#fic:ring-0-ring

[keen-li]

Ring-0-Ring | jjk

Story type: series.

Squid Game AU.

Chapter 1: Trash to Trash

Synopsis: Buried in the deepest pits of life, by their own actions and lifestyle. Jungkook and Yn leaving two different lives in two different sides of town have to find a way to stay alive. Yn for her family and Jungkook for...well. No one. And they have to do it all in the cruel city of Jangsu.

Unfortunately the way of going about it is not as quick or as they thought. So they turn to other measures.

Measures they don't realize the extreme of.

The game forces Jungkook and Yn to survive and go against themselves. But as they go on, they cover who they really are. And who they really want to be.

Chapter glossary.

Warnings: violence, strong language, use of Yn, Pov change, gambling, implied self-exit, blood and injury, emotion distress, use of Korean Won as currency. Readers discretion is advised.

Genre: survival thriller.

Jungkook x fem reader

WC: 28k

Story Masterlist

if there are any errors, sorry.

A/n: This is a work of fiction and imagination. it does not represent any real society, government, location, or person. any similarities are just a coincidence.

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Reader’s Pov

Thursday, 7th march, 8: 10am

Some people say they get dizzy or tired. But to those people, you’d say they haven’t been doing it long enough. Or they don’t have the will to push through until the symptoms burrow into an untouched part of yourself. So much that you don’t think they exists. You no longer get dizzy. Or tired.

That’s what you have to do to keep going. To make it around the circumference one more time. And soon it’ll be one more time all over again until there’s no more time. You don’t know when it’ll come, but it will. It always does. For now, you’ll keep spinning. Even though it brings no pleasure or peace. You knew peace was never an option when you made the choices you did.

Your hand moves autonomously, grabbing your books and placing them into your bag one after the other. Like a game of Tetris—though you’ve never played the game. You’ve just heard about it from friends who had in middle school. Even though you could indulge in the childhood desire, it doesn’t seem as interesting. Not when you’re already living it.

Block after block, paying close attention to try and clear a line. Your lines being the 24-hour cycles.

Your hand pauses midair, about to grab the next book. Moments like this are rare—it’s where you actually stop to question what you’re doing. And the answer always leads back to the heaviness in your chest.

No one places themselves in their own misery unless out of desperation or fear. Two traits easy to exploit, easy to prey on. And the demon ‘bad choices’ never sleeps. You aren’t plagued like others, but it still wraps its slender and hungry fingers around you.

If you let it control you any longer, you’ll have to fake your own graduation. Which is impossible. Well...unless you were rich. Then you could book a venue, pay people to act like it’s their graduation too. But you’re light years from that kind of grace. Your brain is better spent conjuring more useful thoughts. Right now, you’re privileged to be breathing.

 Especially while living in Jangsu. You wonder what would kill you first: the bad air, the crimes, or simply your hatred for it. Right now, none have you surrendering. But even if they were, around these parks, you have to keep moving. One falter in your steps and you’re gone. Your steps faltered long ago, and you got to experience the feeling. Only because you didn’t give in to its societal setup. One that has you in thought after your fall.

You also have to think of how you’ll keep this up for another day. Which isn’t really much of a chore for you now, but you like to be ready. Words just slip past your lips, confirming to you that the longer you live here, the more you blend into the frame it has for everyone.

“Are you going to carry your notebook?” You tense. Your mother’s voice rings like church bells. Only when you exhale do you realize how soft it actually was.

Your fingers twitch, grasping the book with newfound determination. “How long have you been standing there?”

She hums, pretending to think. “Not long.”

She could’ve been there for a while, and by the look on your face, you wouldn’t have noticed.

Her gaze lingers. She’s smiling now, slow and gentle. You can’t return it. “Carry on,” she shoos when you stare at her longer. She steps forward into your room, and you do carry on, back straightened from her being a part of your routine all of a sudden. She sinks into it completely.

You stare at your tiny desk, choosing which pen will be the unlucky one to spend a day with you. When chosen, you can hear it scream “nooooo,” but it’s silenced when it falls to the bottom of the bag. For some, hell is in a bag.

Your tote bag might give in on you if you add further weight, even by the slightest amount, so you stop.

Your mother chuckles—softly at first, then louder. A full-blown grin spreads across her face.

“In high school, I hated carrying books,” she reminisces. “I don’t know how you manage at that big college.”

Your throat dries and so do your lips, even though you had glossed them with what's left in the tube. The grip on your self-repaired handle tightens.

The school is not that big; if it were any bigger, it wouldn't fit in Jangsu.

She moves around your room, used but still new to the floor plan. Her fingers curl around the edge of your laundry basket. You squint, watching her. You understand your room does sometimes become a storage space. It was before your mother decided you needed privacy. You knew it'd be a hustle to brush it off, but she was adamant. It's not like you minded sleeping on a bed with your family.

So, it’s understandable if she's here looking to get something from one of the boxes. But why does she reach for your clothes? You do your own laundry, even though she’s stubborn about it.

She starts to sort the clothes. “How do you walk around school grounds with all those books?” she says when you don't reply to her other query.

You should’ve left already, the clock in your brain tells you. You always get out on time and at the same moment every day, but you do give yourself some grace time here and there. And you've exceeded that grace.

This room is too small to contain two people. For you, it's tense, but your mother looks like she’s having a blast.

“Just fine,” you mutter, staring out the open window. The fresh air was supposed to clear your mind. Instead, it carries in cigarette smoke from your neighbour’s morning session. A session you have to experience often, and you can’t run from because of the position of your room. The compound is bound by a rundown concrete wall, dressed in what you like to call 'war wounds.' The moss and vines are determined to bother the divider and climb up it. Even though it keeps you from seeing what's outside, the holes and cracked surface allow a glimpse of what's beyond.

Its closed-off nature would make it hard to stay out of other people's business. But everyone is too burdened.

Her lips press together at your answer. She doesn’t pry. “You don’t need all those books. I can get you a laptop. Don’t university students need those?”

They do. Not you. It’d be a waste of money. “I should’ve gotten you one sooner,” she talks on as your heart rate spikes. “But it’s never too late, right?”

The air feels heavier. The cigarette smoke thickens. You place your bag down, hurriedly moving to shut the window. But the pressure in your chest remains still.

“I don’t need a laptop. I’m fine with my books.” You pick your bag back up. Was it always this heavy?

“Don’t you need it for online classes?” She doesn’t understand how college works, but her intent is clear.

“I’ll get you one,” she insists. “They’re not that expensive anyway.” You scoff. You both know that’s a lie. And the way she chokes on the word ‘expensive’ tells you she knows it too.

The determination in her voice would make others happy. It makes you irritated. Annoyed. She’d have to take out a loan just to get even a bad second-hand one. And the thought terrifies you.

You’ve seen what loan sharks do to people when they can’t repay in time. How they show up, bats in hand, looking for payment. How they leave behind destruction and bruises as warnings.

Even if you were in the hospital, you wouldn’t want her to go that far just for you. You'd seen it before.

There was a family...three blocks away from your compound. A man, his wife, their little girl. The man borrowed just enough to “get by,” just enough to “fix things.” It wasn’t enough. The first time they came, they took his furniture. The second time, they took his car. The third time… he was gone. You never saw him again. His wife stopped looking people in the eye. His daughter stopped playing outside. Everyone knew, but no one said anything.

That’s what loans did around here. But even your own experience renders the hatred for them.

You still remembered the knocking. Too loud. Too sharp. Too angry. You were twelve, and your mother was pregnant. You hid under the bed, knees pressed to your chest, the shadows making you a member. You could see your mother’s feet—bare, trembling—standing by the door.

“Just a little more time,” your mother had begged.

“Time?” A laugh. Low. Cruel. One that you had known, one which was half of the reason you're even on this earth. “Time isn’t free.” He spoke with a voice you couldn't believe read you stories before going to bed. It was sick; he was sick. But you didn't understand it then. Your mother had taken out a loan from your father, which is ridiculous to you. She shouldn't have had to take out a loan just to do the things he was meant to do by virtue of being a sperm donor. You don't even call him your father.

Then came the sound...the sickening crunch of a boot against something fragile. You never found out what he broke. But you remembered your mother’s sharp inhale. The silence after.

You remembered hating him and the men he brought to wreck the home your mother built without him. You remembered fearing them even more.

Your mother paid all the money back, and promised to divorce him. You never understood why she made the promise to you.

“Mom, I don’t need a stupid laptop,” you snap.

She pauses, her hands stilling over your colours and whites. She doesn’t yell at your tone. Just looks at you. Softly. Like she knows. Like she’s known for a long time.

“Go have breakfast before it gets cold.” She turns her eyes from you. With slumped shoulders, you walk out and into the kitchen, choosing to leave the conversation.

You don’t always have breakfast, but today’s already out of your routine, so you might as well have it.

After you’re done, you decide it’s time to take this day by the neck. So, you walk to the door. But before you walk out, the door only inches away, your mother calls out your name.

“I need you to give this to your teachers.” You blink at the large food container she’s holding. “For how hard you’ve all been working. It seems like you have no holidays.”

You frown. “It’s university. We’re not that close to our tea-professors.” You remember she used to do the same when you were in high school and middle school. So, you guess that’s where the confusion’s coming in. University is its own thing.

“They can’t receive gifts?”

You rub your ear, stalling. “It’s just...not necessary.”

She holds the box out further, expectant. “Dear, the food will go to waste.”

Your fingers fidget. “We can just have it for dinner.”

As if on cue, your sister’s voice whines from the living area. “Chicken again? My friends eat steak every day. I want to eat steak every day too.” Your mother smiles at her, but you stare at her with an unpleasant glare. It silences her. You roll your eyes.

“Maybe tonight we’ll have something different.”

Different. Unnecessary. With forced patience, you take the box and set it in the fridge. “Let’s just eat this for dinner, okay? It’s not like its bad food.” You fake a comforting smile.

Your sister pouts. “Eating boring food every day is bad though.” She mumbles, but it reaches your ears. With great impact at that.

She’s 12. She should know better now. You did way earlier than her. She should understand that this is just how things are. That life isn’t a fairytale.

“Yn, dear, go before the morning bus leaves.”

Your mother could see it in your face. The irritation you feel from the topic is a reminder of how she should’ve chosen better in life for her children. And not drag you into drama not meant for your little minds.

You forgot about your day for a moment. You stare at your sister and then at your mother. The look on her face tells you to leave it. So, taking a deep breath and relaxing your jaw, you leave it. It’s not something that won’t pop up again. But every time, you just have to ignore it.

You grip the strap of your bag, and soon you’re swinging the door open. One step into uncertainty, like every day.

Wisps of air brush past your skin, not cooling you down but causing you frustration. The bus you were supposed to get on to go to the university passes by, filled with people on the way to it or work.

At first, you’d get on the bus, pretend to go to school, just in case someone was watching. Some nosy people, a family friend, or someone who’d know you enough to ask why you weren’t going in the Uni direction. But now? Now you don’t pretend. It was a waste of money.

You’ve learned anyway that people don’t care. The people on these streets move like clockwork, fixed on their own survival, consumed by their own routines. Even your neighbours, the ones who always seemed to have something to say no matter what, don’t spare you a glance. They’re all too busy living in misery or chasing a pay check that never stretches far enough. Forced into jobs they despise just to cling to stability set up by society, like it’s the only thing that matters.

You crave stability too. Not because you want to, but because you have to. Stability is the rule of the world, and you’re no exception.

Finish high school, get a degree in something that ‘matters,’ and land a job. And boom, stability. Dressed in white and gold you can’t touch. It’s a formula. One that your mother hoped for in her heart to save your family. One drilled into your mind for so long. But you know better now. It was never about the formula.

Stability isn’t handed to those who work hard or do the right thing. It belongs to the ruthless, the ones willing to play the game, to cheat, to step on others to climb higher. It turns its back on people like you—people who still want to believe they can make it without losing themselves.

And yet, you’ve already compromised. Already lied. Already started playing the role you never wanted. You don’t like to call yourself a victim; you were, but you won’t call yourself that. You made choices, and they got you where you are. So, who can you blame?

Maybe, if you had chosen to be honest from the beginning, you wouldn’t be here now. Exhausted from the weight of your own lies. Maybe if you had told your mother the truth back then, you wouldn’t be trapped in this performance. This cycle of dodging questions, hiding, and keeping up appearances with a mask. One that gets hard to breathe in.

You hate that you had to do it. You hate even more that it worked. The only time stability looked you in the face was when you chose to abandon your morals.

A scoff slips past your lips as you step in rhythm with the others around. You weren’t always this way.

“Excuse me, miss.”

You blink, gaze sharpening at the man who approaches you too eager to have anything sensible to say. You pause slightly and tilt your head in acknowledgment, pulling your headphones out. You’d think someone’s chasing from the way he pants, but it’s only because he was in a rush to talk to the only person who’s given him attention.

You watch him expectantly—not that you expect anything.

“I sell a course on rental investment—” Your body tenses. Is he being serious?

He’s dressed from head to toe in loungewear, hair like he just woke up and came here, or even worse, he slept on the streets. Some people are forced to. He looks nothing like someone trustworthy enough to be selling anything, let alone an investment course. He looks like he doesn't even have his own money to invest. That's why they do this—to pull in people with even a minuscule of a dime and trap them. You shake your head, offering a small polite bow. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”

You keep walking. He follows; you can feel it. “Just a few minutes of your time—”

“I said I’m not interested.”

The UV rays beam down on your skin, the tank top you're wearing allowing it to. One thing about this city is that no matter what time of the year it is, the weather will be whatever it feels like being. Your shoulder aches. People with places to go shove past you, irritated by the obstacle you’ve become. But your mind is persistent on the man beside you.

He doesn’t take the hint. “Here, just take a flyer—”

Annoyance flares up. You smack the paper out of your face, voice firmer. “I said I’m not interested. Keep your scams to yourself.”

His expression flickers—surprise, maybe guilt—and then he steps back, disappearing back into the crowd, back to where he was. You’re not proud of snapping, but you’ve had enough of people like him. They’re all the same, preying on any desperation or interest, and are just puppets to someone else’s greed. You’ve met too many of them. Some more memorable than others. One specifically.

In persistence, you’re not so different from him.

You’ve been searching for work for months now. Three months.

Ever since your depression faded into the background, never truly going away, just tucked away behind frustration and fear. You’ve been trying to find a job. Something to grasp at, something that won’t make you feel useless. Or at least a little less useless and more responsible. So, when your mother finally finds out, maybe she won’t be so angry. Maybe she’ll see that at least you tried.

But the world doesn’t work like you think. Everywhere you go, you hear the same repeating statement. “We’re not hiring.”

It upsets you; no matter how much you try, nothing works out. You forget how many people in the same or similar situation to you do the same, them being faster. Or maybe just on better timing. You won't be able to find a job at this rate. You’re running out of places to try. Running out of excuses for why you still don’t have something to show for yourself.

Soon time is bleeding into afternoon, and you’re finding solace on a park bench. Your thoughts still spiral, dragging you down into them as you stare off at something in the distance. Your thoughts don’t bother you too much when you’re here, though.

The park in Jangsu is the only peaceful place. Its green and bright grass serves as a foundation for families spending time together or students studying. You can’t forget the people that find income by preaching or the people who advertise. You should try to do some magic tricks for some money; you're good at fooling people, it seems. The people of Jangsu haven’t seen that yet, and you’d definitely give them a show. More like something to laugh at.

The breezy nature of the place causes natural bristling of bright green leaves on trees. Nothing hits harder than spring in Jangsu. It's not spring, but you're just thinking about it. You're not sure yet if Jangsu is not a simulation. How can a city be so disobedient to Mother Nature and force her to give it everything good in landscape? It's like a holiday destination; it's like a lie. They call it the town of longevity, but you laugh at that. They need to be clear: longevity in suffering. Yes. In life? Yes. Rest? Never.

This city and all its leaders strive to keep you living long enough to serve them and make you suffer. It has pretty trees, though.

You chuckle. The air is clean, except for the occasional rebels who smoke. You normally don't like to look their way, but they occasionally catch you staring. You don’t look longer after.

The birds are another aspect you like to watch; they glide across the sky, while some chirp in trees. Probably complaining about how the only good air is in the park. At least they can live in trees. You sit listening to their songs until it turns into the ringing of your phone instead.

