The next morning dawned with the deceptive serenity only a Saturday could offer. Birds chirped. The sun peeked lazily through gauzy curtains. And Yeri was yanked from sleep by the one force more powerful than an alarm clock: her mother.
"Princess! Wake up! Today is your debut party—do you plan to sleep through your own coming of age?!"
Yeri groaned, her face still buried in her pillow. "Mother, it's not until tonight…"
"Yes, but you must prepare all day! We are transforming you into a radiant princess."
That analogy made no sense, but Yeri knew better than to argue with her mother in the morning.
Dragging herself out of bed like a limp noodle, she muttered under her breath, "And here I thought turning eighteen gave me more freedom."
Apparently not. Within minutes, she was seated in her dressing room, swaddled in a fluffy robe while a family doctor took her blood pressure and asked her overly health questions.
"Any headaches? Dizziness? Feeling of vomiting?" the doctor asked routinely.
"…Excuse me? Vomiting?"
"Yes. Madam Zhi mentioned your delicate stomach."
Yeri blinked. "Right. But no, no stomach aches recently."
Luckily, the check-up ended without anyone finding a latent prophecy in her lungs. Once she got the all-clear, her mother immediately switched into event-planner-overdrive mode.
Madam Zhi clutched her phone like a general holding a battle strategy map, marching across the hall and barking into the receiver. "Yes, I want the orchids delivered before noon. No, not lilac, orchid. And if the ice sculpture looks like an alien again, I'm sending it back!"
Yeri leaned against the wall, watching the chaos unfold with a faint smile. Despite her initial nonchalance about the whole debutante affair, seeing her mother so animated and involved gave her a surprising sense of warmth.
"Maybe this debut won't be so bad," Yeri murmured to herself, sipping on the green smoothie her mother insisted she drink. It tasted like lawn clippings, but she endured it like a true soldier.
Compared to her long list of bitter medicines over the years, that green smoothie was nothing.
---
By early afternoon, the suitcases were packed, the dresses were secured, and the chauffeur was prepping the sleek luxury car that would whisk them off to the five-star hotel where the party was to be held.
Yeri zipped up her overnight bag and turned to her maid.
"Make sure to get Carpet ready. I want him groomed, bathed, fluffed, and red-carpet ready."
The maid blinked. "You're… bringing the dog?"
"Yes, he's not just a dog. He's Carpet. My other brother, honorary family member, and personal comfort ambassador."
The maid nodded dutifully. "Understood, Miss. I'll prepare him immediately."
Except… two hours later, Yeri came downstairs in a pre-party robe and slippers, fully expecting to see Carpet fluffed and floofed like a cloud.
Instead, she found a flustered maid frantically searching under the dining table.
"…What are you doing?"
"Looking for Carpet, Miss."
Yeri blinked. "You're looking for him? I thought you were bathing him."
"I was… until I couldn't find him."
Yeri frowned. "Just call him? He usually comes when you call."
The maid appeared worried. "I-I don't know either. I thought he was in the garden, but he's not there either!"
Panic flickered in Yeri's chest. There wasn't much time.
Within minutes, the entire household was thrown into full-scale search mode. Gardeners paused their pruning to crawl through hedges. The driver abandoned his seat behind the wheel to check the garage. Even Madam Zhi momentarily paused her war with the caterer to bark orders at the house staff.
Yeri ran to the back garden, shouting Carpet's name and waving his favorite chicken treat. "Carpet! Come on, boy! You're missing chicken!"
But no bark answered. No fuzzy tail wagged.
Then the gardener called out. "Miss Zhi! The gate—it's slightly open!"
Everyone turned.
Sure enough, the side gate that led to the walking path outside the estate was ajar, just enough for a fluffy, eager dog to slip through.
Yeri's heart sank to her shoes. "No… no no no. He couldn't have…"
But he could. And knowing Carpet, he absolutely would.
This was a dog who once escaped the backyard to chase a butterfly, only to be almost hit by a car.
"Check the CCTV—find out who left that gate open," Yeri breathed.
Their estate was old money. The yard alone could fit four olympic swimming pools. There was no reason for Carpet to wander—unless someone lured him out.
Her mother clutched her forehead. "This is a disaster! What if he's hit by a car again? What if someone steals him? He's so friendly, he'd follow a thief with a smile!"
Yeri didn't answer. She was already bolting toward the gate.
