Busan always woke up with a smile.
It was the kind of city that never whispered—it sang. The soft orange-pink light of dawn spilled over the sleepy skyscrapers, gently warming the tiled rooftops of old hanoks nestled between modern high-rises. Streets stretched like veins through the heart of the city, already pulsing with life. The air was clean and crisp, the wind carrying the scent of fresh tteokbokki, brewing coffee, and salt from the distant ocean.
The city stirred—no, it danced.
Rolling carts creaked as vendors set up along narrow alleys. Shop shutters rattled upward with a clang. Bright-eyed baristas hummed as they prepped their espresso machines, wiping down the glass with rhythmic flicks. A nearby school bell chimed softly from a distance as uniformed kids giggled and raced each other up the sidewalks, backpacks bouncing, shoes squeaking.
A street musician in ripped jeans and a bucket hat strummed his guitar in front of a small convenience store. The tune floated up with the rising sun, joining the rustle of newspapers, the ring of bicycle bells, and the gentle chatter of ajummas gossiping outside the corner fruit stall. The morning was alive, colorful, and familiar—like a perfectly worn denim jacket that still made you feel brand new every time you slipped into it.
But several stories above the music of the waking city, one particular soul was very much not in sync with the rhythm of the day.
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Sunlight streamed through half-open blinds like golden fingers, sneaking across the messy floor of a modest apartment nestled in a quieter part of the city. It brushed against stacks of graphic novels, an overturned cup of instant ramen, and a worn baseball cap embroidered with the words "Drama Slayer". The light stretched, creeping up the edge of a rumpled bed where chaos lay tangled in flesh and fabric.
Aurianna.
Her body was sprawled diagonally across the bed like someone had drop-kicked her into it. One arm dangled off the side, her cheek squished awkwardly against a pillow, soft snores slipping out between slightly parted lips. A string of drool glistened as it clung to the corner of her mouth, catching the light with sparkling audacity.
Her thick black curls, dyed purple on the inside and wild as ever, fanned out across her pillow like she had wrestled a thunderstorm in her sleep—and won.
She wore the bare minimum: cotton black-and-white shorts that barely clung to her hips and a thin-strap crop top that had twisted halfway around her torso during the night's unholy acrobatics. In her sleep, she looked both angelic and criminal—like someone who might bless your life and burn your car in the same breath.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The alarm clock exploded.
"AHHHH!!!" she shrieked like a banshee being slapped with cold water.
THUD!
The scream was followed by the crash of limbs, blankets, and butt hitting hardwood as she rolled off the bed in a tangle of sleep-dazed limbs. She hit the floor with a groan that sounded like something between a dying walrus and an angry cat.
"Ughhh… I was in the middle of dreamland, you traitorous piece of plastic!" she whined, reaching out and slapping blindly at her nightstand. After a few clumsy tries, her fingers smacked the snooze button hard enough to shut it up. She groaned again and flopped belly-first onto the floor, cheek pressed to the cool wood.
A beat of silence passed.
Then she pushed herself up with the strength of a wilting sunflower, dragging her body back onto the bed like a war hero reclaiming her battlefield. She collapsed with a dramatic sigh, letting the mattress swallow her whole.
"Just five more—"
Sniff.
"—minutes…"
Sniff sniff.
Then came the wet sound of something squishy and warm licking her cheek.
"EUGHH—AHHH! SPIKE! You little traitor!" she squealed, jerking upright as a heavy tongue slobbered her face.
The grey-and-white pitbull grinned up at her like a proud child, tail wagging fast enough to create a mini tornado.
Hot on his heels was Peaches, the brown-and-black rottweiler with a permanently unimpressed face, who gave Aurianna a low growl of warning as if to say, Don't even think about going back to sleep, girl.
And waddling in like the late king of drama was Giant, the tiny bulldog with an attitude the size of Seoul. He huffed, hopped onto the bed with an exaggerated grunt, and sat on Aurianna's stomach with all the grace of a bowling ball.
"Ack—Giant! Get your marshmallow butt off me!" she laughed, trying to shove him off while Spike panted happily in her face and Peaches let out a yawn that sounded way too judgmental.
"You guys suck. I gave you life, and this is how you repay me?" she muttered, flopping backward and letting them all pile onto her in a mountain of fur and tail wags. "Betrayed. By my own flesh and fur."
Spike let out a happy bark.
Peaches responded with a snort.
Giant farted.
Aurianna gagged, then burst out laughing.
"You're nasty, bro!" she cackled, shoving him off and rolling to the edge of the bed. She sat up, eyes squinting against the light, a mischievous grin curling on her lips as she reached for her phone.
"Alright, alright. You monsters win. Let's start the chaos."
She tapped her screen, and the apartment exploded with the pounding beat of Stray Kids' latest album.
"MANIAC!" the speaker blared, and Aurianna jumped to her feet like the floor was lava. Her hair flung everywhere as she danced across the room, hips swinging, arms flailing with zero coordination and maximum confidence.
The dogs barked in rhythm.
She moonwalked toward her closet, grabbed a towel from the hook, and spun like a k-pop idol mid-choreo. The light from the window danced across her skin, her smile fierce, wild, untamed.
This was Aurianna Rathore.
Messy, loud, chaotic.
And unstoppable.
"Alright, minions," she shouted over the music, pointing dramatically at her squad. "Guard the house. No parties. No eating the couch. No opening portals to hell—again."
The dogs all tilted their heads in unison.
Giant sneezed.
"Exactly," she said, satisfied.
Then with a wink to her reflection, a towel slung over her shoulder, and bare feet bouncing to the beat, Aurianna disappeared into the bathroom.
Water gushed. Steam rolled out from under the door. The music kept playing. And the day—her day—was just getting started.