Matchmaker Mayhem
Chapter 130: Welcome to Seoul, Oppa

Chapter 130: Welcome to Seoul, Oppa

"She said maybe—but Korea heard yes."

Ava

She hadn’t even cleared customs before she saw it:

A fan sign. With her face.

A very high-resolution photo from their "not-a-wedding" in Tokyo—Ava in hanbok, laughing mid-kiss, Ryan looking like he’d been plucked from a K-drama—held aloft by a very enthusiastic twenty-something woman in a pink sweatshirt that read "MATCHMAKER QUEEN" in sparkly rhinestones.

Ava blinked.

"Ryan?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Are we... famous?"

He glanced up from pushing the luggage cart and immediately froze. "Oh god."

More signs. More sparkles. One even had a hand-drawn fox next to "Oppa Ryan."

Ryan leaned closer. "Please tell me you didn’t start calling me that online."

Ava smirked. "No, but I am tempted now."

They barely made it through the sliding doors of Arrivals before a polite yet aggressively cheerful woman from the Seoul Matchmaking Summit staff stepped forward and bowed.

"Miss Ava Lee? Mister Ryan Kim?"

"That’s us," Ava said warily.

"I’m Jiyoon from the summit welcome team!" she chirped. "We’ve prepared a car, refreshments, and a customized welcome kit. Also—" she gestured toward a second staffer lugging a shopping bag filled with silk and pastel fabrics "—these are your gifted hanboks."

Ryan blinked. "Our what now?"

"Traditional Korean dress!" Jiyoon beamed. "You’ll be wearing them for the opening ceremony, the welcome photoshoot, and the welcome livestream."

Ava turned. "There’s a livestream?"

Jiyoon nodded. "Over half a million pre-registrations!"

Ava nearly walked back into the plane.

---

Things only got worse—by which she meant more hilarious and unhinged—when they reached the baggage claim.

Mei was already there.

In full hanbok.

With a folding fan that read "SEOUL-MATES" in gold lettering.

"You’re late!" Mei called.

"We’re twenty minutes early," Ava said.

"Yes, but virality waits for no one," Mei countered, smoothing the front of her embroidered lavender jeogori like she’d been born on a soundstage.

Harold waved from beside her, holding up a digital tablet playing a slideshow titled "Engaged & En Route: Ava & Ryan’s Journey to Seoul."

Ava covered her face. "We’re never escaping this."

Ryan looped an arm around her waist and leaned in. "You love it."

"I’m going to throw your fox pillow into the Han River."

---

The ride to their hotel—an ultra-modern tower in Gangnam—was mercifully quiet. Ava nursed an iced honey citron tea while Mei hummed along to BTS in the front seat, fully unaware that her Matchmaker Queen Granddaughter™ was actively plotting her social media exile.

Ryan rested his hand on Ava’s thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles. "You okay?"

She exhaled. "I’m jetlagged, culturally ambushed, and my hair smells like plane air."

He grinned. "So that’s a yes?"

She side-eyed him. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

At that exact moment, her phone pinged.

@OppaRyanUpdates tagged you in 2 posts.

Ava opened Instagram.

The first post: a video edit of their airport arrival set to romantic ballad music, complete with slow zoom-ins on their glances at each other.

The second?

A meme:

Ava: Maybe

Korea: [Wedding March intensifies]

She let out a strangled sound. "Ryan. We’ve been in Seoul for one hour and there’s already a fan account."

He looked deeply alarmed. "How did they find our flight number?"

Ava blinked. "Wait. Did you tell Mei—?"

"I said it in passing!"

"She’s a supercomputer in hanbok."

Ryan nodded solemnly. "We’re doomed."

---

The Seoul summit team didn’t skimp.

Their suite was a five-star love letter to indulgence—floor-to-ceiling windows revealing Seoul’s glittering skyline, silk accents in soft gold and blush, and a fruit tray so elaborately carved it looked more like art than food. Slices of pear and mango had been arranged into a cherry blossom, complete with edible gold leaf.

On the bed, a note rested against an embroidered welcome pillow:

"We’re so honored to host Korea’s favorite matchmaking couple!"

Ava stared at it. "We’re Korea’s what now?"

Ryan flopped face-first onto the mattress. "Do you think they’d notice if we swapped places with two cardboard cutouts and stayed hidden for the next 25 Chapters?"

She dropped beside him, kicking off her shoes. "If you find cardboard cutouts that can handle my chaos and wear hanbok without complaining, maybe."

The bed was impossibly soft, the kind that made you briefly question every decision you’d made about budget hotel rooms in your twenties. Ava melted into the plush white linen, eyes drifting toward the mood lighting controls on the wall.