Your mother’s contact flashes across the screen. She rarely calls at this time, or at all sometimes. You answer. “Mom?”

“Yn, dear, I hope I’m not interrupting your classes.” She sounds rushed and breathy and skips over her usual greeting. You internally laugh. Shaking your head and staring at your surroundings to make sure the benches hadn’t turned into desks. Or the billboard into a whiteboard. She’s definitely not interrupting your classes.

“You’re not,” you say, your heart already uneasy to know why she’s calling. “What’s wrong?”

She sighs. “I just got a call from Lynn’s teacher. She got into some trouble and needs a guardian to pick her up. I’m at work—I can’t leave. Can you do it for me?” You’re old enough to be her guardian, 12 years older. And you’ve nothing on your schedule, so you don’t mind. You’re even more curious to know what she did.

“Yeah, I can go,” you say, certain and finally feeling like you've got a purpose. Your mother works at the edge of town, so you know even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t make it on time.

“Okay then,” she speaks. “Let me know if you need anything.” The call ends. As you're walking out of the park toward the bus station, a man in a tailored suit steps into your path. Sharp stance, polished shoes—the kind of presence that makes people stop without thinking.

Not this again.

"I work at an investment company, and we’re looking for some employees—" You freeze. Employees. Not clients.

"Employees for?" The words leave you before you can stop them. You shouldn’t have stopped at all, but your feet betray you, halting as if the suit alone is proof enough.

"Various things." He hands you a flyer. You take it. Gently. Carefully. Like it might vanish if you grab too hard. The flyer is crisp, sleek, professional. Not the usual cheap ink on flimsy paper. This isn’t something you find crumpled in a gutter. This was printed with money. And since when do opportunities come walking to you in a suit?

"Do I need some kind of degree or skill?"

"The requirements are listed there." They are. And as your eyes scan the list, you realize—there are none. No experience. No education. No specific abilities. This is where you’d normally walk away. You know better. You always know better. But the weight in your chest tightens. What if this time is different? What if this time, it’s real?

You look at the man again. His suit fits too well. His shoes don’t have a single scuff. People trust men who look like this. If he were wearing a cheap hoodie, you’d have ignored him. If the flyer were ugly, you’d have thrown it out. But here you are, holding it like a lifeline.

"Visit our website to apply." He smiles. Too polished. Too rehearsed. Too much like a mask. But before you can process it, he’s already walking away, disappearing into the city like he was never there. You look at the flyer again. And despite everything—despite what you know—you don’t throw it away. You clutch it tighter and keep walking.

--

You both didn’t speak much on the bus home. She kept her head on the window, and you kept yours ahead. Maybe you didn’t know what to say. Maybe you didn’t want to bother her the way you didn’t want anyone bothering you. But perhaps if someone did bother you, you wouldn’t have had to lie for this long.

So, as you walk down the dark alley to the apartment, the late afternoon sun still glowing, you decide to press in like you wish someone did for you. “What happened?” It’s soft, no emotion to suggest anger. But enough tone to show that you care to know.

She doesn’t respond for a few seconds, and you keep the silence. Soon she’s speaking with a pout that hasn’t left her face. “During lunch, my friend was rubbing her steak in my face,” she begins.

“And what did you do?” you ease in. The way she speaks sharply proves how she still holds onto the anger. “I threw it to the ground!”

“Lynn!” you say, mouth agape. You know she can be a bit short-tempered and careless, but you never thought it’d reach school grounds.

“She was making fun of me for eating cafeteria food...” She starts to tear up, defending herself to you, which you don’t want her feeling like she has to. “...said only the children with poor parents eat from there.” She folds her arms.

You sigh. “She’s not your friend, you know that, right? You can’t have friends like that.”

“I know.” You question if she really does, but after today, she’ll come to the full conclusion. “I don’t even want to go back to that school,” she says as she walks into the house.

Your mom is sitting on the couch looking tired. “Mooom!” Lynn immediately crashes into her arms, causing her to groan.

“Baby girl, what happened?” She wraps a warm and caring arm around her.

“I never want to go to that school again,” she whines.

“Tell me what happened,” your mother coos.

You slip away into your room to drop the bag that has been on your shoulder the whole day. You change into some loungewear, and when you return, their conversation is still ongoing. It lasted longer than the one you had, so you assume she told her something that you didn’t know. It’s not something you want to get into, though.

“Well, that girl is not your friend anymore.”

Their conversation ends. You finally get to speak out on what you’ve been thinking since you walked in. “Why are you back home so early?” You fidget with the strings of your hoodie, curious.

“Thought I’d come back early to spend some time with you guys.” You nod, even though you don’t trust her answer. Your mother hasn’t missed work before. Or even taken a half day. Things are starting to go out of cycle, and you don’t like it. Will she do this every day, or will she tell you when she does? Because sometimes you like to return home a little early too.

She brushes off the look on your face with her hand and a smile. “Since I’m home early and we still have time until dinner, we can have some steak and a huge meal,” she suggests.

“Yes! We’re having steak today,” your sister grins as though the events of today never happened. You can’t help but get upset at how dismissive your mother is about serious topics. You roll your eyes.

“Yn, can you stop by the market, please?” she adds in a pleading tone, as though you wouldn’t have done it anyway.

You nod, preparing yourself as your mother reaches into her purse and hands you some money. Money you stare at for longer than normal. You feel its smooth and fresh feel. Straight from the bank. You peer at her as if asking if, she’s sure about it.

“Go. Buy yourself something from what’s left,” she smiles.

--

You walk down the road to the downtown market just close to the house. It’s the only downtown you visit. There are two, both have names, but you call them downtown 1 and downtown 2. Downtown 1 is on your side of Jangsu; it’s basically the market or event centre of the town, nothing wild about it. Very much a community vibe. Downtown 2 also has events, but it’s more of the criminal type. Gambling, gangs. You’ve heard of sex clubs too, but you’re not too sure. And you don't want to find out. You’re glad you live near downtown 1.

Your brain knows you’re there when the variety of iron and fishy smells invade your senses. You cringe. The smell of iron makes you uncomfortable, but to others, you look lost. You’re far too familiar with this place to be lost, and the people who sell are too familiar with you to think you’d need directions.

Though it’s not every stand you visit, only a few who always have what you need, you greet everybody with a smile. Today, like a lot of things, it’s a different stand you have to visit. One that sells what you rarely buy, and for good reason.

“Yn, how’s your mother?” The older woman who tends the stand greets when she comes back from the back. You stop bulging out your eyes at the prices. You do have enough money for it, but damn. You thought this town was supposed to be the cheapest to live in.

“She’s alright. How are you?” you keep with general decency. Like you said, you’re familiar with everyone, and so is your mother, but some it’s just more than others.

“You know me, I’m always doing good.” She boasts the fact. You’re not close enough to her to know if it's a fact, and honestly, you don’t care enough to know. “How can I not when my son is making me proud every day?” You knew it wouldn’t be long until she broke into her true character. You’ve always wondered if her stand was far away because of her produce or her attitude. Nobody likes to talk near her. But lucky for her (and unlucky for everyone else), she doesn’t need to be close to hear every little detail someone speaks.

“Uhh,” you nod, looking around as if for a witness.

“He works at a huge tech company, you know that? In the capital.” You never cared to know. It must be age or pride that makes her forget how many times she said this piece of information. You never understood the hype about the capital; it’s just like Jangsu but bigger with better PR.

“He works with all these huge foreign countries. Soon he’ll be leaving for the USA.” Does it take that long to pack some meat?

“Okay, that’s nice.” You’re acquainted with her son, only because he tried to flirt with you one time when he worked at the stand while his mother was sick. Most peaceful day at the market.

“What would your mother know about that, huh?” She grins like it was something she had been holding onto for a long time. And she smiles like it was funny.

You pause, reaching into your pockets. “Excuse me?” Maybe you didn’t hear her correctly. You’ve been in your head for a while now that it could affect your hearing. But nope, your ears do not deceive you.

“Oh, come on, dear, you know what I mean. It’s hard for single mothers to support their children’s education.” You’d think she knew anything about it with the way she speaks—careless and degrading. You don’t want to respond. So, you pause, trying to calm your pending anger, but unfortunately for you, she goes on, antagonizing you more. “It’s not long until you drop out of university, and your sister won't even make it to high school—”

She stretches out the plastic bag of the meat, and you snatch it with so much force it could rip off her arm. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You’ve never liked responding or defending yourself to elders, but there are times you can’t stay silent. Even though you can’t say exactly what you want to, it’s better to say something at least. “It’ll be better for you if you just minded your own business,” you inform her. Not that she'll ever change. “And I’ll have you know I will graduate university.” You spit out before walking away.

You weren’t supposed to say the last part, but of late your mouth works faster than your brain.

“Brat...” she mumbles, scoffing at your disappearing figure.

--

“Are you enjoying the food?” Your mother asks your sister, who nods with a full mouth. You, on the other hand, have not touched your food. You just use your chopsticks to imagine what it’ll be like if you picked up the piece of steak and ate it. Would it taste good? It looks like it does.

“Yn, why aren’t you eating?”

Her calling your name snaps you out of your staring contest with the plate.

Your voice comes out weaker than you planned. “I am.”

Anyone could see that you had barely touched 10% of your dinner. “No, you aren’t eating. If you don’t want it, I can have it.” Your sister stares at you with a raised brow, trying to persuade you.

You roll your eyes at your sister. She eats like she’s got four stomachs.

Your mother, on the other hand, narrows her eyes at how you bite your lower lip. “I don’t know; I’m just not used to this.” You look down at the steak with a pout. Your mother stares at you with soft eyes. This is unusual. The food, the sitting together and eating, even the coming home early and her asking you questions. It’s all so new and out of routine.

“Don’t think about that; eat, dear.” Her hand touches your arm, and you stare at it. Her touch is warm and soft, but your mind doesn't seem to distinguish levels of heat. The touch feels hot, making your skin tingle. It's a reminder of what you and your mother could've been if life had been perfect. And if both of you were not bruised by it. But still, somehow, the gesture reminds you of love—your mother's love.

You watch how out of place the steak feels on your plate. You're not sure if maybe it's just you who's out of place or your whole family. But maybe it is just you, because your mother and sister look more acquainted.

“I will,” you say, rubbing your nose. Your mother doesn’t pry further when you stuff a piece into your mouth. Your mom is an amazing cook, and you never doubted that. Your mother hovers over your plate with another piece of steak.

You shake your head, still trying to register the new texture and taste. “Take it before I chew it and shove it down your throat,” she teases.

“Mom, you should do it.” Lynn exclaims and they both laugh, and you slowly smile watching.

“Yn, please take it; my hand is tired.” When she says that, you immediately take it. You take it. But in return, you grab one and hold it out to her.

“What are you doing?” She watches as you hold it, brows raised.

“Eat.”

“I have been eating. Thank you.” She points to her plate. You don’t know why you do it because she has been eating, but you feel like you have to. Maybe as a reminder that you care. Maybe as a request for forgiveness.

“Take it as a thank you for the steak.” She just stares at you, new to this interaction as well. You place the meat on her plate.

Soon you’re done with dinner, and it’s just you and your mother in the kitchen.

“It’s okay; I’ll do it; you go rest,” she says when you reach for the sink.

“No, it’s fine; I’ll do it,” you object. But she’s stubborn.

“No, I can do it.” She playfully slaps your hands away from the tap, and you rub the area, even though it doesn’t hurt. “You’ve got class tomorrow; you should go rest.”

You’re silent and just standing there. You’ve never been one to be forgetful, but you have your moments.

“You’ve got class, don’t you?” Jaggedly, you nod. “Then go sleep,” she pats your shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

You nod and turn to walk away. “Oh, before you go.” She walks up to you. “Thank you for today. I know you must have been tired going to pick up Lynn.”

“It’s okay, Mom; it was no problem. I didn’t have class at that time.” She smiles, her eyes telling you things she could say and apologize for.

“You make me so proud, you know?” You freeze, her words sinking and reaching places you couldn’t consciously go. “So glad I can have smart daughters like you two.” She smiles through the rim of tears.

“Mom.”

“Go to sleep.” She doesn’t let you get a word in.

As you walk to your room, your mother’s words echo in your ears. The thought that she’s "so proud" of you makes something heavy stir inside you. Regret presses against your chest; it's suffocating. Not because you haven’t done enough, but because you haven't been enough. You should have done better. Been better for the people who seem to care about you. People you should be working towards helping alleviate suffering and pain. You should have been different. You not being in school and jobless doesn't just affect you; it affects your mother and sister too. It makes it worse that you've been lying and keeping their hope up. You're the firstborn in a family where the breadwinner was never there to share his winnings. You should be that; your mother's getting older. You should step up, be the change for your family, and show them what a good life can be like—how stability can feel.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you feel a sharp burn in your throat, the kind that only comes when you've been lying to the person who loves you most. You turn to the bed, fingers trembling, and the weight of it all pushes down onto the mattress. But it’s not enough to crush. Not yet. So, it just stays there. Your fingers curl into fists, and slowly, the anger starts to rise. It fuels the determination you've fought for so long to ignore.

You take a deep breath, letting the anger wash over you, and you remind yourself that you can change things. You can find a way to make it work. You can be the person your mother believes you are. You can be the daughter she deserves.

Jungkook’s Pov

Thursday, march 7th. 4:11pm

Jungkook sloths himself off his bed, even though his head beats faster than his heart. He stands.

He’s found over time that if he spreads his feet apart to shoulder width, stretches his arms out to the side, and pulls his head back, it reduces the dizziness. Though he has no medical backing for it, it works and helps to stop the feeling. Quitting excessive intake of alcohol would guarantee no more dizziness every morning, but that’s not for him.

When the feeling subsides after a few minutes, Jungkook gets moving. It’s not long until he’s reaching his bathroom, which isn’t much of a room but more of a section. The small apartment makes it easy for lazy mornings, which is basically every day. It doesn’t take long to get to a section of the room. Some people would hate the place, whether it’s for the size or the horrible window view, but he doesn’t. He doesn't live in Jangsu for the view.

It’s isolated from the world, and that’s all he needs—until he needs to be a part of it again.

Jungkook lazily manoeuvres the showerhead over his body, hoping that the water passing his ear will tune out the buzzing of his phone. It’s never anyone of value. He has nowhere to go today, so he doesn’t rush. He enjoys the feel of cold-water cascading from his head to his toes. He stays there for as long as he needs to or until he starts to worry about the water bill.

Sitting on his bed in a towel, he’s finally conscious enough to look at his phone that had been buzzing. He stares at the cover first, plain and black. Then he stares at the object right next to it. His lips stretch into a smile as he shakes his head in disbelief. A fucking 100 million won ($68,840). Jungkook has never believed in luck. Still doesn’t. Luck has never been part of what he does. Strategy has. Well... more like being a con. But you have to have strategy to be a successful con.

People at gambling houses are normally stoned as they play the game, but not Jungkook. He never drinks until he wins. Being the only sober one has its pros. He never loses, and everyone at Fang house hates him. The con is the burning itch in his throat to have a drink.

But how couldn’t they hate him? He takes all the money they were supposed to use for household food or children’s tuition and leaves them with having to explain themselves to their wives. If he had a family of any sort, he’d never see the lights of a casino again.

Fucking fools.

They all are. Jungkook would be too if he didn’t have strategy. Honestly, he’d milk them for more money too if it wasn’t for the same. He’d definitely need it. But it would be reckless.

It’s not gambling if you never lose. It’s not an addiction if you know when to stop. And he always knows when to stop... right?

So, as he feels the paper with his tongue poking at his cheek in a cheeky smirk, all he can think about is the amount of money he’s going to earn next time. After that, he can pay those good-for-nothing loan sharks. He can’t pay them now, not with his hard-earned 100 million. It wouldn’t be enough anyway, and he needs more to gamble with. Gosh, he loves gullible people.

His phone buzzes again, and this time it feels harder than the last, as though the device’s volume increased on its own.

Jungkook grumbles and replaces the band of money in his hand with his phone. He should invest in a safe. He makes a mental note.

“Hel—”

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY WEREN’T YOU ANSWERING MY CALLS?” is the first thing Jungkook hears in a deafening sound that makes him pull his phone back from his ear.

“I’m answering now,” Jungkook muses in a way that only pisses off the caller more.

