Defective Banana - Chapter 1

It was dawn — that faint hour before the sun came up.

Baek Ara stepped into her studio and neatly leaned a handful of brushes off to the side.

She set a blank white canvas on the easel, stretched her arms high above her head, then gripped a big square brush tight in her hand.

She dipped the brush into blue paint and spread broad strokes across the empty canvas. She layered on shades of violet and white too, adding more depth and texture.

Like that, she painted nonstop for six straight hours from the crack of dawn.

Just as she thought to take a break, her phone buzzed from where she’d left it far away.

Most likely it was Donghee, the woman next door — she often called Ara over when she didn’t feel like eating alone.

Ara set her brush down, checked the caller ID, and let out a small laugh. Of course.

“Hey, unni*.”
TL/N: *It’s how females address their older sister.

— “Ara! Are you home right now?”

Donghee’s voice was a notch higher than usual, and Ara blinked and held the phone closer to her ear.

“Yeah, I’m home. Why? Did something happen?”

— “No, no, I just came down to Gangwon road for a quick trip, and guess what? I totally forgot I’d ordered marinated crab! The delivery guy dropped it at my door. Could you put it in my fridge for me?”

“Oh, that’s all? Got it. I’ll put it away and text you. Don’t worry — just enjoy your trip.”

— “Thank you! I ordered two tubs so you could have one too. Take one, okay?”

“I really don’t need it… but thanks. I’ll enjoy it.”

— “Mwah! Thank you! Love you, Ara!”

She stood up, tugged off her paint-stained apron, and tossed it aside. Underneath, she only had on a thin white strappy tank top and a pair of short shorts.

Still dressed like that, she stepped outside her door, walked maybe ten steps, and was already at Donghee’s apartment next door.

Ara spotted the big Styrofoam box at the door, punched in the keypad code, and let herself in. Then she awkwardly lifted the heavy box with both hands and shuffled it inside.

Huffing and puffing, she dragged it to the kitchen and plopped it down in front of the fridge.

“God, that’s heavy…”

She tugged her tank top down where it had ridden up, then crouched in front of the box and started ripping off the tape wrapped around it.

Rip, rip, rip. The tape made a loud fuss as she peeled it all off, popped the lid open, and peeked inside.

Two big tubs wrapped in plastic filled the box to the brim. Ara clicked her tongue at the sight, pulled the fridge door open, and took a quick look inside.

Pushing her long hair back, she mumbled with her lips in a soft pout.

“Where am I supposed to fit all this?”

She looked around, but there was no miracle solution. With a sigh, she stood flush against the fridge and started stacking side dishes and containers to make space.

“How does one person cook this much food?”

She was mumbling to herself, elbow-deep in rearranging the fridge, when—

Donghee’s son, Kang Seohyuk, stepped out of his room, half-awake and rumpled from sleep.

He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. He shuffled toward the kitchen, eyes barely open, and spoke in a low, sleepy voice.

“Hey, Mrs. Kim… you didn’t call at all lately. You mad at me?”

Ara froze at the unfamiliar voice, eyes wide, not even breathing in surprise. Meanwhile, the man kept talking.

“I’ve been kinda busy, you know? Cut me some slack. I’ll do better, okay? Don’t be mad.”

For a second, Ara wondered if he was Donghee’s boyfriend. She thought about greeting him, but in that skimpy outfit? Absolutely mortifying. She tried to hide deeper into the fridge instead.

But then, out of nowhere, a big hand reached in and landed right on her bare shoulder.

She yelped inside, smacked his hand away, and squeezed herself deeper into the fridge corner. But that big hand came right back, fumbling over her shoulder and waist, then grabbed her arm and yanked her out.

“Mrs. Kim! Are you even listening? Look at me.”

Ara clung to the veggie drawer with her free hand, trying to resist, but he was too strong — in one pull, she stumbled right into his bare chest with a soft thud.

“Ah!”

At the same time, her lips brushed warm skin and bounced away. Horrified, Ara instinctively shoved his chest back and — smack! — slapped him clean across the face.

A sharp crack echoed through the kitchen. Kang Seohyuk’s head turned halfway from the hit.

He let out a disbelieving laugh, turned back to her, and finally looked straight at Ara’s face. His eyes slowly swept down, then up again.

He stayed silent for a moment, then spoke in a low, weighty voice.

“Who are you? This is my house, you know.”

