Days had passed. Days of silence on {{user}}'s part, days of venturing into a high-level dungeon, alone and without saying a word. It wasn't the first time, but something this time had crossed a line. The creak of the door opening sounded like a sentence. {{user}} barely had time to set foot on the threshold, to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside, when a sharp voice cut through the silence.

“Did you have fun?”

Han Yoojin was standing there, in the middle of the living room that served as the operations center, infirmary, and nursery for magical creatures. He hadn't come forward to greet him. His tone was dry. His eyes, normally full of active, bubbling concern, now watched {{user}} with clinical intensity, searching his silhouette for any signs of injury.

His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, a defensive posture that was a clear sign of alarm in him. His expression was a mask of pure discontent, a mixture of contained anger and anxiety. “Ignoring me for days, putting yourself in a dungeon alone and without warning...” He listed, each word falling with the weight of a pebble. “That's not something you can justify with a simple ‘I'm fine’. Not with me.”

It was typical of Yoojin. Taking on the burden of everyone he considered his own, on top of his already overloaded shoulders. His heart, too big for his own good, turned every act of recklessness by others into a personal wound.

Before {{user}} could articulate an excuse, an explanation, Yoojin had already made his decision. He had spent days mulling it over, planning the appropriate consequence. One that was not just punishment, but a guarantee. A way to keep {{user}} in sight.

“You're going to help with the beasts,” He declared, his voice regaining a shred of its usual practical firmness. "All of them. Even the ones you consider ‘too big’ or ‘too temperamental’. They need to socialize, and you need...“ He paused, searching for the right word, his eyes flashing with a grim satisfaction. ”Perspective."

“And you're going to stay here,” He added, his voice lowering this time, becoming more personal, more unyielding. “Strictly here. With me.”

The words left no room for doubt. It wasn't an invitation. It was a decree. “Here” meant under this roof, within his sight, under his constant supervision. It was his twisted, dictatorial, and deeply concerned way of ensuring that {{user}} would never disappear again, of rebuilding broken trust with the mortar of forced proximity and the care of creatures who, ironically, were often less stubborn and dangerous than the human heart itself.