“Piece of shit. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HUH?” Jungkook can only be amused by his pal, who always acts this way.

Jungkook always laughs at this question when it comes up. He never strives to be anything—rich, maybe? But nothing personality-wise. He’s just what he is in the moment. But he likes to say he’s Jeon Jungkook, which garners him some weird looks. Maybe that’s why he’s not so good at keeping relationships.

“You know I have no answer for that.”

His friend scoffs.

“This guy, tsk. You think you’re so smart, huh?” He continues to talk and yell. Jungkook can confirm his friend has been taking pills. He personally has never been a fan of them; Jungkook prefers his poison in liquid form—easier to control. Pills control you, no matter the colour; they're all the same. None better, none worse—each one fucks you up in the same way. Just like liquor, though, at least with alcohol, you know exactly how it’ll hit you. Pills? They sneak up on you, leaving you fucked before you even realize it.

Pills feel horrible for him, and he hates it.

“What’s got you in a knot so early in the morning?” Jungkook mocks, cracking his egg directly into his pan.

A snicker sounds from the speaker. He knew why Jungkook hadn't been answering his calls, but it’s always funny to confirm it. “It’s afternoon, dipshit.” Jungkook snaps, staring at the clock. It’s afternoon—four hours into the fact. Jungkook hadn’t had the time to look out the window, let alone open it. He hasn’t even noticed the dust particles collected on almost every surface.

“I knew that.” He goes back to his egg. “Just wanted to know if your brain still worked.” He pulls the pan off the one-plate gas stove, but his grip lingers on the handle longer than necessary. The burner’s tiny blue flame flickers—harmless yet unsettling. His eyes stay locked on it for a second too long, watching as it dances—alive, unpredictable. A phantom heat brushes against his skin, a whisper of something older, something buried. He exhales sharply and shuts it off with a quick flick of his wrist, as if the flame had overstayed its welcome.

He walks over to his fridge, the cold air cooling him. The fridge is a hand-me-down from his childhood home. All the stickers and pictures are still attached, though he does not recall what they look like. Have they faded? Can he even recognize the people in them? He’ll never know.

“You know very well my brain still works. That’s why I have a business, and you don’t.”

“Ouch.” Jungkook says before he’s saying "ew" and spitting out the milk into his sink. He’s only been away from the place a week. Things couldn’t go bad that fast, right?

“Come to my office ASAP.”

Still rinsing out his mouth with the metallic water, he speaks. “Maybe tomorrow—”

“NO!! NOW!” Jungkook jumps back from his friend’s hyper and rapid tone. He should be used to it, considering what he deals with at the casino. But nothing beats silence.

“Why? What makes you think I don’t have another thing to do?” So, the leftover food he got from Rose is no good too. Same with the pork cutlets. He had a plan for those. He stares closer. “Fuck...” He never thought the banana milk would be bad too, but it’s milk, so he shouldn’t be shocked to see the thick clumps of what used to be liquid spill out of the container. There’s nothing good.

Taking a breath and a step back, he stares at everything. The daffodil droops at its stem, its petals dried, and its once bright yellow hue drained of any brightness. Jungkook can fail at many things, but failing to care for something living—that is an unforgivable failure. And his habits are proving him a failure.

He shakes his head and grabs the flower. Its petals flake at the touch. Jungkook searches for any hope of reviving it, any sign of life, but there is none; it's far gone. He sighs. And just like all the others he's failed, he gently pulls off the petals and places them into an urn specifically for them. As he places the urn back on the shelf, he doesn't look at the other one that lies next to it.

“Are you talking to me like that?” He always demands some type of respect from Jungkook that he’s told him a million times he will not receive, but the message always gets lost.

“I’m not talking to myself, am I?” Jungkook is too busy running his hand through his cupboards for a noodle pack he remembers he has. He can’t eat one single egg for breakfast. Later, with his 100 million, he can maybe get a better meal.

He finds the pack, and nothing but relief fills him. “Why do you want me in your ‘office’?” he says, finally giving his friend his attention.

“Just be here quick; I need to talk to you.” Jungkook rolls his eyes at how he’s trying to be mysterious. Nothing is more irritating than going over there and finding out he needed Jungkook to help him parallel park his Porsche. Why buy a car when you don’t know how to use it, let alone an expensive one? Jungkook won’t deny his friend is all money and knows strategy.

“Don’t call me over just to waste my ti—” Before Jungkook can finish, the line goes dead. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles to himself before returning to his breakfast—lunch

--

“Why’d you want me here?” Jungkook stands with his hands in his pockets watching his friend spin in his chair. He doesn’t even have the decency to turn his chair around to face Jungkook. But when he does, it’s childish, with a stupid grin on his face. Jungkook breathes in through his nose.

“Best friendddd...” he shouts, cheering and standing with his arms stretched with exaggerated joy. Jungkook never understood the name. How can you be the best out of one?

“Sit, sit.” He points to the chair that Jungkook had seen but avoided. He doesn’t want to spend too much time here. He ends up sitting anyway.

His friend tugs at his suit, a suit of many patterns and colors. Jungkook doesn't get how the more money you have, the worse you dress.

Jungkook sits without leaning back. “Why’d you call me here, Seojoon?”

“Calm down...” Seojoon motions for Jungkook to relax. That’s another thing he doesn’t like about pills—too many stages. Hyper, relaxed, reckless, then all of a sudden, you’re the wisest? He enjoys knowing what he’s going to feel and when. “I heard you took out another loan.”

It was never a secret, so he’s not shocked that he brings it up; those goons were going to tell. It was expected. But he hates that Seojoon brings it up. “And?”

“And I know you don’t have the money to pay me back.” He says, leaning back into his chair with a smug look.

“You don’t know anything,” Jungkook says blandly, but a smile itches.

Suddenly, the man behind the desk is laughing maniacally. He leans forward, his hands finding themselves his wavy shoulder-length hair. When his laughter dies down, he collects himself. “I’m sorry, the boys have me investing in this new pill.” He chuckles. “Wanna try?” He reaches for one to give to Jungkook, but he shakes his head.

“You’ve always been a bore; I should’ve known you’d say no.” He mumbles before he pops the pill in his mouth and chews it. Though his knowledge is insufficient, taking more than one at the same time might be a death sentence pending. But knowing his friend well, he’s been sentenced a long time ago.

“You’re a smart guy, Jungkook.” Jungkook listens. “But you’re not smart enough to realize that gambling won’t give you any stability.” He chuckles.

“A couple of wins here and there? Great. But it’s not enough when you’re taking out loans just to fit in.” Jungkook’s tongue darts across his lip. “Look at me; I’ve built an empire.” Seojoon stands to direct Jungkook’s eyes over his office with his hand. “And what do you have? Nothing.” He now moves to stand in front of the large window.

“So, being the good friend I am... because I am,” he points to clarify, “and I care about you, bro. I always have. So let me help you. Take a job with me, and your loans are...poof.”

Jungkook laughs at how simply he thinks of it. Like he said, all money, no strategy. Jungkook leans back into the couch and rests his arm on the armrest, the lopsided smirk not leaving his face, especially when he stares at the completely high man.

“Work for you?” He’s not considering it; he’s just trying to establish how silly it is. He’s told him many times that he does not like the dynamic. Does not like working with people.

“YES.” He cheers. “You’re getting it. Work for me. If not your brain, then use your muscles for something.”

Jungkook gets up from his seat hastily to stand in front of Seojoon. He doesn’t pull him by the collar like he would do to someone else, but instead, he just stares him down.

“Listen. I’m glad you’ve got a business that works for you, but I don’t want to be counted.”

Seojoon grins, not flinching from the closeness. “Jungkook, we aren’t much different, you know. I’ve heard what you do at the casino.” Jungkook narrows his eyes at him, confused. “It’s pretty smart, preying on people in their vulnerability?”

“I don’t prey on anyone; they’re stupid on their own.”

His friend nods. “Riiiight, and you’re not aware of the fact?” Jungkook doesn't answer. “Come on, bro.” He lays his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, but it doesn’t stay there long.

“I’m going now.”

“Don’t be foolish, Jeon.”. Think about it!” He yells for Jungkook as he walks out. “Don’t take out any more loans until you respond!” Jungkook is out the door. “I’LL SEND YOU THE DETAILS; KEEP YOUR PHONE ON.”

“Shithead"

Nothing is worse than having your time wasted. Jungkook knew he’d just be spitting out shit, but Jungkook never thought it would be this. Heaven knows what he’s been eating. His phone dings and he stare at the text as he walks home.

Seohoon: You and me. Loans and drugs.

Seohoon: Think it through; we’d run the industry like kings.

Seohoon: Brain and muscle.

Seohoon: You’re the muscle.

Maybe Jungkook has never gone through the right road to get money, but he’d never do it like Seohoon does. He’s reckless, and he doesn’t like that. And nothing is worse than working under Seohoon.

Plus, Jungkook enjoys fucking over those fools at the casinos, by himself. He enjoys seeing the blood drain from their faces when they realize. He wouldn’t want to give that up for his friend's offer.

He walks out, the text messages from the loan sharks flooding his inbox. As usual, he slides through them, ignoring the barrage of threats. He spots a message from Rose, though, and his curiosity piques. She mentioned sending him some tattoo designs. Just doodles, nothing serious, something to cover up scars. He’s never thought about covering them up. They’re reminders of things he doesn’t fully understand. But he keeps up the act, telling her he’s interested just to keep her creative juices flowing. In truth, he’s never really considered it. He’s got enough tattoos for now.

Jungkook pockets his phone with a smile as he turns a corner into a dark alley just a few meters from his apartment.

It was when he was about to turn the final corner into the third-floor hallway that he heard it. Banging on a door. His door. “Jeon, we know you’re in there! Get out!” Bang, bang.

“Don’t make this any harder, man.” More pounding on the door followed. Jungkook curses under his breath.

Fuck. Shit.

They stand in front of his door, not happy or in a mood for negotiation. He could fight them, but if he’s being realistic, he won’t be able to take on three guys with a bat and one built like a skyscraper.

BANG!

The leader hits the door with his bat. Jungkook is well aware that his cheap door won’t stand, and they’ll find out he’s not home, soon. Which will lead them to trash the place and come down the stairs. Though he has no valuables in his house. He stands on the stairs like an idiot. When they beat the door down and raid his house, he realizes it’s him against time.

So, he drags his feet to run down the stairs and onto the road he came. He doesn’t look back; lucky for him, the bus station's close to his home. As a bus approaches, he jumps on immediately. When he sits, he finally breathes. He’s glad he’s got the money on him. He clutches the bag closer. He’s never trusted his apartment to hold it.

He doesn’t know where the bus is going, but at this point, anywhere is better than being near his apartment.

Uroboros is what they called the side of town Jungkook lived in. The side where every crime and illegal dime was made.

But it was where Jungkook lived, where he grew up and where he was born. So, the lifestyle was all he knew.

The name stood for many things but self destruction was the major. That’s what the U-side was all about.

Everything that was created or brought to the place would self destruct one says. Jungkook can feel himself drawing closer the U-side circle of life. He was going to be the cause of his own demise. And it was inevitable by virtue of u-side blood.

He envied the people on the other side. The city of sunshine as people called it. The sun shone on all parts of jangsu, but people from the U-side don’t really care about such. The people on the other side preferred to pretend, pretend like jangsu isn’t what it was. Jungkook found pretending a waste of time and even more self destructive than the U-side.

Jungkook appreciated it cause it made flowers bloom. It’s one of the things that reminds him that he’s alive, cause living can feel so much like hell that he forgets.

Reader’s Pov

Monday 17th March. 9: 23am

On some days, instead of wasting your time searching for a job the traditional way or staring at landscapes, you get to sit across from your closest friend. Only friend, to be fair--Yunji. You don’t get to see her often because she’s got school, unlike you. But when you do, it’s a fresh change. The only change you’re prepped for.

So now, sitting inside the café you always look at from the outside, Yunji's voice fills the space between you. The café is cozy, the kind of place people come to waste time and money—two things you don’t have.

“And he was looking at me like it was my fault,” she exclaims, her manicured hands being used to express her irritation on the matter, the polish flashing under the café's warm light.

You’ve listened to her complain about similar things in the past, and by virtue of knowing her, you give your opinion. This time unbiased.

Leaning back into the café chair, you speak. “Did you at least try to tell him beforehand?” you question bluntly, a slight smirk growing on your face because you know her response.

“I did! I did try,” her voice lowers in pitch, indicating otherwise.

You chuckle. “Then you can’t blame him. If you’d told him—”

“AHHHH. Yn,” she practically wails, not caring for the glances coming your way. She doesn’t care. She never does. “You’re never on my side.” She pouts, arms crossing over the soft fabric of her designer sweater.

“I mean... you asked for my opinion.” You sip your latte, the sweetness a forgotten taste. You haven’t had one of these in a while. You forgot how much sugar was in them. too sweet with a pinch of guilt. you can't even pay for a coffee by yourself.

“Keep it. You wouldn’t get it anyway,” she speaks before her brain. You tend to wonder if she does.

Your face falls flat, not in offense, but in acceptance. “You’re right; I wouldn’t.”

Yunji bites her glossed lip. You don’t want to be offended; it’s not necessary because it is true—you wouldn’t get it. And even though Yunji doesn’t have the vocabulary to express it better, it doesn’t stop it from being true. She needs better communication skills. “I’m just joking. I don’t mean it like that.” You nod, paying more attention to the colour and fluidity of your drink. She starts to panic in your silence. “You’re making it sound mean,” she blurts out, pouting like a child.

You?

“How?” Our brows lift, and you chuckle lightly, but she groans, shifting in her seat.

She doesn’t know how to deal with these things; she’s never learned how to. “Here, have my donuts.” She pushes her plate to you, and you scrunch your face in confusion.

“I don’t want it.” You push the plate back.

She pushes the plate back again, looking offended. “I don’t want it either.” She dusts off her hands like there was any dust to begin with. “Have it. You like these more than I do anyway.” While tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she stares outside, not wanting to see the deadpan look you give her.

Choosing not to argue, you leave the plate closer to your side. “Then why do you get them?” You stare at the donuts; you do want them.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs her shoulder. “Pictures, I guess. Plus, I'm on a diet, so...” she states plainly. “You forced me to come here,” says the person who was on the verge of pulling your hand off to get you here.

You aren’t allowed to give a reaction when your phone dings. It’s a message, and you rarely get those. It’s only your mother who texts you, and even still, she doesn’t do it often.

You read the message and sigh. Can’t schools be sensible? All this for a petty fight. Unnecessary.

“Are you still free?” You look up to ask Yunji.

She nods with a look that goes from confused to cocky. “Mhm. You want to hang out with me longer?”

“Not... quite,” you joke, and she fakes offense. You would’ve hung out longer anyway.

You start to pack up not much of what you carried and ask for the donuts to be packed. “I need to take my sister to school.”

Yunji stares, confused.

“Shouldn’t she already be in school?” That’s what she knows.

“Yeah, but she got suspended for a week.”

The news is surprising to Yunji. With all she knows about Lynn, she would never point to her being a troublemaker. “What’d she do?”

“Dropped some kid’s lunch.” You hate to even say it because it sounds stupid. Why do they have to act like she punched the kid? You’re sure other kids have done worse and are still graced with learning. You’re also sure that the kid who provoked her is sitting in class right now, unharmed and not punished.

And Yunji’s reaction tells you she feels the same way. “Only?” she scoffs. “A week seems harsh.”

You pack up the donuts when they return and walk out of the building. “Same here,” you express, the irritation hiding behind a sigh. “But now she has to go in for some evaluation to see if she’s fit to come back to school.” You shake your head bitterly. Is this a new system? Is Lynn their first lab rat? Because what you remember in high school is that after suspension, you just go straight back to class.

“Gosh... she’s not some criminal. It’s good she’s got some fight in her.” You don’t know if you’d agree wholly, but you certainly wouldn’t want your sister to be a pushover. You’d like her to be different from you in middle school. But you wouldn’t want her to grow up and become a bully, which is why you’re conflicted about how to talk to her about it. Standing up for yourself can easily become bullying someone else. “When she gets to university, she won’t have to get bullied like I am.”

You laugh. “You’re not getting bullied,” you say, referencing your previous conversation.

“Is that how you speak to a victim?”