Romantic. Warm. Spa. Sensual.

Of course.

Ryan rolled onto his side to face her, propping his head on one hand. "Promise me one thing."

She cracked an eye open. "Mm?"

"Don’t ever stop calling me oppa if it keeps making me flinch."

Ava grinned slowly, letting her gaze sweep down his still-rumpled shirt and travel-worn smirk. "Oppa, please. You’re so dramatic."

Ryan groaned into a pillow. "It’s like verbal glitter. I can’t shake it."

"You love it," she sang, stretching like a smug cat.

"I love you," he muttered.

And just like that, between the silk sheets, the ridiculous welcome note, and the city shimmering just outside their window, they were officially in Seoul.

Ready or not.

---

She didn’t mean to tease him.

Not exactly.

But there was something about how his shirt clung to him after the flight, how his hair had gone just slightly tousled from collapsing into the bed, how his hand still curled absently around her ankle like he needed her there.

And how his eyes followed her every time she moved.

Ava stood and wandered toward the minibar, swaying just a little. She crouched down, peeking inside the sleek, mirrored fridge. "They stocked plum wine," she called out.

Ryan groaned. "You’re going to use alcohol to lure me in?"

"I don’t need to use anything, Oppa," she replied sweetly, pulling the bottle free.

The nickname made him visibly flinch. "Weaponized now. Good to know."

She twisted the cap off with one hand, took a sip, then turned back toward him—barefoot, slightly flushed, silk robe barely tied.

"You know what I love about this suite?" she asked, walking slowly, wine bottle swinging lightly from her fingers.

Ryan watched her like he already knew he was in trouble. "The soundproofing?"

She smirked. "Exactly."

Before he could reply, she straddled him on the bed—wine forgotten on the side table. Her fingers slid under his shirt, nails raking lightly down his chest. Ryan’s breath hitched, hands flying to her hips.

"This is unfair," he said, voice low and rough. "We just got here."

"We’re settling in," she whispered, kissing along his jaw. "Exploring the amenities."

He tilted his head back, giving her more access. "Pretty sure this isn’t what the itinerary meant by cultural immersion."

"Then we’ll make our own," she murmured.

Their mouths met with the kind of intensity that had no patience for teasing anymore. Ava moved slowly, deliberately, undoing him piece by piece—until Ryan had no words left, just whispered curses and helpless gasps.

They forgot about the fruit tray.

They forgot about the livestream walkthrough.

They forgot, briefly, that Seoul even existed outside that room.

Only the two of them. Skin to skin. Heat to heat. Tangled limbs and moans muffled into silk sheets, Ava’s name a mantra in Ryan’s mouth as he gave in completely, fully, to everything she was.

---

Ava lay sprawled on top of the tangled sheets, limbs boneless, breath steadying. Ryan was half beneath her, hair wrecked, chest still rising and falling like he hadn’t entirely survived the experience.

For a glorious moment, neither of them moved.

Then Ava stirred, slowly pushing herself up on one elbow.

"Don’t look at me like that," she murmured.

Ryan blinked. "Like what?"

"Like I just body-checked your soul."

"You did," he said. "And I would like to file a formal request to be wrecked again soon."

Ava smirked, biting her lip as she leaned over to kiss his temple. "You’ll survive."

"I’m not sure my dignity will."

She glanced at the side table. "We didn’t even drink the plum wine."

"That was bait," Ryan mumbled. "And I fell for it like a golden retriever with a trap door."

Before Ava could reply, her phone buzzed across the room—once, then again, then a third time with a sharp, unforgiving ping.

She groaned. "No. No more reality. I just emotionally eviscerated you. I earned a nap."

Ryan rolled over and reached for the phone, squinting at the screen.

He winced. "It’s Mei."

Ava sat up too quickly. "Oh god. Did she find the livestream access again?"

Ryan read aloud, "’Livestream walkthrough starts in 8 minutes. Don’t worry, I told the summit organizers you were ’resting from air pressure fatigue.’ Love you both!’"

Ava’s blood ran cold. "She gave us a cover story. She knows."

They both turned toward the fruit tray at the same time.

Ryan whispered, "Check it for hidden cameras."

Ava dove off the bed, flung back the sheer drapery around the tray, and stared down in horror.

Nestled among the candied walnuts and floral garnishes was a discreet, blinking light.

"She bugged the fruit," Ava hissed.

Ryan burst out laughing. "We’re dealing with a matchmaking mafia boss."

"She’s our Yakuza fairy godmother," Ava muttered.

Then, solemnly, she reached for the plum wine, opened the cap, and took a long, dignified sip.

"To war," she said.

Ryan clinked the bottle with her finger. "To Seoul."