"Tell the driver to bring the car around!" she shouted. "We're going after him!"
---
Two Hours Earlier
Inside a black car parked nearby, four men were doing exactly nothing. Which meant three of them had fallen asleep.
"Wake up, we've got a call to return," said the tiger-faced man, nudging his companions.
Rig jolted upright. "Fried chicken!"
"Idiot," one of them muttered. "Still dreaming about food, was your mom's fried chicken under attack?"
They laughed as the tiger-faced man pulled out a bag of convenience store sandwiches. "Anyone hungry?"
Rig grabbed one before the sentence ended.
Then the driver squinted. "Eh? Is that a dog?"
All heads turned as a golden retriever trotted from the estate gate, tail wagging like it owned the street.
Rig blinked. "Wait—that dog slipped out? Should we stop him?"
"Nah. I think I saw some girl shooing it out. Probably a stray dog?"
"Still," Rig argued, "what if he gets hurt? Or worse, someone eats him!"
"This is a wealthy neighborhood, not some dog-snatching village," the bald one grumbled.
As Carpet passed their car, Rig suddenly flung the door open to chase him. Chaos erupted as the others tackled him back inside.
---
Back on the street, Yeri was losing hope. If she didn't find Carpet soon, she wouldn't be able to enjoy her debut. Or anything, really.
Then—just a few blocks down—she spotted a black car. A man stood beside it… playing with a very familiar golden retriever.
Yeri slowed, squinting. Was that…?
As she approached, Carpet noticed her and barreled forward, launching himself at her like a furry cannonball.
"Carpet—stop!" Yeri yelped, nearly getting tackled. The dog was wet. And muddy. The bath—of course!
The man laughed. "Yours?"
Yeri nodded, breathless but relieved.
He looked early-thirties, built like a gym membership ad, dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans.
"I saw him wandering. No leash, no tag. Figured I'd hang onto him in case someone came looking."
"Ah… he was in the middle of bathing, so we removed the leash," she explained, chuckling. "Thank you. If he had gotten any farther, finding him would've been impossible."
The Zhi family driver honked gently. "Miss!"
Yeri gave Carpet a gentle tug toward the car. "Really, thank you. I wish I could repay you somehow. Do you… have a dog? I could send toys or snacks?"
The man stiffened slightly. "No need. I don't live here—just visiting a friend. And no, he doesn't have a dog either."
Yeri nodded and got into the car.
Once her vehicle pulled away, the man sighed in relief and returned to his own car. The windows were tinted.
Inside, the chatter began again.
"Not fair!" Rig pointed, aggrieved. "I should've been the one talking to her! It was my idea to save the dog!"
"Are you an idiot?" someone barked. "She's seen you before—with the boss! What if she recognized you?"
"Then it should've been me!" the tiger-faced man muttered. "The dog liked me!"
"Right," said Pablo—the man who'd actually spoken to Yeri—dryly. "He probably thought you were another animal."
And before the bald man could open his mouth, Pablo shot him a glare. "Not you either, you look like a human trafficker.
The bald man with bushy beared and two gold front teeth grunted. "If anyone, she'd fall for me. Once she sees me, it's over."
A beat of silence. Then the car exploded with laughter.
"Shameless! She even ran from the boss, but you think she'd fall for you?" Rig laughed harder.
"Enough," Pablo snapped. "We need to report back."
"No worries," Rig said, scrolling on his phone. "Already submitted a full report—with pictures!"
The others froze.
"What pictures?" Pablo asked slowly.
Rig proudly held up his phone. There was plenty of time earlier so he took photos and sent dozens of selfies—him and the dog, hugging with the dog, grinning with the dog, paw-holding with the dog, tongue out with the dog.
Then the final photo: a candid shot of Pablo and Yeri talking, Carpet between them. Yeri's smile radiant, Pablo's back to the camera like some romance drama male lead.
"You sent that?!" Pablo exploded, slamming the brakes.
The tiger-faced man groaned. "We were explicitly told not to approach her. Now this idiot sends the evidence like he's bragging—and even includes a photo anyone could misinterpret."
"Looks like Pablo's flirting. Nice one!" the bald man added with a smirk. "Hitting on a woman the boss has his eyes on? You've got guts. I'll definitely light candles at your funeral."
Pablo was so angry he lunged at Rig. Punching, shoving, and sandwich debris flew.
Chaos resumed.