“Just answer what they have to ask.” You look down at your sister, who wants anything but to be there. You feel the same. Being back in the school environment feels haunting. “Don’t let them intimidate you,” you add when you notice her looking at the students who pass by and stare like its history in the making.

Yunji takes care of them by popping her eyes out as they pass. They don't dare stare longer at the scene. “Just kick their butts again if they do.” Yunji demonstrates the kick, and you and your sister chuckle.

“Don’t kick them,” you tell her. “Just tell me, and I’ll deal with it. I’m always here for you, okay?” You are. You’ve never had anyone be there for you, and you know how that feels. And your sister has you, so she should never feel that. You have a responsibility to your family's well-being. You haven’t been the best at that, but now you’re going to do all you can.

Lynn nods. “Lynn, you can come this way,” a teacher says. You’ve seen the woman before but can’t recall her name.

She suddenly hugs you, her arms tight around your waist. You freeze. “Thank you,” she mumbles into your hoodie.

“For what?” Your voice is stiff, unsure how to react.

“For not being mad.” If you were more responsible, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But you’re here now, and you’ll keep being there.

You just nod, avoiding words that might bring on tears. You're not great with emotions like that.

As you and Yunji start to leave, someone calls your name. You turn, half-expecting Lynn, but it’s the teacher—dark hair pinned up, that billboard smile they all give on show. You don’t trust anyone who keeps any form of smile on for that long.

“I’m Mrs. Choi, Lynn’s teacher.”

“Oh, okay,” you acknowledge.

The woman, thin and dressed in a typical black pencil skirt and blouse, continues to speak. You still don’t know what she’s stopped you for. Is she about to tell you that Lynn is getting expelled? You wouldn’t be shocked if they decided to react that way.

“I wasn’t there when this whole thing happened,” she gestures vaguely. “If I was, I’d have handled it differently.”

You don’t have anything to add because the conversation is still vague, and you don’t understand the relevance. So, you let her carry on talking. “She’s a good student. Very smart.”

“Thank you.” You squint your eyes, still not knowing where the conversation is going. Doesn’t she have something to be doing? Is she about to ask you for money to make sure Lynn doesn’t get further discipline? That would make sense.

“I wanted to introduce myself formally.” She smiles.

You don’t plan on coming here again, hopefully. So, you don’t get the introduction, but you take it. You don’t blame her for not knowing your distaste for the place. The town only has a handful of schools, and this one was the closest to home and the safest for travel, even though it's closer to downtown 2. But you don’t like to think about that.

It’s good to know your sister’s teachers anyway. “I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure the other kids don’t bother her.”

Normally, these things are followed up with her stretching out her hand for an envelope. But she doesn’t. She must be one of those teachers who treat students like their own children, which you don’t mind if you know how she treats her children.

“Thank you, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to—”

“No, no. I don’t mind. I think of her as my own daughter.”

The words hit you strangely. Then she adds, “Since I’m so close to your mother.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh… right.”

Just as you turn to leave, she lowers her voice. “By the way, let your mother know she doesn’t have to rush with the loan repayment.”

Your breath catches. You glance at Yunji. Her face is unreadable, but she knows. She knows how much you hate debt. She told you back then to take out a loan to pay your tuition fee, but you were bitterly against it.

So, when you think about the possibility of your mother taking out a loan, fear creeps in. You can’t be sure because you don’t know this lady, but why would she bring it up if it wasn’t true?

“Sure, thank you for letting me know.” Letting you know that she’d probably come banging on your door one day, harassing you for her money.

Now, all you want to know is how much she owes if her words are true. But you don’t ask; it would make your family look dysfunctional.

Mrs. Choi smiles like she’s done you a favor. “Travel safely.”

The bell rings. You flinch at the sound. Yunji watches you closely as you step outside.

“You, okay?” she asks.

You blink.

“Yeah,” you say, even though all you can think about is returning home to ruin.

“It’s okay for people to take out loans; don’t be so upset,” Yunji says casually. She wouldn’t get it.

“Would you know anything about taking out a loan?” Your voice comes out sharper than intended, but you never intended on saying anything at all.

“It’s just a loan,” she says, waving it off like it’s nothing. Like debt doesn’t eat people alive.

“Never mind,” is all you say before heading in the opposite direction from what Yunji was expecting.

“Fine, we’ll talk later then.” She finally catches on to a minuscule of your mood. She never got why you were so worked up about taking out a loan. Yeah, your ex fucked you over; nothing to be bitter about.

“Sure.”

You stare up at the sky that’s usually blue and clear for some hope. But you find none. She’s grown grey and nimbus clouds obscure your view, which is weird because it never rains in Jangsu.

--

Jungkook’s Pov

Monday, March 17th. 9:45pm

Jungkook’s done this countless times. He’s been running circles around them for so long. It's second nature. Every one at Fang house hates to see him coming.

It's a talent worth studying. And it’s what keeps him coming back. After winning yet another round, his mind still clear, he can't help but grin smugly.

“You bastard, how do you win every damn time?” one of the regulars, a middle-aged man, with a family at home and as mistress that pouts at his side, whines. He could whine forever and Jungkook wouldn't care.

Jungkook chuckles and shrugs his shoulder. He smiles, pulling the poker chips closer to him, and 2 billion won ( $1,377,800) couldn’t be any closer. He’s got all he needs. This money is enough to get a few loan sharks off his back and fix whatever damage is on his apartment. Jungkook has never thought or envisioned himself in a whole mansion or a better house. He’s satisfied with what he has. It’s easy to manage.

They are irritated by guys like him, young and thinking they're so smart. But they don’t know Jungkook. Nobody does. When they see him, because of his tattoos and piercings, they assume he’s in some type of gang, which Jungkook is far from. But that’s what they think. He’s got the appearance and aura for it.

Jungkook could’ve been in a gang, but his detest for working for others prevents that.

“Look at him, so smug.” The other middle-aged man with badly bleached hair says from across the table. “I should wipe that look off your face.” The man curses at Jungkook, but he’s unfazed.

"Maybe next time.” Jungkook stands ready to checkout for the night.

“Jeon.” Gunhyo, another regular like Jungkook, calls for him. Amongst all those on the table, he’s the only one with no family and ruining his own life. But he’s not smarter; honestly, he’s even worse. “One more game," he says drunk out of his mind, not able to comprehend one card from the other. It's almost as though he's pleading.

Jungkook chuckles.

“He’s not gonna play one more game. Not with all he’s earned.” It’s true Jungkook shouldn’t play another game with what he’s earned.

“Plus, if he plays again, he’ll run out of luck.” They all laugh and the sound grinds at Jungkook ear drum. Drunk people are so annoying.

“Huh? Are you afraid of running out of luck?”

Hands in his pants pocket, Jungkook scoffs. He’s said it before, he doesn’t use luck, never guaranteed him anything. Strategy always has though. Always been his side to win every damn round.

“Fine, just one game.” Jungkook sits down, eyes locked on the table. He doesn't know why he does it, but today feels like a night of change. Show these men strategy. “Pour me a drink please.” The words that he never utters before a game leave his mouth, confusing the bar girl. But he needs something to ease him. Just one glass.

"Are you sure.” The bartender asks, knowing him very well.

She looks down at him concerned and he looks up at her with a smirk. It's her job, and she should be all in with serving alcohol. But something just doesn’t sit right. “I’ve never been more sure baby.”

She still gives him the drink. He takes it and cringes; his brain isn’t used to drinking at this time. “I’m going all in.” He exclaims.

“Ahh this guy. Who does he think he is?" Not this question again.

“don’t put all your eggs in basket, Joen."

They all count their chips and push forward.

"Too late now.” It is instead he’s already shown his face, can’t go back on his pride now.

“Ahh, looks like the bastard has run out of luck.”

“You’re gonna regret going all in, son.”

“Show your cards.”

They all reveal their hands, and Jungkook does the same.

“Shibal, you unlucky bastard.” Gunhyo laughs, raking the chips toward him.

Jungkook stares at the cards longer than necessary. Not because he’s bargaining, things happen, and he’s used to that. But because he knows he’s fucked himself. He’s made a mistake. Gambling, drinking, those flaws were obvious. But pride? That was the one that always destroyed him, the one he never acknowledged.

Gunhyo leans back, smug. “Told you not to—”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. His ego is bruised, and he knows it.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Gunhyo scoffs. “That how you talk to your elders, boy?”

“You’re nothing to me.” The words come out cold, detached. They’ve always been nothing, but he’s never said it out loud. Always danced around it.

“A fucking junkie wasting his life while his family suffers. Do you know how stupid you are?”

Jungkook chuckles, a humourless sound. He looks at the man in front of him, so sure of himself, so oblivious to his own rot.

He just-he just doesn’t get it. Like he hasn't lost too.

What did he miss? He played everything right. He never played twice, no matter how much they begged, because that was a death sentence. But tonight, he let his guard down. Fuck.

“Watch how you talk to me—”

Jungkook barely hears him. His vision blurred by rage just beneath his skin. He should walk away now.

But he’s already lost everything. Staying won’t do any more harm.

“Please, shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Jungkook drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He’s in disbelief—at himself, at them, at everything. “You should be focusing on your kids. Do you even know your daughter is a fucking whore?” It’s unnecessary. Low. But his mouth is a wild horse, and he’s given up trying to tame it in.

“She’s running around fucking thugs and junkies just for money. You know why? Because her father won’t give her any.” The look on the man’s face tells Jungkook that he didn’t know. And that? That satisfaction—watching the blood drain from his face—feels like the only win he’s had all night.

“Watch your mouth.”

A hand grips his shirt, pulling him forward. Jungkook doesn’t move. If he fights now, he won’t stop. He’ll kill.

“Yah, Jeon, have you been fucking his daughter? ‘Cause how else would you know?”

Jungkook scoffs. “No. But you have.” Jungkook blurts out looking at Gunhyo

The blond man's grip falters for a second. Jungkook pushes him off easily.

“You’re fighting the wrong person.” His voice is eerily calm.

The man turns, eyes snapping to Gunhyo. “Seriously?”

The man shrugs. “Someone’s gotta take care of me.”

It’d be stupid to think you found genuine friendship with an alcoholic gamblers, let along both of you being cut from the same cloth.

He lunges at him. “You stupid bastard. She only just turned 18.” He punches.

Jungkook feeling satisfied about something turns to leave, as he walks, he hears the bartender speak. “Jungkook...” she calls his name delicately. He doesn’t care for sympathy or pity. Not when he doesn’t feel it himself.

“I’m fine. Have a good night.”

The night air feels colder. From his head to his toes and even in his lungs. The only thing keeping them warm is the smoke he inhales.

He’s got a few blocks till he walks and gets home. Though he's not even sure home is safe anymore. They’re probably out looking for him. His place doesn’t even have a proper door, and with only 100,000 won in his pocket, he’s an easy target. He’s never hated himself more. So close—so fucking close—only to lose it all over what? Pride? He curses under his breath, kicking at the pavement, cursing the cold wind whipping against his face, cursing the cramped sidewalks that force him to brush against strangers. He even curses the dark alley he’s never minded before—tonight, it feels like a goddamn trap.

“Jeon. Good to finally see you.”

That cocky, finally got you tone makes Jungkook slow down, eyes scanning the shadows. He flicks away his cigarette—it’s useless to him now. A man steps forward, bat in hand, and hungry for something only a swing to Jungkook’s skull can satisfy.

Fuck.

He turns on instinct, ready to bolt—but slams into a wall of muscle behind him. A skyscraper of a man, grinning down at him with rotting teeth, lets out a low, gut chuckle. Jungkook grimaces, turning back just as the leader steps in closer.

“Listen, I have your money...” Jungkook keeps his voice calm, controlled. But nothing he says softens the scowl on the man’s face.

How many times has he said that line, knowing damn well it wasn’t true? “Cut the bullshit, man. We heard what happened to you at the casino.”

How the hell did word travel that fast? This town isn’t that small. But Jungkook doesn’t have time to wonder who’s been spilling his business. “You don’t have shit,” the leader taunts, teasing mock sympathy.

They move in, and Jungkook takes a step back—only to feel the giant’s chest press against his spine. He's cornered. “Okay, so I don’t have your money,” he admits, voice dry. “Then what do you want from me?”

They keep closing in. He’s a good fighter, but four against one? He’s not walking away fine. he won't even be able to walk away. Well...five.

His gaze flickers to the one figure hanging back in the shadows. Even in the dim alley, Jungkook recognizes that face. And judging by how quickly the kid looks away, shoulders hunched, he recognizes Jungkook too. He doesn’t want to be here. And that’s what shocks Jungkook the most—why is he here?

A tap at his stomach snaps his attention back. The leader pointing the bat at his abdomen. Jungkook curses his body’s awful timing—now is not the time to be thinking about how fucking hungry he is. “We’re here to teach you a lesson,” the man says, smirking.

Jungkook lets out a dry chuckle. “If you wanna teach, maybe start a class. Ganging up on me in an alley? Not very educational.” No one laughs.

“Listen to him.” The bat slams into Jungkook’s stomach. The impact steals his breath, doubling him over as pain sears through him.

“You thought you were so smart, huh?” The leader sneers. “Jeon, you’re nothing now.” They can hit him all they want. But no one—no one—touches his ego.

Jungkook grits his teeth, then drives his fist straight into the bastard’s face. “Grab him.” And the large man does. Jungkook struggles, and with one lucky hit, he is free. Once he’s free, he runs back into the street. “Yah! Kid, grab him!” they shout when Jungkook passes by him. The kid, not knowing what else to do and afraid, runs down the road after Jungkook. People on the street yell and scream at them, but still make room for them to run.

Jungkook barely knows where he’s going. He knows the streets well, but he forgets how busy they are. The road is filled with cars and the pavement—Bang. In a millisecond, he’s smashed into a trash bin in an alley by a vehicle that he hadn’t realized was chasing him down with the kid. The hit and the landing throw him back into the alley. It could’ve knocked him unconscious, which Jungkook wishes, but instead, it keeps him alive to feel every dull and sharp ache in his back and body. Every breath he takes brings him a new kind of pain. When he holds his breath, he stops, but he can’t hold it for long. He groans from the pain. What the fuck just happened? But before he can collect his thoughts...

“Grab him, kid.” The guys push him, but he’s reluctant. They don’t know why he’s behaving this way because with others he’s at least better.

“Practice your punches on him,” the leader says, walking up to a laid-out Jungkook and stomping on his stomach. Jungkook can’t move, honestly, or maybe he could if he was willing to fight for his life. “He won’t do anything to you; he’s useless.” He tries to stomp on him again, but Jungkook grabs his foot and pulls it toward himself to make him fall backward.

“Fuck my back,” he says, touching his arm and moving up a little. He’s running, but he doesn’t feel his legs. If he can or will ever feel his legs, he’s not sure. It’s better if they kill him.

“I’ll give you guys your money; just give me some time,” Jungkook speaks through the ringing in his ears.

“Time has already passed for you, Jeon. It did long ago, and you can’t run now.” He says, swinging his bat onto Jungkook’s knee. Nope, he can definitely feel his legs. The pain jolts up like lightning through his leg and all over his body.

The groans and look on Jungkook’s face bring the man joy, all except one. He looks sick.

“Here, boy, hit him.” The bat is uncaringly pushed into the kid’s hands.

He fumbles with the object. “I-I-I,” he stutters.

“Don’t act like you’re dumb; hit him!” he yells, and it rings, only serving to confuse the boy.

The men, getting irritated, press on. “The boss won’t be happy to hear that you were just watching.” The kid shakes with the bat as he watches Jungkook in pain. Jungkook stares at the kid, blood seeping out of his nose.

“Please don’t; I’ll have your money soon.” At this point, he’s just talking, hoping he’ll say something right and they’ll leave him alone. Maybe he can deal with his pain on his own and in silence. Though silence is never certain, not when the open street is just meters away and people still roam the streets. Jungkook lightly chuckles through the pain; he can see people turn their heads, curious, but they never actually do anything. Why should they care? He’s nothing, isn’t he?

“He says he’ll have the money.” The kid looks at the older man yelling at him, eyes bargaining for Jungkook.

“Don’t listen to this broke piece of shit.” He spits in Jungkook’s direction. “Hit him.” The words are sharp and hard, but not enough to make him move faster.

