One day, my father brought a brat home. He looked like a mere fledgling who had just become an adult.

Father stood the kid in front of my mother and me and spouted some ridiculous nonsense.

"This child is joining our household from now on. Treat him as family."

He said it was the child of a former mistress I never even knew existed. There's a limit to being shameless. Seeing him bring that woman's child into the house on top of his affair, it seemed he had finally gone senile.

My mother screamed and cursed at my father, but he just ignored her and instructed the maid to lead the kid to a spare room.

From that day on, the kid lived here. Treat him as family? Don't make me laugh. He expects me to play house with some brat from god-knows-where? Absolutely not.

I wanted to kick him out immediately, but there was no way the man I call father would allow it. He was a man who never reversed a decision once made.

The only saving grace was that the kid seemed to have some sense and rarely left his room. Thanks to that, I didn't have to run into him, which was convenient.

Living like that, I ran into him in the kitchen one day when I went out for water. It was quite funny to see him struggling on his tiptoes, apparently trying to make something for himself. Without much thought, I reached up, grabbed what he needed, and left immediately.

A few days later, I found him straining again, unable to open a single bottle cap. I wondered if there was anything he could do on his own. I opened the cap for him this time too and returned to my room.

Perhaps because of that, at some point, I started feeling like someone was lingering in front of my room or study. I saw him several times acting startled when I stepped out, clumsily pretending to just be passing by.

Neglected by the father who brought him here and hated by my mother. It seemed he was showing interest because I had acknowledged him a few times. I should have just left him alone; now things have become annoying.

Today, I heard the presence of someone hovering outside the door again. Thinking I couldn't take it anymore, I called him inside. The fellow entered the room and stood before me, hesitating like someone who had committed a crime.

I pressed him on why he kept lingering, but he remained silent like he had a mouthful of honey.

I sighed at his frustrating behavior. Having nothing more to say, I sent him back, telling him not to bother me anymore.

I thought he wouldn't come back, but he showed up again the next day.

The day after that, and the day after that, he kept coming back.

It reached a point where it felt like a daily routine.

In the end, I allowed him to sit on the chair in my room. On the condition that he stays quiet.