The washing machine was filled with shattered tableware, the ceramic shards piling together at the base. No wonder the machine was beeping nonstop.

All along, I thought Stuart was just clueless when it came to basic life skills. But now, I was beginning to wonder if he might actually have some kind of intellectual disability.

Meanwhile, upon hearing my question, Stuart started to act all hurt and blamed everything else but himself for the situation.

"If a washing machine can wash clothes, why can't it wash dishes? There's nothing on it that says it's not allowed. The plates were so dirty and greasy. I didn't want to touch them with my own hands. Who knew they'd be so fragile anyway? I can't believe they broke so easily.

"It's fine. This doesn't scare me. I'm a brave and responsible guy!"

I couldn't even think of something to say. While I wasn't sure if Stuart had any ounce of bravery in him, I was certain he would soon be expected to fork out another sum in compensation again.

"This washing machine is unusable now. Find a repairman yourself and see if it can be fixed," I said.

Stuart's expression fell at once. Scowling, he protested, "Why should I? It's the washing machine that has a problem anyway. It's too old, and it ruined all my tableware. I'm already being nice by not demanding that Mr. Ferguson compensate me for my plates!"

Seeing that I didn't react at all, Stuart frantically grabbed my hand, his eyes red and pleading. "You have to be my witness, Benson. This wasn't my fault!"

After hearing something so shameless, I felt compelled to study Stuart carefully, as if I suspected that he was actually a robot masquerading as a human.

"I'm genuinely curious to know how you even managed to stay alive for this long. If you think it's the washing machine that is to blame for this, you can tell Mr. Ferguson. However, I'm not obligated to act as your so-called witness. Figure it out yourself."

Just as I was about to turn away, Stuart ranted, "How can you be so heartless? We're housemates! Why aren't you willing to help me at all?

"You have a washing machine in your bedroom, don't you? Just bring it out so that we can use it together. And once the lease is over, you can leave it behind for Mr. Ferguson. It's too heavy for you to take with you anyway."

He started making his way toward my bedroom, but I pushed him away.

"Don't cross the line, Stuart. How are you entitled to use my washing machine? We're not that close. Stop flattering yourself."

Before going back to my room, I caught the resentful look in Stuart's eyes. It put me on guard, and I began locking my door every time I went in or out.

But the very next day, just as I got home, I still saw something that made me lose my mind.

Stuart had hired a locksmith, who was in the middle of dismantling the lock on my door. Upon seeing that half the lock had already been taken out, I immediately shouted, "What are you doing to my room? Who gave you permission to unlock the door?"

Stuart didn't take me seriously at all. He even slung an arm over my shoulder without a care in the world and said, "Why are you shouting your head off, Benson? I needed to use the washing machine, but I couldn't get in because you locked the door. So, I had no choice but to hire someone to open it."

The locksmith clearly realized he'd involved himself in a messy situation. He stopped what he was doing, but the oblivious Stuart got impatient and started urging him.

"Why aren't you getting on with it, mister? Hurry up and get the lock open. The forecast says it's going to rain tomorrow. I have to do my laundry and hang the clothes out to dry today."

"Stuart Harper!" I snapped icily. "I'll say this one last time. This is my room. If you try to force your way in again, I'll call the police immediately. When that happens, don't say I didn't warn you."

Stuart froze in shock when he saw how merciless I was being. A moment later, he scoffed and stormed off in a huff.

I rubbed my forehead. Stuart was nothing but trouble. I had to find a new place to live as soon as I could.

After telling my professor I'd be taking a few days off from school, I went to a real estate agent and started looking for similar apartments. After my experience with Stuart, I gave up entirely on the idea of sharing a place with someone.

I was still deliberating over which place to move to when I opened the door and spotted a familiar electric slow cooker in Stuart's hands.

The moment I saw that electric slow cooker, the pain of being burned to death washed over me again.

Even though our relationship had soured pretty badly, Stuart continued to act as if nothing had happened. He came over and bumped into my shoulder as if we were friends.

"Look, Benson! I got an electric slow cooker. I'll make some soup for you later, so that we can warm up to each other again. We're roommates, after all. We're going to be living together for a long time. You can use my electric slow cooker whenever you want. I genuinely consider you my friend!"

I'd learned in my previous life just how genuine that friendship was.

I took a step back before saying coldly, "Save it. It's best if you learn not to cross the boundaries. I don't plan on being friends with you."

Stuart's eyes flickered a little before he drew closer to me again. "Don't just say that out of anger, Benson. I know I made a mistake. I won't do those things again.

"We both came to a foreign country alone. Isn't it good to have a friend beside you? If I ever do something silly again, you can put a stop to it before things get out of hand!"

He even flashed a cheering gesture at me, looking completely confident as he declared, "I'm an agreeable guy. I'll do whatever you say!"

I rolled my eyes at him. I'd lost count of how many times I heard him say that in my previous life.

He did listen to everything I told him. But every single time, he managed to find new ways to screw things up—ways that were far beyond normal human imagination. Sometimes, I was sorely tempted to ask him if the mothership had sent him to earth to perform some kind of social experiment.

I turned away and headed to my bedroom. As soon as the door closed, I swiftly chose an apartment and transferred the deposit to the real estate agent.

While I was inside my bedroom packing my things, Stuart, who hadn't gotten a response from me, vented by chopping up some vegetables.

Remembering the ridiculous things he had done in my previous life, I quickly walked into the kitchen—just in time to see him place the entire slow cooker onto the induction stove and reach for the power button.

"Stuart! Didn't I tell you not to touch my things? And is there seriously something wrong with your brain? Who taught you to heat up an electric slow cooker on an induction stove? If you don't know how to use something, can't you at least read the manual first?"

Stuart flashed me an innocent smile. "Really? I had no idea, Benson. Anyway, don't be so petty with me. Just let me use it. I'm from the southern part of Candoria, you know. We're famous for our cuisine. I was born with the ability to cook. You're in for a treat!"

I was certain now. There had to be something wrong with Stuart's brain. He was incapable of understanding what someone else said.

Meanwhile, Stuart ignored the eye-roll I gave him and carried on talking.

"By the way, Benson, I noticed you had some bone broth in your room. Why don't you bring it out so that I can make the soup for us? It's been raining a lot lately. A nice warm bowl of soup is just the thing you need! Oh, and there's no salt left in the house. Can you head to the nearest store to get some?"

Snorting, I shot back without showing any courtesy, "No one wants to drink your lousy soup, Stuart. I don't think your top priority should be getting an education abroad. Instead, you should go back to Candoria and get your head checked by a specialist."

Stuart immediately turned toward me, looking all hurt and upset.

"How can you say that about me, Benson? I'm just trying to be nice to you, but you have no appreciation for that at all! Who cares about your stupid stuff, huh? Just you wait. Once I'm done with the soup, I won't let you have a single spoonful of it! You deserve to eat nothing but plain bread every day!"

Once he finished speaking, he grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the apartment to get some salt.

Not long after he left, the movers I hired arrived. I didn't have many suitcases, but I did have a bunch of furniture and appliances. With their help, I was able to move everything out in a matter of minutes.

I sent Mr. Ferguson a message to terminate the lease. I didn't even bother trying to get my security deposit back. I would just consider it payment for getting out of a future catastrophe.

I wasn't going to be lucky enough to enjoy Stuart's soup. He could have it all to himself. This time around, he should get a taste of what it felt like to die in a fire.