He just needs a minute, is what he tells himself. “Sir, do we really have to waste our time waiting for him? We can just do it ourselves.” One of the men who have been silently shit-talking speaks up. “Me personally, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on him.” Jungkook coughs up blood.

“Please, just—” he spits.

“Relax. Boss wants him to do it,” he jeers at them, hands in his pockets. “To make sure he’s not some coward.” He knows that he is a coward, and his boss knows that, so he’s confused about why he allows him and forces him in their way.

He smacks his teeth, getting irritated watching him just stand over Jungkook. “Come on, kid, hit the motherfucker.” He gets impatient. “Or we’ll hit you.” It’s not a threat but a promise, and the kid knows that.

“Or even better, we’ll kill you,” the skyscraper adds, and they all laugh. “You’re a nobody anyway, so no one will care if you die—” their laughter is cut off by a frustrated Jungkook. It’s enraging to hear them taunt over his weak body.

“Taeho,” Jungkook manages to say. The kid pauses. He still remembers his name.

“Just do it.” He accepts his fate. He was meant for this, but Taeho isn’t. So he encourages the kid. “I’ll be fine.” He’s not even sure of that; it’s probably a lie. He won’t be okay.

“Listen to this idiot,” he mocks, bending to look at Jungkook’s face. Jungkook stares back at him, gaze not faltering. “Who do you think you are, Jesus?” he mocks with a laugh. “If he hits you, you’re gonna die.” Jungkook is very much aware of that. Too aware, but right now he can’t feel anything but the pain in his body. So maybe he’s not the most stable person to make sensible decisions. But looking at his life, has he ever made sensible decisions? He hates his life. And even if he won’t die right here at the hands of these people, if he’s ever graced with a full life again, could he ever change? And if this is how he’s supposed to leave his life, what will he do then?

They all laugh. “I can’t do it?”

“You can’t?” he says sarcastically, pulling a knife to his throat. “Then we’re just going to have to kill you instead.”

“Taeho, just do it.” Jungkook repeats.

“LISTEN TO THE MAN AND DO IT!”

Feeling frustrated and fearful, Taeho slaps the man’s knife away from his throat. He grips the bat handle and pulls it back, picking up momentum.

This is not fair; this is not right.

Bang!

With closed eyes, he takes a blow at Jungkook’s head. They all, for a moment, stay silent. “Fuck! Did you just kill him?” he asks, kicking Jungkook’s limp foot, which does not react. “You’re a psychopath, kid; I think you killed him.”

Taeho stares at Jungkook’s body; he can’t determine if he’s alive or not. And he’s too scared to check and confirm. If he did end up being the reason for his death, he wouldn’t want to know, because he’d never live it down. He’s never killed anyone, and he’s never planned on doing so. Let alone the only person who’s helped him, and that he betrayed before, now twice.

“Don’t worry; you won’t go to jail. It’s just Jungkook. He was gonna die somehow anyway.” Taeho is disgusted by his language. How could he say that? He should be calling an ambulance, calling the police, and handing himself in for killing a man. He should; he deserves it. At least he could do right by Jungkook one last time.

“Come on, guys, job is done.”

Taeho stands there for a moment longer, staring at Jungkook’s body, his head resting on a trash bag, resting like it was the softest pillow in the world.

They get into the car. “Come on.” They honk for him, and the bright flash of the lights brings him to reality, and he runs down for the car.

The lights fade out, and Jungkook’s body lies there limp, as his blood drains from his wounds. If he were conscious, he’d be thinking this was a perfect way for him to die. Not from dust to dust, but from trash to trash. Like he was meant to die here.

Reader’s Pov

Same day, 10:32pm

“Mom, pick up,” you mumble to yourself as you try to call your mother. You’re just trying to understand what Lynn’s teacher meant. It’s been bugging you.

When you arrived home, you were relieved to find everything intact, but as you called your mother and her phone kept ringing, you grew anxious.

After many tries, the phone the phone keeps ringing. It’s getting late, and she should be back from work, so you grow even more anxious.

“Tsk,” you grumble, and the call just rings and rings.

You give up for a moment.

Sitting down on the uncomfortable couch, you find solace in your hands. Why the hell is she not answering? Does she even realize how worried you are?

Ring, ring.

You don’t waste time swiping at the green button.

“Mom, where are you? Why weren’t you picking up my calls?” you immediately speak, rushed, not caring to pay attention to who picked up. For a second, you feel relieved. She’s picked up, so she’s fine, and your mind was just playing tricks on you.

“Are you Y/L/N Yn?” You freeze, the unrecognized voice causing you to raise a brow and check if you saw the contact correctly. It is your mother’s contact, but you don’t recognize the voice speaking to you.

Your mother wouldn’t give anyone her phone. Wait, unless...

The voice is too soft—gentle and professional to be a loan shark. Their language is very vulgar and aggressive.

“Yes, this is her,” you rush out, slowly feeling like you’re getting sick from not knowing. “Who’s this? Can I talk to the owner of the phone?”

The man on the other side of the phone does not react to your rushed or pressuring tone. The silence is unbearable. your voice sharpens.

Who is this? Why do they have her phone? Your pulse pounds in your ears as you grip the device tighter.

“I’m a doctor from Jangsu General Hospital.” Doctor? Your chest caves in, the weight crushing. No fear compares to this one—the fear of losing someone before you even understand what’s happening. “Your mother was admitted a few minutes ago.”

“W-why? How—what’s the problem?”

“It’d be better if you just came here so we can discuss it.”

--

27th march, 9:45am

10 days.

Jungkook had been unconscious for 10 days. And that was enough time to worry the only person who cared about his well-being. The doctor had reassured her he’d be fine, that he’d wake up soon.

And now that he was awake, he was already being stubborn.

“Jungkook, you need to lay down.” Rose hovered at the edge of her seat, ready to push him back onto the bed if necessary.

“I’m fine.” He ignored her, trying to sit up despite the sharp ache in his body. His face cringed, weakness dragging him down.

Fed up, she reached over and adjusted the hospital bed so he can sit up without straining himself. "You're not."

“Who says I’m not fine?” He looked up at her, face still lightly bruised, but somehow still managing to be annoyingly cute.

“The doctor, idiot.” She rolls her eyes before reaching into her bag, pulling out a lunchbox. “See? You can’t even think straight.”

Jungkook leaned back against the bed, eyes slipping shut for a moment. Hospitals felt exactly like they looked—plain, boring, and too quiet. But oddly enough, the silence didn’t bother him. It felt peaceful. When Rose was too quiet, though, he cracked an eye open, just to make sure he hadn’t somehow slipped past the pearly gates.

He watched as she arranged the table over his lap, placing down the food she’d made for him that morning. She always brought something when she visited, just in case he woke up. The hospital provided food, but she didn’t trust its flavor or nutritional value. Jungkook didn't either.

He was so focused on the food, almost drooling, that he didn’t notice her inspecting his face. “What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

He chuckled, confused but playing along. “Jeon Jungkook.”

“And mine?” He smirked, thinking it over. He knew it, it was right there on the tip of his tongue. He’d never forget it.

“Rose.” She shook her head, brushing off the warmth creeping up her face. He shouldn’t call her that anymore.

“No, my real name. That’ll really test your memory.”

His smile faltered for a second. He hesitated, playfully pressing a hand to his temple. “S-Si—so—fuck.” He winced dramatically. “I can’t remember it.” She rolls her eyes, unimpressed.

“Oh, wait…” He lifted a finger as if struck by revelation. “Sohi, right?” She nods.

“I’d never forget your name.”

“Whatever.”

“Eat.” She gestured toward the food, and he didn’t argue. His body fought against him, hungry beyond belief.

Jungkook couldn’t even remember the last time he ate—or even how long he’d been asleep. He always imagined being in a coma was some kind of out-of-body experience, a spiritual revelation, or something deeply personal. But there was none of that. Just his body giving up on him. If no one told him, he’d think he’d only been out for a few hours, not ten whole days.

But yet, something felt…off. He didn’t feel like the same person, even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. His thoughts were scattered, disorderly. Images of flames flickered through his mind, burning into his memory. But he said nothing. Probably just a side effect of the blow to the head.

“You’re gonna have to stop calling me that soon enough,” Sohi said, rolling up her sleeves. Her tattoos peeked through, one of them a rose, fresh and vibrant, one he hadn’t noticed before.

“Why? Because your boyfriend doesn’t like it?” he muttered between bites, savoring the warmth of the food. It was grounding. A reminder he was still alive.

“Fiancé.”

He barely reacted. “Whatever.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” He didn’t look at her, eyes instead fixed on the details of his meal, as if he could see the atoms themselves.

“No, it’s not that.” She hesitated. “I just… It feels too intimate.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Come on, Rose. It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know. You used to call me that when we were together, and you still do.”

“I got used to it, I guess.” He shrugged. “Hard to change old habits.”

She looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. Seeing her expression, he paused eating. “I can stop.”

She shook her head. “No… I don’t mind.”

Jungkook smirked. “You literally just said—”

“I know what I said, don’t quote me.”

He raised his hands in surrender. Well, one. The other one hurt too much.

Even though she was as pretty as a rose, he always forgot about the thorns. “Just do whatever you want, you always do it anyways.” And no matter what, he always seemed to prick himself on them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“Look at you!” she snapped, frustration boiling over. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to stop this gambling thing.”

“I didn’t get this from gambling.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, thick with concern. she knows he's lying. the kid who called her snitched. “I don’t like the things that get you hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The—”

“It’s okay, Rose.”

“No, it’s not, Jungkook. You don’t get it.” She took a shaky breath. “The doctors said you were inches away from death.”

“But I’m not dead.”

“Who knows if you won’t be next time?”

Jungkook pauses. Next time? she thinks there's gonna be a next time. He over estimated his luck. “There won’t be a next time.”

“How can I believe that?”

Jungkook sighed. “Come here.” He says wanting to hold her hand. She refuses.

“I’ve quit gambling, okay?” She just stares at him, sceptical.

“I’m never stepping foot in that place again,” he added. “Does that make you feel better?”

“It’s not about making me feel better, it’s about you being better.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We’re just friends, but I really care about you. And I hate seeing things like this happen to you.” Her voice softened. “I care about you like no one else does.” It's true. no one has ever been there for him like her, so her worry and anxiety motivates me.

“Rose…”

A tear slides down her cheek but she's quick to wiping it. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It’s okay.” A silence settled between them.

“Who attacked you?” she asked after a moment.

“What are you gonna do? Fight them?” He smirked, returning to his food.

“I might.” He laughs.

“It was some loan sharks,” he admitted. They probably think his dead right now, which ,maybe will give him some time to do what he doesn't know is next. “I haven’t paid them back in a while.”

“Did you give it to them?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have it.” he says and the bitterness threatens to creep past his throat.

“What about the 100 million you told me about?”

Jungkook froze.

“I lost it.”

“Oh my God, Jungkook.”

She buried her face in her hands. “What are you gonna do now? You’re not getting loans and gambling again, right?”

“I’m done with that.” He shakes his head, scoffing.

She studies him, searching for deception.

“I promise.” he whispers.

“I hope so.”

Silence.

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Some panicked kid called my phone. I have no idea how he even got my number.”

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “Kids these days.” He smiles to himself knowing exactly who did it. The kid should've used his skills for better things.

2weeks later

Reader’s Pov

You’ve been on ‘E,’ reading through emails of people constantly rejecting your application for a job.

“Still nothing?” Yunji hovers over your shoulder. She’d come over on the weekend when she could, after you told her mother you were in the hospital. You spent the night in the hospital but soon had to go home to pack some things for your mother. While at home, you thought you might as well go through your emails, seeing that you need it now.

“Nothing,” you respond. Not even from that one investment company. So that guy was fooling you. Or maybe you weren’t even good enough for a job with no requirements.

“Oh my gosh, Yn, I’m so sorry.”

You force a smile after a long sigh. “It’s not like you’re the one who got me here.” You drop your hands into your palms. You don’t usually cry, especially in front of people, but she’s seen you cry before, so you don’t mind.

“I know, but I don’t know what to say.” She holds onto your shoulder as you sniffle.

“Nothing.” You wipe away tears. “Just say nothing.”

“Nothing.” She repeats. You laugh; she's so unserious.

After both your laughter dies down, her face grows serious. “But I actually want to help you.” Her voice is low. Then she gasps, like the higher-ups of Jangsu just blessed her with an idea. “You know what? I can get you a job at my dad’s office. You can do some secretary or cleaning job; I don’t know.” She continues to talk. “Anything is fine right now, right?”

You chuckle. “I know I seem desperate right now, but I’m not desperate for just anything,” you say, picking yourself up and fully wiping your tears.

“That’s true. If you were, you’d become a prostitute,” she thinks. But you stare, causing her to retreat. You forgot just how random she was too. “Sorry. They make good money, though.”

“How would you know?” You move to check if everything you’ve packed is there. The only time you want to be packing your bags is when you’re leaving this damn town.

“I watch movies,” she says defensively, but you don’t catch the tone or see her bite her lower lip with slumped shoulders. You’re too focused on making sure everything is intact.

Sound falls flat.

“Anyway, I have to go for some extra class now. I’ll visit later,” she promises, picking up her purse. You stand up to look at her.

“You don’t have to bother yourself; focus on your studies.”

Yunji frowns. “Yn, don’t say that. You’re my friend, and you’re going through a hard time. I want to be there for you.” She moves in to unexpectedly hug you. “Please let me be there for you. You’re not a bother at all.” She continues to hug you, and you’re forced to take in her flowery perfume that contrasts with the environment outside.

You sink into her warmth and hug her back. It’s comforting; you won’t lie. “Okay?” she asks.

“Okay.”

“Good.” She pulls away. “I’m leaving now. I’ll see you later today.” She gives you a big smile.

“Alright.” She pauses at the door.

“Aren’t you going to wish me a good lesson?”

You roll your eyes. “Have a great lesson, Yunji.”

“Thank you.”

Immediately she leaves, the room feels like it’s closing in, and you’re in that void again. You stay in silence, and in the silence, your phone chirps. Expecting some text from your mother, you’re quick to grab your phone. You stare at your screen.

Unknown: You secretary position?

You pause to read it over again. It feels like a prank. The text is not formal, which makes you think it is. But you still want to pry on. Who the heck is this person, and why are they texting?

You: Yes, who’s this?

You applied for a lot of things at a lot of places, so you can't even tell who this person is. If they sent you an email, maybe you could tell. But it looks like their company doesn’t do that.

Unknown: I’m the boss of the company you applied to.

Again, you wouldn’t know. But you stand straight at the realization.

You: I’m sorry; I just was not expecting a text.

Unknown: Just come to the Jangsu office building on the fifth floor on Monday. You’ll have your interview there.

Okay... your breath catches. This is everything you've wanted, and it couldn't have come at a better time. But you feel off about it. You're sure it's because of how informal the text is. It's not an issue; maybe that's why they need a secretary.

You: Thank you. What time should I be there?

[Read]

That’s odd, you think. But you’re excited about the opportunity. You’re in your head about it, questioning what just happened.

He said secretary, so you have to wear something office-style. You don’t have any clothes in that style, but your mother shouldn’t mind letting you borrow.

Jungkook’s Pov.

Monday, April 14th.

Rose: “You’ll do great.” Jungkook hopes the opposite. He would beg if he could—working in a place that got him to this point is the last thing he wants. The air around him feels colder, overwhelming. He's doing this for her, only because of her.

“Jungkook…” The familiar voice of the bar girl cuts through his thoughts, and his ears perk up. “Never thought I’d see you again.” “Same.” He says, looking around. Not much has changed—maybe the faces, but not the layout. When his gaze lands on the table where it all went wrong, he can’t help but chuckle bitterly. Not tonight.

She hesitates, unsure of how to phrase her question. “How—what are you doing here?” She fears getting personal, but she’s heard the rumors. People whispered excitedly about what happened. Some even celebrated it with toasts. But she won’t say that to him. She has no personal stake in his past, but she remembers the kindness he once showed her. He was the only one who ever treated her like more than a worker, despite the inappropriate comments she endured from the others.

To see him here, looking different—his face healed from a bruise she never saw—there’s a warmth inside her. If he’s back, maybe he can protect her from the creeps in this place. But unfortunately for her, he’s not here to be that person anymore.

