward to explain what the landlady clearly imagined, Da Jung just offered an uneasy smile.
After the brief exchange, she hurried out the front door—and the man, sensing her presence, turned around.
After a quiet, steady exchange of glances, he simply began walking. Clearly expecting her to follow, Da Jung trailed behind.
His pace wasn’t fast—but given their roughly 20-centimeter height difference, keeping up required her to nearly jog every few steps.
After about five minutes, Da Jung found herself walking side by side with him.
He’d unconsciously slowed to match her pace, and though deliberate, it looked completely natural—not forced at all.
Their destination turned out to be a brunch café inside a plaza near the lodging.
The man slouched sideways into an outdoor table shaded by a wide canopy. Taking it as an invitation, Da Jung seated herself across from him.
A server approached, and without asking Da Jung, the man began ordering something on his own.
One moment he seemed considerate—adjusting his walking speed for her—the next, domineering and impossible to predict.
Not only was his English fluent, but his Spanish seemed advanced too. Da Jung didn’t know Spanish, but she had that impression.
Just as the server turned to leave, the man called him back, adding a few more words. The server smiled kindly and shook his head.
Watching him converse effortlessly with locals, Da Jung inwardly marveled.
Exactly how many languages *does* he speak?
Caught staring in fascination, the man—who’d been idly resting his ankle on his knee—met her gaze.
“I’m allergic to peanuts.”
“…”
How utterly random.
He must’ve assumed she was curious about their conversation, though she’d only been amazed by his fluent Spanish.
At the plaza’s center, an artistic fountain spouted cool streams of water.
Da Jung decided it was finally time to speak up firmly.
“Um—but you keep using informal speech with me…”
The man, who’d been idly watching the fountain and passersby, turned his gaze. Then, leaning back lazily, he propped up his chin.
“You look younger than me.”
“How would you know that?”
“Are you over thirty?”
Da Jung shook her head. The man turned his eyes back toward the street, as if nothing more needed to be said.
She gathered he was around thirty himself—but for some reason, she resisted yielding, adding:
“Still, with strangers or people you barely know, it’s… not really appropriate…”
“If it bothers you, just do the same.”
“…”
A formidable opponent.
Da Jung pressed her lips shut and said no more. She *wanted* to snap back informally too—but her personality made it difficult.
Normally, after sharing three meals together, one might at least ask for the other’s name—but he hadn’t asked a single thing.
She’d resolved not to ask either—but curiosity overwhelmed her, and before she knew it, the words slipped out:
“But… seriously—you really *can’t* eat alone?”
“Yeah.”
He answered immediately—and as he turned his gaze, the corners of his mouth curled into a faint smile. At least he looked somewhat human now.
“Oh,” Da Jung murmured softly, nodding—and pity flickered across her face.
Did he starve whenever he had no dining companion? He must get hungry…
Catching her fleeting, sympathetic glance before she looked away, the man let a quiet chuckle escape between his teeth.
He’d thought her naive—but he hadn’t expected her to take that comment *this* seriously.
It was true he loathed eating alone—but he’d never actually starved because of it.
He simply hated sitting by himself at a cold, lonely dining table.
Living abroad for so long, loneliness was commonplace—he was accustomed to it. Yet even now, solitary meals remained something he couldn’t quite adjust to.
Which was why he’d chosen the woman before him.
Undoubtedly, her being Korean helped—but more importantly, he liked her gentle appearance and quiet nature.
She didn’t seem the type to make unnecessary trouble, either.
Soon, light, unpretentious dishes—sandwiches and salads—arrived.
As usual, the man remained silent throughout the meal.
His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and calm in every situation—appearing either highly skilled at emotional control… or perhaps simply awkward at it.
He stood in stark contrast to Da Jung, whose entire being was wired with the Korean compulsion for speed—in eating, studying, working.
When the meal ended, Da Jung spoke up without delay:
“I’ll cover my share.”
Opening her tightly gripped wallet, she met the man’s puzzled stare.
“Why?”
“Well…”
Now that he asked, she struggled for an answer.
“I’ll pay for myself.”
“Why *should* you? I don’t like that.”
At her protest, he stared at her again—so intently she worried she’d been too harsh, and quickly softened her tone:
“How about we split it?”
“Fine, then.”
Without argument, the man readily backed down.
Though she might’ve come off as stubborn, Da Jung insisted on paying precisely for what she’d eaten.
While Koreans often bond through polite squabbles over the bill, she had no desire to accept a free meal from a man she barely knew.
On the walk back, he again matched her pace—slow and silent. Sharing time with someone without exchanging a single word was both awkward and uncomfortable.
Just as they returned to the lodging and Da Jung prepared to ascend the stairs—keeping her distance—the man ahead turned around.
“Stick to meal times. If I miss another meal because of you, I’ll sue.”
“…”
Da Jung could only blink, dumbfounded.
Ignoring her incredulous expression, the man continued up the stairs—his lips curling into a faint, amused smile.
Male lead says he’s pregnant — and it’s female lead’s child
Something seems a bit off about this world.
Wang Zhao thought as she watched a pregnant man walking towards her…
Intro
Female lead finds herself in a world where the men who possess the ability to bear children.
As she navigates this unfamiliar reality, she is caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her boyfriend, who reveals that he is pregnant.
Is this truly her boyfriend?
Why can’t she recall any details about their time together?
She begins to doubt whether the child her boyfriend is carrying is even hers.
Is there a hidden reason behind her amnesia, or could it be a side effect of her sudden arrival in this strange new world?
Just when it seems the protagonist’s life couldn’t become any more entangled, her ex-boyfriend makes an unexpected appearance, raising questions about the protagonist’s past.
__________
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