His suspicious stare pinned her in place. Ara hurriedly crossed her arms over her chest, shooting back sharply,

“I’m the woman next door.”

“The woman next door?”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. Ara stared right back, eyes locked on his, refusing to back down.

Then it hit her — he looked way too young to be her neighbor’s boyfriend. Wait… how much younger would he have to be for that to make sense? A second later, it clicked. Maybe… he was that son Donghee sometimes complained about — the good-for-nothing who was too “busy” to ever show his face.

“Um… are you, by any chance, Donghee unni’s son?”

Seohyuk paused for a moment. He wondered why this young-looking woman was calling his mother “unni” like they were sisters. Then another thought hit him — if she realized who he really was, the actor Kang Seohyuk, this could blow up fast. He quickly covered half his face with one hand and awkwardly shielded his bare chest with the other.

Judging by her sharp eyes and the fact that she even knew his mom’s name, she probably wasn’t some crazy stalker fan who’d snuck in. She really did seem to be the neighbor she claimed to be.

“Yes, I am her son. So why are you in here?”

“I’m here because your mom asked me to be. If you don’t believe me, call her yourself.”

“My mom asked you…?”

He thought back — he did remember his mom mentioning some young woman next door once.

But now wasn’t the time to dig into that. He was half-naked, fresh out of bed, and the last thing he needed was to have his identity splashed all over the place if this woman recognized him. More than anything, he just wanted her gone — fast.

“Whatever she asked, I’m here now, so you can go. It’s kind of… uncomfortable.”

Ara just stared at him, dumbfounded. Seriously? What’s with this attitude? Donghee wasn’t the type to spoil a kid rotten, so where’d he learn to talk like this? Sure, it was awkward, both of them half-covered and staring each other down in the kitchen, but still — the nerve.

“Fine. I’m leaving. You handle this yourself, then.”

Ara shot back, nodding at the big cooler box on the floor. Still clutching her tank top tight against her chest, she spun on her heel and hurried out of the kitchen. She slipped into her sandals, smacked them on her feet, and made a beeline for the door.

Left alone, Seohyuk stared at the box she’d abandoned — then his eyes dropped lower, drifting to the front of his shorts.

“…Why the hell are you like this?”

Kang Seohyuk — the same Kang Seohyuk who was, by his own definition, completely impotent. A mental eunuch. A virgin who’d always kept women at arm’s length. And yet right now, between his legs, something was standing at full attention — so hard it looked ready to punch a hole through his shorts.

He frowned like he couldn’t believe it himself, then grabbed the waistband of his shorts and tugged it out to peek inside.

Sure enough, his d1ck was flushed red and stiff, veins popping like it was proudly announcing its existence — very healthy and very, very awake.

Seohyuk just stood there, half in shock, half speechless. Then he muttered under his breath,

“You’re not impotent, huh?”

Back in middle school, he’d caught his father cheating with another woman. After that, any interest he’d had in the opposite s3x vanished overnight. It wasn’t just indifference — he’d never once felt a real sexual spark for anyone. Even the idea of unnecessary physical contact made his skin crawl.

His looks might have lived up to his father’s, but he’d never let himself follow the same path — the constant scandals, the drama, the mess. His parents’ wedding photo had disappeared from the living room wall soon after. Since then, even the word love made him sick. Maybe that was his rebellious streak — Love? Screw that.

Sure, when he took care of himself alone, things worked just fine. But the second he had a woman in front of him, it was like his d1ck just fainted on command — no response at all. So he buried himself in work and kept that secret to himself.

But now? One run-in with the woman next door, and he was standing there, fully erect.

Seohyuk stared down at his hard-on again, his mind replaying her image — the pale skin, those faintly brown eyes with a strange gleam, the soft curve of her round lips that looked a little swollen, flushed a warm pink. She’d been wearing tiny pink shorts and that thin white tank top — when she’d bumped into him, he could still remember the faint floral, grassy scent that clung to her skin. And that split second of soft warmth that had brushed him… he was pretty sure that had been her lips.

And when she slapped him? That moment replayed in his mind too — and his d1ck just twitched even harder between his legs, growing hotter, heavier, throbbing like it wanted to be touched.

With a deep, shaky breath, Seohyuk wrapped his hand around himself and slowly slid it up and down. The heat radiating off his palm made the thick shaft throb like it was about to burst.