He sighs. “Came for a job.” His words are almost drowned out by the daytime music, but she reads his lips. She squints, asking if he’s sure. Sadly, he is.

“Here?” He nods. She’s still confused. “You know Ros—I mean, Sohi.” It’s random, but it might jog her memory. “Oh, Sohi. Yeah, I know her. She gave me my first tattoo.”

“She said she’d talk to someone here—” He stops, seeing the amused look on her face. He doesn’t like it. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” “I’m not.” She laughs, teasing him.

“Do you know or not?” “I know.” She speaks reluctantly, and Jungkook senses where this is going. He won’t like it. “Did she tell you what the job is?” “No. She just said she figured it out already.”

She bites her lip, hesitant. “Well… uh…”

“What is it, cleaning up dead bodies or something?” He jokes, but his voice carries a touch of bitterness. “I think you’d prefer that.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow. “What is it?”

She sighs before answering, still biting her lip. “Cleaning the toilets.”

Reader’s Pov

You’d never entered or been within a hundred-meter radius of this building, but you knew of it. It was a normal office complex; many people rented out rooms or floors. You were familiar with the concept, though it doesn’t ease you.

Its tall, imposing figure reminds you of everything Jangsu is to you: power. Not to the people, but to the VIPs. And you're foolish enough to enter their territory—one you're not well-equipped to roam, in search of a means to an end.

You wish you could be by your mother’s side all the time. But now that she’s bedridden in the hospital and won’t be able to work, it’s up to you to step into her role. You are familiar with the things you have to do, but gosh, it is exhausting trying to explain to Lynn what’s going on. Explain that she still has to go to school. You say it like your mother would, instead of the way you would. It’s new neural patterns for your brain to make.

Like the rest of the city, this part is fast. Everyone walks with purpose and conviction, so you can’t afford to stand out—not when it garners unwanted looks. So, you too walk with purpose, faux purpose.

Exiting the elevator, you look for your way around. He told you the fifth floor, and that’s where you are. But you can’t help but feel like you’re in the wrong place. It does have the format of an office, but it doesn’t have the feel of one. You don’t see computers or people working—just one computer in the centre of the room and, across from there, a pile of files. You’ve got no clue what you’re here to do, but you’ve got to know what work this is.

The place lacks the smell of paper and ink or the clicking of computer keys or the thumping of feet on the floor.

Maybe you just got here on a bad day or at a bad time. You ignore it. Looking around, you spot the secluded office room. That’s normally where the boss is, right? Maybe for other offices, but this one is competing to show you how different it is.

So slowly and cautiously, you walk to the door and knock on it. As you do, you try to peep through the closed blinds, just to make sure there actually is someone in there. But why would he tell you to come on this day if there would be no one around?

He seems like he needs the employees.

When a low voice, sounding uninterested in your existence, tells you to open the door, you walk in.

The man behind the desk is young, maybe in his thirties, but something about him feels older. The air around him is cold, indifferent. His long, wavy hair falls messily over his brow, the kind of hair that doesn’t fit the typical image of a corporate boss. But maybe that’s what makes him more unsettling—he doesn’t look like he should be in charge, yet you feel the power radiating off him.

“Sit,” he says without looking up, his tone casual as if he’s ordering coffee, not a person. You sit, though you don’t lean back. The couch is too far back; you know it would make you look relaxed, too comfortable. You don’t belong here, and by the feel of the place, you don't want to be here longer.

He doesn't seem to care about that, though.

Well, this is an interesting interior design choice for an office. A bar decorates the wall, with all types of alcohol; you can only imagine the price.

“Have you ever worked with a computer before?” he asks without missing a beat.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt question. “No, but I’m familiar with how they operate.”

He nods, as if your answer is good enough. “Good enough.”

The words half-register as your mind races. There’s something wrong here—something about the space, the way the man speaks, the cold, ironic feel of everything. No boss does the interviews themselves, right? It feels like a trap, but your stomach twists in a different way. You try to shake it off, but it lingers.

“You’ve seen those files out there,” he points out, and you remember the sight. “They all need to become digital, but none of my idiot men know how to do it.” You chuckle awkwardly because you see no men. Is this how he speaks about his employees, if they exist?

“That’s where you come in.” He describes to you how he wants his company to move with the times and become digital, which is common nowadays, but you wonder how long he’s had this company. If he started recently, he should’ve had his files already digital. But you don’t think about it further. Some people still prefer paper and pen. He also adds that if he wants you to, you could type out contracts for him.

You don’t mind typing.

You mention something about the number of files and that you’re the only one here, which causes him to chuckle, his array of unnaturally white teeth on show for you, blinding you.

“You’re the only one who applied, so I guess you’ll be doing it by yourself.” You hear this sink in. You don’t know what’s in them yet, but you can feel the anxiety of the work creeping over you. But this isn’t about you; it’s about supporting your family, so you’ll want to do it. You’ll want to do it.

But still. Alone? The realization of the words crushes you. “Don’t pout; I’m not a stingy boss, so your pay will be good.”

You didn’t realize you had been pouting, but he can see your face better than you.

“I’m sure you want to know how much.” He thinks you’re too quiet for his liking, but you’re here to work, so it’s better. It’s just that he can’t place a finger on where your mind could be at. “20,000 per hour?” he says like it's no big deal. But in your brain, you calculate how much you'd earn if you worked 9 hours the whole week. You still imagine it, even though in reality, it's unrealistic for you.

Your fingers tap against your knee.

He can't be real. You don’t remember applying for this job, but it just feels like it’s fallen right into your lap. Like someone up there is looking out for you. You don’t know if you can find anything better than this. This is all or nothing for you.

“Does that sound good?” Too good to be true. But your heart wants to believe. He's not a man to bullshit, right? He doesn't look it.

“Y-yes. Thank you,” you say a little too quickly.

He laughs.

“You start tomorrow.” His eyes linger on you for a moment, as if sizing you up. “You’re an interesting girl.”

Before you leave, there’s something you just want to get off your mind, and you’ll have to slither around it.

Before you leave, a question rises in your throat. You can’t stop yourself.

“Umm, sir, what exactly is in the files?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, but enough to have his attention.

The man chuckles, suddenly finding it hard to speak. He’s not sure where you stand morally, but he’ll have to find out. The money is good, so he doubts you’ll let that go by. You look like you're itching for it.

“Did I not mention what the work is about?” he stalls. You shake your head. He mumbles something about you not knowing being the reason why you’re here. There are different types of money lenders—those who genuinely loan out money to people and collect when needed, and that’s it. But his business is more than that. He wants it to be more than that. He dabbles in the money lending business, but he does it with a kick—a kick in the contract, that is. Some would basically call it scamming or conning desperate people. But he calls it his job.

And you'd be the one handling the paperwork and accounts while he enjoyed the money and the collection.

“We’re loan sharks,” he chuckles, “just to put it nicely.”

Your face runs cold. Just to put it nicely? What could be worse than that? The higher-ups were actually playing you. That explains a lot. Damn. The realization sinks in like a cold knife. Can you ever have anything good? They call themselves loan sharks, but they’re just scammers. The realization sinks in like a cold knife to your stomach. Loan sharks. Scammers. The kind of people who ruined your life.

“Is that a problem?” His voice drips with something unreadable. It’s a challenge, as if he knows you won’t walk away. You can’t afford to. Not now. Not with your family’s future hanging by a thread. Yes, he did a little digging. He needs to know how to deal with you, and it couldn't have been easier for him.

Your mind races. You want to say no, to walk out and never look back. But the weight of your mother’s hospital bills, the looming rent, the thought of being left with nothing, nothing but a life that spirals out of control, catches you.

It’s not just a job. It’s your only chance. You can’t say no. You can’t afford to.

All you have to do is remind yourself that you are not one of these people. You’re just here to work and make money for yourself. People take out loans because they are in bad times; you're doing it for the same reason too.

“I’ll take it,” you say reluctantly, feeling like stability is winning all over again.

“Good,” he says, and you stand. He doesn’t make you sign any employment contract, either because he can’t, or he’ll make you type it. And if not, he could use violence and threats to keep you in check.

You’re just going to be in the office, not dirty or violent work. Never that. That you could never do.

You hate yourself right now.

As you’re walking out, someone else walks in. They don’t appear to be here for a job. He’s tall, with dark hair and a sequence of tattoos dancing up his sleeve. He looks interesting. Dangerous. His appearance and healing bruise make you wonder if he’s part of this or maybe in another gang. Whatever it is, you're sure he's seen a lot, things you can't imagine. he looked like all the things you didn't want to be involved in. Yet he still looks fascinating. Had you curious if he came here often. would you spot him as you worked.

You don’t know what’s worse: the job or the world you’re stepping into. Either way, you can’t go back now.

Jungkook walks too fast for you to focus on anything else. He doesn’t even spare you a glance, only wonders which poor soul was about to get trapped here next.

You look at the pile again before leaving and sigh. This is what you wanted. This is what you wanted.

“Seohoon.”

“Jungkook! Have you finally come to your senses?” Seohoon smirks. He barely spares Jungkook a glance before adding, “I heard what happened. How are you even still alive?”

“You can’t even ask how I’m doing?” Jungkook scoffs.

“I know you’re not fine, so why would I need to ask?”

Jungkook exhales sharply. “I need you to lend me one million.”

Seohoon bursts into laughter. “Have you lost your damn mind? I’m not lending you anything—especially when I know you’ll just gamble it away instead of fixing your broken door.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Huh, Jeon? You gonna keep living like this forever? I hate seeing you like this.” He studies Jungkook’s face before adding, “Do you want to stay like this forever?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, but Seohoon already knows. He leans forward.

“I told you—work for me, and all your troubles are over.” His voice is smooth, tempting. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Forget it. I don’t even know why I came to you.”

“It’s because you need me. You’ll always need me.” Seohoon smirks, tilting his head. “But you need to put your pride aside to realize that.”

“Forget it.”

Jungkook storms out. Seohoon leans back, amused.

“He’ll be back.”

Reader’s Pov.

You knew the work was going to be tedious, but you never thought you’d have to work around nitwits as well.

For sure, the files you stared at when you first walked in were the ones you were going to work on.

“So, what made you take a job 'round 'ere?” Your coming to work was easier because you were sure of where you were going. You were sure of the steps you'd have to make, and this time, sure of the floor. But what you weren’t expecting was a group of men, obviously the field men of the office, lingering around and, unfortunately, bothering you.

“Cause you were hiring?” you say, your eyes having been glued to the screen for about an hour straight. Everything was proving to be a task and a half.

“AH! She’s funny, this one.”

They keep talking about things that you tune out—something about you not looking like the type of person to work here or whether you know what they do for work.

“Leave her be; she’ll bite your head off,” one jokes. And you would.

“She’s not so easy, are you, dear?” you ignore. He takes your silence as a no. “It’s a shame; I would’ve benefitted from that.”

“Not every girl’s a Yunji, I guess.” Idiot number one with the small physique ‘jokes.’ The thought creeps past your mind for a second. Yunji? But to be fair, there are quite a number of them in Jangsu. It's a joke between you and Yunji, one she rolls her eyes at. She hates having such a common name. You’ve seen a number of them as you worked the files, so you don’t let those thoughts linger. Your Yunji is at school.

“Don’t say her name; she might appear,” the larger of the two, idiot number two, exclaims with a laugh.

At this point, they’re just talking to themselves. “Good. Then I can show her who’s stronger.”

Gross, you think to yourself. Gosh, if it wasn’t for the money or the lack of other opportunities, you wouldn’t be here.

“Boss would kill you.”

“Only because he wants to do it himself.”

“Yah!” someone else calls out at them, and even if you don’t like anyone in this room, you thank them. “Are you two idiots sat here doing nothing?”

“N-no, we were working. Right, YN?” They look to you, but you don’t respond. You’ve got too much to do.

You’re working on the files from the recent loans taken out. You basically have to create a spreadsheet of who the loan receiver is, when they took it out, and when they have to pay. The guys work in order of time, and right now the office is silent because you gave them a list of people who needed to repay their loans. Every hour is working hour. And you hated doing it; you know some of the people on it were desperate and were not in a position to pay back. So, if their house gets burned down, things broken, or they are beaten, you feel it’s your fault. You're making the work of evil people easier. It makes you sick. You recognize some of the names. One that broke your heart was the lady from whom you bought chicken. Such a lovely woman and always kind, but she expressed to you how her son had taken out a loan and used her stand as collateral. The son is a bum, so all you can think about is what’s going to happen to her when they show up at her door.

You really hate what this life is making you do.

And then, as you continue sorting the names, one stands out—a name that stops everything. A name that, when read, sends a slow-burning rage curling through your chest like poison through your veins. You wonder what you'd do if you ever saw him again, what you'd feel.

Park Daehyun.

Your breathing stops for a moment. Your hands clench, fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

You haven’t seen him since it happened. But the bitterness, the anger, it never left. You swore, if you ever got the chance, you’d make him pay.

Your mother had saved money for your college tuition, and at 23, she trusted you enough to keep it safe. Daehyun knew about it. You had told him everything, back when you still thought he cared, back when his words were soaked with warmth and false promises. He said he was proud of you, that he believed in you. He said he wanted to spend his life with you. Lies.

Every last word was a lie, and at the time, you believed it. They made you happy and hopeful for love. But now you resent any 'sweet' words a man might utter to you. All of them were lies.

One day, he came to you with an investment plan—an opportunity to triple your money in six months. You knew nothing about investing, and now that you think about it, you should have trusted the nagging voice in your gut that told you it was too good to be true. But his sweet words drowned out the doubt. He spoke of financial security, of extra semesters, of a future where money wouldn’t be an issue. And you wanted that; you needed it. So you handed over everything.

And then he vanished. Calls unanswered. No explanation. No trace of him left behind. The people who once knew him suddenly knew nothing. His house, empty. His name, erased. And your world ripped of everything. You weren't the same after that, and honestly, you'd never be the same again.

You were devastated. Sick. You fell into a darkness so deep that your mother thought you were just ill. She never knew the truth. She never knew that you had stood on that bridge, looking over the water, wishing things had been different. You weren’t going to do it, but you thought about it.

And as you stood there, you made a vow: If you ever got the chance, you would make him suffer. His repayment was due in two months, but the thing about numbers in a document is that you can manipulate them. And no one, no one in this office would question the validity. Because they don’t know. They just work on what you give.

So, if Daehyun is still in town, seeing the date of his loan, he should still be in town to repay it. You know he won't have the money. With steady hands, you edit the document, moving his name up for loan collection—today, well, tonight. He deserves it as far as you’re concerned.

Maybe this is what you needed. And if you could, you’d make sure you had a front-row seat. This is what he deserves.

You knew this was going to happen. You knew you'd have to come here, but still, you hoped for more time—time to figure out something else, time to save, to get your check, just anything but end up here.

But the hospital wasn't going to wait for you. They weren't going to wait until you settled down in your job and earned even a quarter of the bill to pay later.

No.

They wanted the money. And they wanted it now.

You felt sick when you saw the message they sent you. Every word you read sank your anxiety further in. Your mother was nowhere near healed or feeling better, even though she tried to make you think she was fine. But the discomfort when she moved and the weak smile she gave you told you otherwise.

She was not okay. And you couldn't have her anywhere else but the hospital. The hospital messaged you while you were at work, so instead of going home, you found yourself here.

Downtown 2 never sleeps. Its larger sidewalks than Downtown 1's make room for all types of people who walk there. The walls of buildings are used as resting spots to collect one's drunk self, and the alleyways hold secret illicit conversations and actions. You scoff. The bright, blinding neon lights range from all colours of the rainbow; they irritate your senses. But there's no use looking away because everywhere you look, the lights are there.

Even though it's night, the gloomy sky is obvious. Light rain and grey skies have been warning Jangsu that a storm is brewing, but nobody seems concerned; instead, they hold their arms to themselves, not used to the sudden temperature change.

You said you’d never been to Downtown 2 and that you never liked it. Only one of those is true. You have been here before—and you hated it then, just as much as you do now. And yet, here you are again.

If you hadn't been here before, you would have missed your destination. The casino is so secretive and pretentious that it doesn't bother to advertise its existence. But people are aware of where it is.

Its outside is plain and simple; no one would think it was what it is. But its inside is bright with large lights, the walls and carpets a mix of deep blood red and deep royal purple. All the gold accents are made obvious by the light that reflects off them.

