The first step to becoming "normal," I decided, was asking someone who wasn't.
"Nari," I said, dramatically poking my head into the staff quarters, "teach me how to survive as a peasant."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I mean a civilian," I clarified, stepping in. "A commoner. A regular young woman who eats triangle kimbap and drinks coffee from vending machines instead of baristas flown in from Milan."
"…You want to die early," Nari said flatly, setting down a stack of folded towels.
"I want to live," I corrected. "Live like a true, humble Korean university student."
She crossed her arms. "You realize you haven't even touched the rice cooker in this house."
"I don't need to cook. I just need to blend in."
She looked me up and down. "In that Louis Vuitton hoodie?"
I glanced down at myself. "Oh. Right."
Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of my closet in a complete identity crisis.
"Does this hoodie scream chaebol?" I asked, holding it up.
"It screams, 'My dad owns the patent to your rent,'" Nari replied.
"…This one?"
"That one looks like it sponsors idols."
After twenty minutes of painful elimination, I emerged wearing an actual non-branded beige cardigan, slightly-too-long jeans, and white sneakers with one speck of dirt on the toe that I refused to clean off.
"I look like someone who drinks two-plus-one canned coffee, right?"
Nari stared at me. "You look like you're in disguise for a crime drama."
"I'll take it."
Twenty minutes later, I was standing by the main gate of the Yoon estate — hoodie on, backpack slung crookedly, sneakers tied in lopsided bows.
A black van waited nearby, the chauffeur glancing at his watch.
I waved him off.
"No cars today," I said proudly. "I'm taking… the bus."
The words felt both terrifying and exhilarating.
"Do you even know how?" Nari asked, arms crossed.
I turned to her. "…No."
I can see Nari rolling her eyes as I gently squeel in joy.
—
Next lesson: Public Transportation 101.
Apparently, in the real world, people don't text their chauffeur to bring the car around.
They walk. Outside. Into open air. And wait for a bus.
"Where do I sit?" I asked as we approached the stop.
"Wherever there's space."
"No reserved seats?"
"It's not a wedding, Miss."
"But what if I get carsick?"
"You won't. You've never ridden anything less than an imported SUV."
"…Is that a threat or a medical prediction?"
"Both."
Nari showed me how to tap my T-Money card onto the little glowing box at the bus door, and I held my breath like I was defusing a bomb.
Beep.
"Oh my god, it worked," I gasped.
"You just paid ₩1,250 for public glory," Nari muttered, guiding me to the middle of the bus.
I clung to the handle as if it were the only thing anchoring me to life. The bus jerked forward like it had a grudge against my balance, and I stumbled—hard—into the nearest seat.
My first experience in public transport felt like a simulation. The bus was filled with people scrolling on their phones, dozing off, or munching silently on something that smelled vaguely like fish and hope.
I was fascinated.
"Why is no one talking?" I whispered.
"Because this isn't a tea room," Nari hissed. "And lower your voice."
I nodded seriously, like I'd just been briefed on covert military operations.
After twenty-five minutes and three near-falls, we got off near Daehan University. I survived. Barely.
"Miss—"
"Normal girl," I corrected.
She sighed. "Normal girl… try not to look so amazed at the convenience store signage."
—
Daehan University was bustling.
Students walked past in messy ponytails and oversize hoodies, juggling iced americanos and printed schedules. The entire campus smelled like coffee, grass, and slight panic.
I clutched my envelope tightly. Inside were my enrollment documents, schedule, and a fake identity that technically wasn't fake — just edited.
Yoon Ah Ra. Twenty. Major: Business Administration.
Totally normal.
Totally untraceable.
Totally unprepared.
The admin building was a sleek structure with glass doors and serious-looking people in lanyards. I approached the front desk and cleared my throat.
"Hello," I said. "I'm here to enroll."
"Name?"
"Yoon Ah Ra."
The woman typed swiftly. "Business Administration, Class 1-A. First-year."
I tried not to squeal.
She handed me a paper folder with the class schedule, ID card, and some flyers about student clubs.
"Orientation begins next week. You'll get group assignments then. Any questions?"
"Um…" I leaned closer. "How do you buy food on campus? Is it… cash only?"
The woman blinked. "You can use your card."
"Right." I laughed awkwardly. "Just making sure. I'm very… traditional."
She didn't look convinced.
Back outside, I stood at the edge of the central courtyard, soaking everything in.
I'd officially done it.
I had enrolled as a regular student. No secretaries, no hand-holding, no headlines. Just me and a fake name and the vague anxiety of not knowing what building was which.
And for the first time, no one bowed when I passed.
No one whispered about the Chairman's daughter.
No one tried to sell me anything.
I was invisible.
It was thrilling.
And mildly terrifying.
I wandered across campus, clutching my map like a tourist, marveling at the vending machines.
"₩700 for banana milk?" I muttered. "Why isn't everyone drinking this daily?"
I ended up buying two. One for me, and one just because I liked the color.
There was a bench nearby shaded by a line of cherry blossom trees that hadn't fully bloomed yet. I sat down and sipped the banana milk, legs swinging, watching students walk past with earphones and tote bags and hair that hadn't seen a stylist in months.
They looked so… peaceful.
So ordinary.
I wondered if they knew how lucky they were.
Then came a realization.
"I don't know how to eat lunch."
Nari, who had joined me after running an errand, blinked. "What?"
"I mean—like, where do normal students eat? Do I have to line up? Is it buffet-style? Do I pretend to know someone and sit next to them?"
She handed me a rice ball. "Here. Eat this for now."
I stared at the triangle of seaweed-wrapped mystery. "How do I open it?"
"Peel the corner."
I peeled the corner. The seaweed split like a crime scene. Rice exploded out the side.
"…I failed."
Nari laughed. "First day as a commoner and you're already defeated by kimbap."
"This is harder than corporate mergers," I muttered.
Eventually, we headed back toward the subway station. I decided to take the return trip alone.
"I'll be fine," I told Nari, lifting my chin. "I memorized the route. I tapped the card. I ate civilian food. I am practically one of them now."
"Just call me if you panic."
"I don't panic," I said confidently.
Five minutes later, I was panicking.
I got on the right train going the wrong direction.
It wasn't my fault! The signs were confusing! Why were the arrows pointing both ways?
I stood in the middle of the subway car, frozen, while two high school girls giggled behind me and a grandpa sneezed directly into his hand.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
"Yoon Ah Ra, right? Welcome to Class 1-A. Orientation's going to be… interesting. :)"
I frowned. Who—?
Before I could respond, the train announced the next station.
And that's when I realized…
This was not the line to Apgujeong.