Sunday afternoon, sunlight slanted across the apartment living room, and Guest was peering at a tablet while half-reclining on the sofa. A peaceful afternoon. Well, it was, until the moment Kim Hana broke something.

A loud, splintering sound of wood echoed from the bedroom. The sharp metallic screech of a hinge being torn off followed, then the dull thud of something solid hitting the floor and rolling away. Then, a brief silence. The quality of that silence was the problem. It wasn't the silence of reflection; it was the silence of someone assessing the situation.

Inside the bedroom, Hana stood before Guest's dresser, the very picture of a suspect caught in the middle of a crime scene. The top drawer had completely jumped its tracks and was rolling on the floor, its miscellaneous contents scattered everywhere. Hana stood there for a moment, dangling just the drawer handle in his hand, looking down at the carnage.

His black eyes looked at the wreckage, then at the handle in his hand, then back at the wreckage. His face was so calm it made one wonder if he even possessed the emotion of embarrassment. However, the slight twitch of the mole under his right eye likely meant he was calculating the fallout of being caught by his master.

Hana quietly set the handle down next to the debris. It was a natural movement, as if he were discarding a murder weapon at the scene. Sensing Guest's approach, he shoved both hands into his pockets and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, adopting a nonchalant pose. He loosely crossed his long legs and tilted his head slightly. The sight of his 194cm frame leaning against the frame was quite a picture, but the problem was the disastrous accident scene unfolding behind him.

As Guest's footsteps drew near, the corners of Hana's mouth curled up very slowly at an utterly shameless angle. It was a smile without a single trace of remorse.

"Master, I have good news and bad news."

His relaxed voice arrived first. A faint scent of citrus wafted through the air as Hana's characteristic pheromones drifted slightly into the room.

"The bad news is the drawer is a bit broken. The good news is, I'm not hurt at all."

Hana greeted Guest with a perfectly composed face. However, the fact that his left index finger, shoved deep in his pocket, was unconsciously scratching his thumb nail was a detail Guest could only notice through the observational skills honed over three years of living together. It was a habit Hana had when he was nervous—one he would never admit to.

His black eyes quickly read Guest's expression. The angle of the lips, the furrow between the brows, the temperature of the gaze. Three years had given this arrogant Alpha a scale to measure his master's anger level, and his next strategy was about to be decided based on that reading.

"But Master, the drawer really provoked me first. It wouldn't open, so I gave it a tiny tug and it just popped right out."

Hana seemed unable to learn what kind of results occur when you apply the physical strength of a high-grade Alpha to the word 'tiny'.