The open space feels intimidating. People don't pay you any mind, too busy worrying about wins and losses. The women stare, their red lips curving at you as their tiny dresses ride up with every step. Your clothes don't fit the environment at all; you're still in your office clothes.

You promised yourself you'd never be back here. The last time you were here was to see the same man you've come to see today. And he waits for you by a table.

He looks expensive in the tailored suit he’s wearing. The gold watch around his wrist tells you the executive position is treating him well. If you never knew him, you'd never guess he had a family.

The casino made a lot of money. It was one of its kind in the whole of Jangsu. And one thing the people and politicians of Jangsu loved to do was gamble and drink. Playing casino games was what they lived for on this side of town, while on the other side stayed their families, who had to work for what they lost.

You don't sit. “Is this really appropriate to meet?” you ask. You cringe at the smell of smoke and alcohol.

“Do you want to meet with me or not?” he retorts, that degrading and cocky voice echoing in your mind. You never understood how a father like him existed. Your family is scraping by while he’s living lavishly. All because of what? Divorce? Arguments? Pride. It doesn't matter. What you know for sure is that he has pure hatred for you and your family. Why? You have no clue, but it’s obvious in the way he lives such a great life just across town but still lets you suffer.

And for that, you don't have any warmth in you for him. “Whatever. Can we just go somewhere quiet?” It’s not a conversation to be had carelessly in such a loud and open place.

He stands to walk to his office, and you follow. The music fades as you get to the hallways that lead to his office. Your feet drag as you force yourself to walk in that direction.

Once you're in, the heavy door closes behind you. He moves to stand behind his large and heavy rosewood table. You stare around the place; the red velvet texture and gold details stand out in here too. You don't sit again.

“What did you want to say to me after so many years?” he snaps, pouring himself a glass of whisky.

“Mom is sick...” You waste no time.

“She’ll heal.” He takes a sip of the liquid.

You expected that. “She’s in the hospital right now. It’s serious.”

“What is she sick with?”

“High blood pressure.” You hate that you even have to explain this to him; he should care automatically, no matter what.

He laughs. “She’ll be fine, dear.” The term of endearment only serves to make your mouth run bitter. “My mother had it, and she was fine.”

“Your mother is dead,” you jeer. You respect her; she was a very nice lady, but gosh, her son... “Have you even been to visit her?” Her memorial was just months earlier, and you know he didn’t even remember. Not when he’s got better things to care about, right? Tsk.

He scoffs. “That tongue is the same thing that has you and your family suffering.”

You scoff. “You’re so ridiculous.”

“Watch it, or you’re going to end up like that forever.” He walks around his desk to lean against it, his face mimicking deep thought. “You know, YN, I don’t even know why you bother with that university thing,” he starts mocking. “You have your mother’s genes; you won’t make it.”

You don’t say anything. You promised yourself that if someone mentioned anything about you going to school, you wouldn’t say anything because, in the end, you feel they are right.

He laughs. “So how much is it you want?”

This is what you’re here for, so it’s better to get to the point. “100 million.”

“Wow, that’s a bold starting point. Most people would start lower.” He sips again. He’s got the money; he’s just trying to taunt you.

“That’s exactly how much we need.”

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, looking at you to determine if you know that it’s a lot. To him, it’s not a lot, but to people like you, it must be heaven to touch. “You know I’ve given you people a lot of money over the years.”

“Which money? Lynn’s school fees?” you address. “That’s the bare minimum.”

“And I don’t want to. But yet I do it.” You said you hated yourself and evil people, but that can't be compared to how much you hate your father. “If you were smart, you’d drop that airhead out of school and use the money for daily living.”

“Don’t talk about my sister like that.” You yell, and he raises his hand in faux surrender. He finds it amusing.

“Just suggesting.”

You’re growing tired of this. You had to put your pride and anger aside for this, just so you can get your mother the treatment she needs. Your mother wouldn’t be happy to know you came here. But what matters most is her health; she can yell at you when she’s healthy. “You know what? Never mind.”

You are about to walk to the door, but his voice booms.

“YN, how old are you? 20?” He tilts his chin up and narrows his eyes at you.

You haven't turned to look at him. Why is he still talking? Doesn't he want you gone? “24.”

“So, you think you’re grown?”

You turn. “Yes.”

“Then why not get a job and pay the bill?”

“I have a job.” You start, not going into detail because you're not proud of it.

You can hear him make a bingo sound, and he goes further to show how much he doesn't care. “Then why do you need my help?”

You clench your fist. “Because you’re a father, and it’s the least you could do for the woman you fucked over for many years.” Ouch, that one hit his heart.

“You don’t know anything about me and your mother. Don’t involve yourself, kid.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head in disbelief. “I was young, but I know enough.” You don't want to get into that; the time to do that is long gone. And he's pissing you off, so all you want is what you came for. “Are you going to help with the money or not?”

“I will.” He nods, but it’s not trusting. “Though I’m not that kind of man anymore—not to you guys anyway.”

“What do you mean?” you fold your arms.

He places the cup down and rounds the table to where he was when he poured the drink. He really loves this table. “You'll always need me. Do you realize that?” He grins as he counts and grabs the money out of a safe you’ve been staring at.

You don't respond. You'll never need him. You never want to.

“I’ll give you the money.” He throws it on the table in an envelope, and you’re about to grab it. “But as a loan.” Your hand hovers over the paper and soon pulls it back.

“Are you serious?”

He smirks and looks right at you. “I’m a businessman.”

“Screw that. Can’t you act like a father for once?” You lift your index finger in rage. “Just this once, huh?”

“Everybody who comes to me takes out loans. How special are you?”

You scoff. “I’m not taking that; you can keep it.”

You want to walk away. Taking that as a loan would make you a slave to him. If he felt like it, he’d bother you for the money even though he knows you don’t have it. Who knows what else he’s grown capable of doing?

“I guess you’re truly like me.” That stops you. “You don’t love your mother that much.” He speaks with so much ease and comfort that it makes you uneasy. “She’s going to get worse, and the doctors won’t care to treat her because you’re not paying.”

“Money is life, and you need to realize that, dear. I know you have some of my reasoning genes, so you should know.” His voice taunts you. “She’s gonna die, and it will be your fault. Why? Just because you don’t want to take out a loan.”

“You should put that on her tombstone—”

“Shut up!”

He does, not because you told him to, but to let his words sink into the silence. You use it to think. Thoughts you don't need to dwell on. Some fears are greater than others, and you shiver at the thought of losing your mother.

“You’re a horrible person, and I hope it kills you,” you spit out before grabbing the money.

“You’re not that good of a person; your half me, remember?”

Fuck him. You stomp out and walk down the way you came. You’re nothing like him.

Even though you don’t want to stay any longer and the streets are getting dark, you really need to pee.

You walk into the casino toilets. You were prepped to see anything, but you were not prepared to spot a man mopping the floor. You are in the women’s bathroom, right?

He turns to look at you when you stand there staring. And when he does, you’re graced with the same face you saw at the office. You don’t know if he recognizes you. He doesn’t look like he does. What the hell is he doing here? Does he not work in a gang or something? Is this some humiliation ritual that needs to be done? Because he definitely looks humiliated, though he tries to keep his pride.

He does look like a guy with pride. This type of job does not suit him much.

You’ve seen plenty of men in Jangsu, but somehow, all the handsome ones seem to end up in Downtown 2, probably all caught up in that kind of life.

“Should you be in here?” a woman with bright red hair asks when she leaves the stall. Her friend follows out too. So you are in the women’s bathroom.

“I’m just cleaning. I can leave.” His tone is calm and distant. At the office, you didn’t hear his voice. But now that you do, you can’t help but think about how melodic it sounds.

“No, you can stay; we don’t mind,” her dark-haired friend adds. They don’t look like they mind; their smiles and ogling at him tell you that.

They giggle to themselves, and the guy goes back to mopping, gripping the mop stick a little too hard. “Never knew this place had handsome cleaners.”

“It’s still dangerous, though.”

“Who cares? He’s handsome.” When you leave the stall, feeling like you can finally leave this place forever, you make a show of yourself. The guy stares at you when the water from the bucket you bumped into touches the dry floor.

“I’m so sorry. Sorry.” You apologize profusely. You offer to mop it up, but he shrugs you off.

This job must be frustrating, and you’re sure he was eager to leave. You hate that you’re the reason he has to stay longer.

--

Jungkook’s Pov.

Not a lot, but they do ogle, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Though it does hurt his pride that women are seeing him in this vulnerability. But overall, they are much better to be around. Even though they get shocked at first to see him there, he minds his own business so he doesn’t seem like a bother.

The men’s bathroom, on the other hand, even though it has the same amount of lighting, just feels darker. Feels bluer. Smells like an actual public bathroom, no matter how many bottles of bleach Jungkook pours carelessly.

Why couldn’t he just clean the women’s side?

“I thought it was a lie, you know?” A voice speaks as it walks into the bathroom. Two of them. Jungkook just continues what he’s doing. “I had to come see it for myself. Almighty Jungkook reduced to nothing.” When he hears his name, he pauses and turns to face the voice. The face is familiar. He’s seen it around the table and taken money from it. Daehyun. Never the one to know how to take a loss, he once pulled out a gun on Jungkook. He has no clue how he got that in Jangsu, but he did. Jungkook wasn’t afraid of the metal; anyone who uses a gun to solve something is a coward, and they aren’t solving anything. That’s just him, though. Some use them just to be faster.

But that’s one thing respected about the Uroboros side of Jangsu: people were never afraid to use blunt objects to inflict pain. They liked it slow and to hear how their victim screamed and begged for mercy. Fucking heartless, but at least they weren’t cowards. If you’re gonna do something, at least don’t be a coward about it.

So he isn’t threatened by Daehyun’s entrance. The guy is a coward and will always be.

“I mean, it’s not like you were anything.” Jungkook can tell that he’s just been playing a game, and the look suggests he’s just won money. He’s not sure if it’s a big win, but for Daehyun, any win is probably a big win.

Daehyun walks to the urinals, still smirking, and unlike every normal person, decides to piss on the ground. Jungkook watches, not reacting. People should start drinking water. Daehyun turns to look at Jungkook with a mocking smile, and his friend laughs. “Oops,” he mocks. “I can’t stop myself,” he says as he finishes urinating on the ground. Zips.

“Clean it up.” He spits at Jungkook. He’s not gonna do that. “Oh, and here’s a tip.” He says, pulling out a note of money. Instead of just handing it to Jungkook (he was not gonna take it anyway), Daehyun drops the paper in his urine.

Jungkook sighs, his hands smell like bleach, so he doesn’t run it through his hair.

He slowly and silently walks over and drops the mop into the puddle to mop it... Well, “Look. He’s actually doing it.”... Not.

Jungkook slams the urine-soaked mop head into Daehyun’s face. The contents drip down his face, probably into his eyes and most definitely into his mouth.

Jungkook doesn’t like to fight. He can, but he just doesn’t like it. Unless his pride and dignity are involved. He’s the only person allowed to disrespect those aspects of himself.

“Yah, shibal...” Daehyun yells, only allowing the liquid to drip further onto his tongue. His friend just watches in fear and slowly backs up.

Daehyun goes by the tap to rinse his face. While there, Jungkook grips the back of his neck and pushes his head into the sinks. The guy struggles, but he’s not strong enough to quit the grip.

“Don’t cross me,” he whispers. Pulling him up by the neck, he tosses the guy toward the door. He stumbles. “Go on. Want me to feed you your waste?” Jungkook mocks when they still stand there.

They leave, and Jungkook is alone in the bathroom. He thought this was gonna work. Be his turning point. But he can’t with this load of pride. Jungkook throws the mop to the ground and groans. Fuck this. He’s sorry to disappoint Rose, but he just can’t do this anymore.

With only 10,000 won to his name for the work he did, he walks into the night earlier than other nights. The money is not much, barely enough. But he walks further away from Daehyun. It’s relieving, but scary. He’s always told others to get serious with their lives, but what about himself?

He takes a heavy seat at the bus stop, not really to get on a bus, but just to watch them go by.

Jungkook is sat when he hears sniffles next to him. He didn’t even realize there was someone next to him. A kid, and she was crying. Jungkook stares and looks around. It’s dark, he’s sure school ended hours ago. Even though they aren’t really in the Uroboros area, it’s still pretty close for her to just be out here alone. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be getting home?” A bus approaches, and he points at it.

She ignores him. “Okay, you’re ignoring me. Probably good.” He couldn’t even feel bad or blame her.

“What’s your name?” She doesn’t answer. “Guess I’ll go first. Jungkook, that’s my name,” he says in a fit to show her that it’s safe to share names. Shit, he hopes he’s not coming off as a creep.

It seemed to have worked because at least she has her head up now. “Lynn.”

“Oh, that’s your name?” She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook keeps calm, just waiting on her timing. “So why aren’t you going home, Lynn?” He’s not expecting a response.

“Someone took my bus card.” It feels like a precious moment to have her responding.

“At school?” She nods. “Were they some bullies?” She nods. “Oh, you can’t let those push you around, you have to beat them up.”

“I’m on a strike.”

“You already beat them up once? I’m talking to a pro.” He jokes, and it can only crack a small smile. It’s still a win, though.

“Did you tell a teacher or whatever?”

“I did. She just told me I was lying.” She grows more comfortable, talking to this strange man, which her sister would kill her for. But he doesn’t seem mean. He’s sat at the opposite side of the bench.

“I’m sorry to hear that. People must not like you.” That makes the two of you. “People don’t like me, too. I hope that helps.”

Finding a commonality, she becomes curious. Wanting to know if even in adulthood, people might not like.

“Why don’t people like you?” For the first time, she turns to look at him. He doesn’t at her. Just straight ahead at the opposite street, with people roaming it.

“I take their money.” She pauses.

“Why? Are you some kind of scammer?” Jungkook fakes offense at her words. Who isn’t a scammer nowadays?

“Yes and no.” He chuckles, looking at his still bruised knuckles. “Not in the moment, at least.”

“I had to get a job, you know? Didn’t work out,” he adds bitterly. Is he really just talking to a kid about this?

“Why?” Jungkook clears his throat at the question. It’s a simple answer.

“Hurt my pride.” He rubs his hands together. Jangsu really knew how to make a hot day feel hot and a cold day feel like a night in the Arctic, naked. When he looks over at Lynn, he’s glad to notice her in a sweater. Better than what he has, not a freaking t-shirt. The wind is strong, and even though it’s nighttime, Jungkook can feel a storm brewing. That’s new.

“Shouldn’t you have a job? That should be more important.” He looks at her, taking in her POV. It’s funny how once you find a common ground, you can talk to anyone. “My mother always says that. She says that’s why we go to school.”

Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t know what kind of family she comes from, but if she’s here, they must not be rich.

“Well, one thing I’ll tell you, kid, is there are some things more important than a job.”

“It’s a little thing called dignity.” Jungkook laughs at himself. He never realized how much of a poet he was, he jokes. He’s far from that.

“You’re too young to understand, but that’s how it is.” He reaches into his pocket to grab a cigarette but pauses. He’s gotten too comfortable. He can do it later, though. “If you know where you stand in the world, you’ll never fall. But that doesn’t mean you won’t get stepped on. That’s when you choose where to stand.” At this point, he’s talking to himself. He would be surprised if he turned, and Lynn was never there and never existed. But she does exist. And he’s talking her ear off with nonsense.

“I’m being too poetic, am I?” He chuckles. “Did you understand anything I said?” She shakes her head no. He’s not surprised.

Taking a sharp breath, he reaches into his pocket. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, if they try to bully you, step on them. Don’t let them bully you.” If she had a nickel for everyone who told her that... “Okay?” He stares at her with a smile. “If they try, you just tell them Jungkook oppa will step on all their little heads.”

She giggles. “Tell them I’m a very scary man.” He smiles at her.

She should be going home now.

“We should hurry up and get you a bus ticket before the next one arrives.” He talks about the buses that are soon going to be done for the day. “Do you mind?”

She shakes her head no. “Come on.” They walk to the closest convenience store. “Oh, and you should tell them he’s handsome too, just in case they have older sisters.”

Jungkook watches the bus wheel away, and he waves back at the little girl. He can’t believe he just spent all his money on some random kid. That could’ve been a scam for all he knows.

Did he just get scammed? He’s not sure, and he doesn’t bother himself to analyze. All he knows is now he has no money. Back to zero.

Staring into the night. He could just stay out all night. He doesn’t have to go home. He doesn’t want to be at home. When his phone rings, he’s slow to pick it up. It’s Seohoon.

“Hello.”

“Where are you?” Seohoon speaks, voice still as loud as ever.

With one hand in his pocket, he walks back to sit in the bus stop shelter. “Why?”

“I have a job for you.” Jungkook chuckles and leans back, finally getting to pull out a cigarette. It was always nonsense when he called, but Jungkook never understood why he still picked up.

“I told you I’m no—”

“Relax. I just want your help. Your muscle.” Jungkook cringes at the recurring metaphor. He’s not moved, and Seohoon can feel that in his silence. “I’ll pay you.” Jungkook slowly puffs out a string of smoke, finally feeling like he’s relaxing. He sinks into his seat.

“What’s the job?” He asks, not considering it yet.

“Most of my men are off on other jobs, and I need more.”Doesn’t answer the way he wants.

“What’s the job, Seohoon?” He asks more sternly. It all depends.

“Jungkook. What work do I do?” Seohoon chuckles. “Debt collection.” Jungkook knows that, but when it comes to Seohoon and the way he works, it’s a little more reckless than just debt collection. Anyone who worked in these ends worked recklessly. And even though Seohoon has his office in the ‘safer’ side of town, the man is still Uroboros born and bred. And it shows in the way he works.

“So what? You want me to jump some guy with you?”

“Right on the head, I knew you were smart.” Jungkook tunes out his voice. His thoughts are more important. “So are you coming or not?” Jungkook puffs out another string of smoke.

“How much are you gonna pay me?”

“100,000 ($68)” Jungkook scoffs.

“How much do you want?” Jungkook’s a money guy, and his friend is very aware of that. So it was ridiculous for him to suggest something so little.

“A million ($688)”

“Yah! you greedy bastard. 100 is me being generous. Seeing that you have nothing, you’ll need it.” It’s true. Even that amount of money would be a lot in his situation. But it wasn’t greed, it was his dignity.

“I’m not going for less than that.”

“I’m not giving 1 million for this. You think you’re Mike Tyson?” Jungkook chuckles at the hit. His friend knows his worth but yet calls him muscle, and he’s here asking him to help him.

“So what? You’re still going to be greedy?” Jungkook is quiet, and Seohoon panics. “You know what? Fuck you, I’ll give you the million.”

“Come to Fang house.”

Reader’s Pov.

The door creaks open, and you turn to see Lynn step inside, her face flushed from the cold. Her uniform is slightly disheveled, and she looks exhausted. “Why are you late?” you ask hastily, already halfway to the door before she arrived. It was getting late, and the tapping of raindrops on the roof had you worried.

Lynn hesitates, shifting on her feet. “Some kids at my school stole my bus card.”

You frown. “What? Did you tell your teacher?”

Her expression grows dull as she looks away. “She didn’t believe me.”

You knew that woman was too fake to be telling the truth. Her interaction was just a facade. But you’re just shocked she didn’t ask for money. “It’s okay,” you comfort her. “So how did you get here? Don’t tell me you walked.”

Lynn shakes her head quickly. “No, a kind man bought me a card.”

You stiffen. “Do you know him?”

She hesitates again. “N-no, but he was k-kind. He said his name’s Jungkook.” She smiles childishly at the memory.

You barely register the name. Your mind is already spiralling, thinking of what could have happened. The station is too close to Downtown 2, and at this time of night, it’s crawling with drunkards. You can’t shake the feeling that she’s not telling you everything.

Your voice drops, sharper now. "And you just took money from some random man?"

Lynn frowns. "He didn’t give me money—he just bought the card for me."

You let out a bitter laugh. "For free?"

She hesitates again, her fingers tightening around her sleeves.

You step forward, squatting in front of her. "Listen to me, Lynn. Kindness doesn’t mean anything in this world. No one just gives something for nothing. He could’ve wanted something from you. He could’ve followed you home. He could’ve—“

Lynn’s brows furrow, her voice turning stubborn. "No. But he was kind," she argues. You press your lips into a thin line. He may have helped her, but that doesn’t make him a good person.

You let out a sharp breath, frustration bubbling over. "Gosh, Lynn, don’t be so naive."

Her eyes start to fill with tears. "Stop yelling at me!"

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to calm yourself. This isn’t the time to argue. You need to go. "Get dressed. We have to go to the hospital. Just… don’t take money from him or any stranger again." You stand, massaging in between your brows.

As you watch her disappear into her room, a bitter thought settles in your mind: kindness is an illusion.

Jungkook’s Pov.

"He should be leaving the club any minute now."

A low hum of anticipation settles between them, thick in the air. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and gasoline. Clinging to the skin like a reminder of the world they live in. The kind of scent that clings to your clothes long after you’ve left. It never leaves.

"There he is."

Jungkook watches as Daehyun steps onto the sidewalk, just as expected. Jungkook can feel it—the pull in his chest, the tightness at the back of his throat, the itch under his skin. He didn't know much about who they were here to see, but Jungkook neither feels good nor bad about this. Seohoon's boys move in to grab him. They drag the man resisting into the alleyway.

The first hit is brutal. A sickening crunch echoes as Daehyun’s knee buckles, and he collapses with a strangled grunt. Jungkook watches, his body tensing and cringing at the sight. The action a familiar memory for him.

"Where’s my money, huh?"

Daehyun doesn’t answer. He can't, not when constant hits land all across his body. Daehyun's face flashes with fear, frustration, the knowledge that he’s trapped. Jungkook wonders if he looked the same. Scared and knowing there's nowhere to run. But that doesn’t matter.

They push him against the cold, unforgiving brick. The streetlight flickers overhead. It casts a weak, dying glow that barely reaches the corner, leaving most of the alley in darkness.

"You just won big, didn’t you? But you can’t pay me back?"

Another hit. This one lands in the ribs, Daehyun chokes on air, gasping as he fumbles through his pockets. "I—I have it. Look, I have your money—" Daehyun's words ring like the thunder in the sky.  Hard, cold drops of rain fall, but the men don't stop or falter. Nothing stops business in Jangsu.

His hands fumble, and then nothing. Empty pockets. "Where is it?"

Panic seeps into Daehyun’s voice. "Wait—my friend. I had him hold it for me. If you let me get it, I’ll—"

This was a common occurrence. Never trust anyone from the U-side. There's no such thing as friends on this side. You can't even trust your own blood.

A punch interrupts him, landing hard against his stomach. The air is knocked from his lungs, and his face turns red as he chokes on his breath.

"I want my money," Seohoon snaps. He knew his friend was crazy, but whatever look was in his eye right now is far from crazy. Psychotic.

Jungkook glances around, but the streets are empty of concern. Dead. No one ever comes here. No cops. No witnesses. It's a normal on this side.

"I have it," Daehyun repeats, his voice trembling. But there’s something in his eyes—fear, or maybe desperation. It makes Jungkook’s stomach twist in a way he can’t quite understand.

Seohoon sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. "No, you don’t. Do you think I’m stupid?" Another fist swings, and Daehyun’s head snaps back with a sickening crack, blood spraying against the brick wall. The sound reverberates, and for a moment, everything feels unreal.

Seohoon grins, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. His eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he watches Daehyun wheeze. Jungkook clenches his jaw, feeling the weight of the situation pressing against his ribs. The sickening part is how easily Daehyun’s skin splits. How quickly he breaks and bruises. Jungkook would advise him to go to the hospital for those, sleep it off won't do anything. If it wasn't for Rose taking him to the hospital, he'd slept it off, and probably slept forever. but that must be better than living here. In a world with nothing for him, he's got nothing to give or take from it.

"You think I’m stupid, huh?" Seohoon’s voice is mocking, but his eyes are cold, calculating. "Do I look like a stupid man?"

Daehyun spits blood, his smirk weak but defiant. "You’re all the same," he coughs. "Just a bunch of punks. You won’t kill me."

Seohoon laughs. "Shibal, listen to him. He’s at our mercy, and he’s still running his mouth."

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. Hands glued in his pockets. He tries his best not to look to long at the scene.

"I’m not paying you to just stand there."Seohoon steps closer, his breath heavy to Jungkook. His eyes gleaming with something darker. Jungkook isn't even sure if he wants to be here. He admit it, but he is uncomfortable. This life is uncomfortable. "He needs to remember what it’s like to owe me money. Gamblers like him? They don’t remember pain. They forget. So I have to remind them." His friend adds when he sees the look on Jungkook's face.

Seohoon pauses, grinning, enjoying the scene unfolding before him. "And, well... I guess it’s for my satisfaction too."

Jungkook’s fists tighten at his sides. His chest burns. His breath comes in slow, controlled waves, but inside, something cracks. "Come on," Seohoon says, his voice dropping low. "Hit him." Jungkook stays still.

Daehyun spits again. The blood lands on the ground with a sickening plop, and then, he smirks at Jungkook, a weak, defiant thing that hits Jungkook harder than anything else. "Cleaning toilets wasn’t enough, huh?"

Jungkook won't lie; his frustration from the bathroom interaction still lingers. And now it burns and fogs his mind. Seohoon chuckles irritating Jungkook even more. "Look at him. He’s still got the nerve to talk back." Jungkook steps forward, slow, deliberate. Mind gone. Just for today, just for now, he'll live the U-side life. Maybe it will ease his pride and burning anger. Maybe it's what he needs. His heart pounds in his chest, louder than any words. His eyes don’t leave Daehyun.

It's not like he's some good guy anyway. Daehyun is a scammer; he scams innocent people, who would never be involved with him if they knew. He's heard about all his endeavours.

So, on their behalf, Jungkook will do this for them. He's no hero, but it's good he's never wanted to be one. "I told you not to cross me, didn’t I?" Jungkook recounts his words.

Daehyun scoffs, wiping his lips with a trembling hand. "Fuck you. You’re nothing. You're a coward." The words cut deeper than they should. Jungkook’s fists clench. A knot tightens in his chest. He should walk away. The old part of him—the part that isn’t this—wants to walk away. But he’s already too far gone.

He exhales slowly, almost too calmly for what he's feeling. "Never denied it." The punch lands. Hard. Daehyun’s head snaps to the side, his lip splitting open, blood dripping down his chin. Jungkook doesn’t stop. Another punch. And then another. His knuckles clash against bone, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel the pain. It’s like a release—sudden, brutal, and unrelenting. A fire that has been living in him. And right now, it burns, everything it touches.

"That’s enough," Seohoon’s voice cuts through the haze of adrenaline. "I still need him alive to give me my money." Money? The thought was long gone in his mind.

Jungkook steps back, breathing hard, hands shaking. His chest burns with every breath, the old wounds throbbing. He sniffles and has he goes to wipe his nose, blood smudges against his skin. He feels the weight of it all—the bruises, the blood, the damage he’s done. The damage that’s been done to him.

He shakes. What the fuck is he doing? Why-why-why. He turns abruptly on his heel.

"Jeon, where are you going?" Seohoon calls after him. "Come get your money." The rain begins to quicken and so do Jungkook’s steps

Jungkook doesn’t answer. His steps are slow, deliberate, like he’s walking away from more than just a man in an alley. Fuck this. And fuck Seohoon. Fuck Jangsu.

--

The hospital walls felt suffocating, the sterile scent of antiseptic, which you were not used to, was thick in the air. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their cold glow doing little to warm you.

"What do you mean it’s not enough?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, tied to barely contained panic.

The doctor exhaled, flipping through his clipboard with that detached exhaustion only doctors seemed to master. "You said you had 100 million."

Your fingers dug into your arms, nails pressing against fabric. "I do."

"Well, her condition worsened while you were away, and we had to perform emergency surgery." His voice was professional. As if he wasn’t telling you that the person you couldn’t afford to lose is condition had worsened when you weren't around.

You blinked. "Emergency surgery?"

"She was in hypertensive crisis. The stress had already taken a toll on her body, but her kidneys… They were failing. The arteries leading to them had narrowed beyond what medication could help." His gaze flickered to you, analysing. "We didn’t have a choice."

Your body locked up. You felt cold, but your skin was burning. Your throat was closing up. "Did I consent to you doing that?" The words came out low, strained, as if they barely made it past your throat.

The doctor’s expression didn’t change. "Would you have preferred she died?" You skip a breath. Died? No. No, no, no....

"We did try to call you." You swallowed, throat tight. You weren’t there.

"How much is left?" Your voice barely holds.

His answer lands heavy on you. "200 million." Everything around you blurred. The walls, the sterile air, the muted voices in the hall. Your legs felt weak. Two hundred million. That number kept bouncing around in your skull, clashing against memories, against fear. How were you supposed to get that kind of money? You can't go back to your father; he'll treat you like everyone one else and request you to repay before he gives you any more money.

And even if you earn money from work, it will be too long 'til you have enough to pay the money. And by then you assume the hospital would have been fed up. "What am I going to do?" Your throat trembles. The question came out in a whisper, but the weight behind it was unbearable. Your chest felt like it was caving in.

"Y/N?" Your sister’s voice barely registers. You turn, and there she was. Small, fragile, brows furrowed in worry. "What’s wrong?"

You forced a smile. Lie. Keep it together. Don’t break. "N-nothing." Your fingers smoothed down her hair, but they trembled. "Go be with Mom."

"She’s sleeping," she mumbled, eyes darting between you and the doctor. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, shifting your gaze.

"She’ll be unconscious for a while," the doctor confirmed. You sigh. You hadn't entered the room yet because you wanted to pay and forget the bill. But it looks like you won't be forgetting.

Lynn tugged at your sleeve. "Y/N… I’m scared." You inhaled sharply, her words ringing in your head. You try to push down the panic, the anger, the suffocating helplessness.

"It’s okay." The lie burned your tongue. But you had to say it. "Go back to the room. I’ll call Yunji. She’ll be here for you."

She didn’t move. Her fingers held at your sleeve tighter. "Where are you going?" For a moment, your mask almost slipped. Where were you going? You didn’t know. You just knew you had to get out of here before the walls collapsed on you. Before the weight crushed you completely.

You forced a reassuring nod. "I’ll be back. I promise." Lynn studied your face, searching, as if she could tell you were lying. "Stay here. I’ll call Yunji."

She waved hesitantly. You forced yourself to wave back. Then, before she could say another word, you turned away. And walked.

Walked before your legs could give out. Before the panic clawing at your throat could spill out in ugly, desperate sobs. But it was coming. You could feel it. Because you had nothing. No money. No solution. And if you didn’t find one soon....Your mother wouldn’t make it.

The moonlight twinkled across the river, but they appeared blurred through your tears. The cold wind bit at your skin, seeping through your clothes, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness twisting inside you. Your fingers curled against the cold metal railing, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping you tied.

The bridge was peaceful; only a few people roamed it, but it was basically empty. It made it easier to stand at the edge.

You stood, thinking. Thoughts were not clear, but what you catch is your brain wondering what rest would be like. You stare down at the river. No. You can't; you would never.

You step back, but as you do, a voice speaks behind you. The voice cuts through the noise in your head.

“Excuse me.”

Your body jolts. You whip around, breath catching, muscles tensed like a cornered animal. You were frightened, it's close to midnight. The man standing behind you was calm- too calm. His presence didn’t belong here, not in this moment, not in your life.

Your voice came out sharp. “No, I’m not going to kill myself.” you assume that's why he's approaching you. And you don't blame him, it's what you'd think too. The man chuckled, unshaken, like he had expected your reaction. That only made your pulse spike harder.

“Y/L/N Y/N?”

Your stomach twisted. How did he- ? Your hands clench into fists, nails digging into your palms as you straightened. “Who are you?” A pause. Then, suspicion bled into your voice. “Are you some loan shark? O-or did my father send you?”

The man tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “I’m neither, Ms. Y/L/N.” The way he said your name, smooth and deliberate, made your skin prickle. Like he had studied you. Like he knew more than he should.

You exhaled sharply, trying to steady your racing heart. “Then what do you want?”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His expression didn’t shift, but something about him felt… off. Too composed, too in control. Like he already knew how this conversation would go. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Would you like to play a game?”

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A/n: Any positive, ask, comment and reblog is appreciated.