Y/N POV
The air outside was colder than you remembered.
Not winter cold — not the kind that nipped your fingers and made your breath visible — but a deep, aching kind of cold. The kind that seeped into your chest and stayed there. The kind that reminded you how alone you really were.
You walked in silence, hands shoved into your pockets, the weight of your final paycheck — barely enough to last three days — pressing against your thigh.
Gone. Another job. Another collapse.
You didn't walk fast. There was no point. You weren't rushing toward anything. Not a home. Not a future. Not even warmth. You just moved, letting the neon lights blur past you in streaks of pink, orange, and electric blue. People passed you, their lives intact, their eyes not even glancing in your direction.
It was better this way.
If they looked too long, they might see through you.
You passed a glass window — a bakery you couldn't afford. The reflection that stared back didn't look like you. He looked tired. Pale. Hollow. His eyes were two empty wells, sunken in and ringed with sleepless nights. His expression unreadable.
You didn't recognize him anymore.
Not really.
The apartment block loomed ahead like a skeleton — grey, cracked, lifeless. The elevator was broken. Always was. You climbed three floors, your legs already sore from standing all day. Every step reminded you that your body was failing too.
Third floor. Apartment 3B. The door was slightly open.
You stopped.
Listened.
Muffled voices. TV static. Laughter — not the good kind.
You pushed the door open and stepped in.
The smell hit you first. Rotting takeout, smoke, and cheap soju. You held your breath for a moment before exhaling slowly.
Your foster father sat on the couch, shirt half-buttoned, eyes bloodshot. He wasn't watching the TV — just staring at the wall, bottle in hand.
"Oi," he muttered without looking. "You finally decided to crawl back, huh?"
No greeting. No question if you ate. No concern. Just bitterness laced with alcohol.
You slipped off your shoes quietly.
From the kitchen, your foster mother emerged, blowing cigarette smoke to the side like some cheap drama character. She wore a stained floral blouse and her expression — as always — was carved from stone.
"You better have the money," she said flatly. "Landlord's been calling non-stop. Rent's overdue six months. He's threatening to call the cops."
You paused. Met her eyes just briefly.
"I got fired."
She scoffed. "Of course you did."
Your foster father blinked slowly, then stood up with a grunt. "What did you say?"
You repeated, "I got fired."
Something shifted in the air.
He slammed the bottle down on the coffee table so hard it tipped and rolled off the edge. Glass clinked. He stepped toward you, one slow, heavy step at a time.
"You good-for-nothing bastard," he hissed. "How many jobs is that now, huh? Five? Six? Always getting fired. You trying to piss me off?"
"I didn't do anything," you said calmly.
"Oh, you didn't?" His voice rose. "Then why are you standing there empty-handed? Huh?!"
You stayed silent.
That always made him angrier. But it was safer than arguing.
"You think this is your house?" he barked. "You think you can just come and go? Use our electricity, sleep under our roof, and contribute nothing?"
"I try."
Your voice was soft. Almost a whisper.
He didn't like that either.
Your foster mother crossed her arms. "We should've never taken you in. Ungrateful, cursed child. Look at what you've brought us. Misery. Debt. You're the reason this family is drowning."
You bit the inside of your cheek. Blood filled your mouth, metallic and sharp.
Your foster father moved again, but this time, he didn't go to you — he went behind the couch.
You already knew what he was reaching for.
The baseball bat.
It wasn't metal. Just old, chipped wood. But it was solid enough.
"I've had enough," he snarled. "This ends tonight."
You didn't run.
Didn't beg.
Didn't even flinch.
The first swing landed hard — across your left shoulder. Pain exploded through your bones, hot and nauseating.
You gritted your teeth.
Didn't scream.
The second hit struck your ribs. Your knees buckled. Still, you didn't fall.
"You're nothing," he spat, swinging again. "Nothing but a burden. A leech!"
Another hit. Lower back. Then your thigh. You collapsed finally — but quietly.
No sound escaped you.
"Yell, damn it!" he roared. "At least act like a man!"
You looked up, expression unreadable.
That dead look in your eyes — it scared him more than it should've.
Your foster mother stepped over, peering down at you with disgust.
"Just ignore him," she said to your foster father. "Waste of time. He doesn't even feel pain anymore. Probably wishes you'd kill him so he doesn't have to work."
Your foster father's grip tightened on the bat.
Then he smiled.
"Maybe I should. But there's a better idea."
He crouched beside you, his breath hot with alcohol.
"You don't pay the rent by this Sunday..." He tapped the bat against your temple. "I know a guy. Underground clinic. He pays top won for healthy organs. And you—" he grabbed your chin roughly, "—look healthy enough."
Your heart didn't even race.
You just... blinked.
He pushed your face away, stood up, and waved the bat in the air as if the conversation was over.
"Kidney. Liver. Eyes. One way or another, you'll pay your debt."
You rose slowly. Legs trembling. Shoulder burning. But you didn't say a word.
Didn't look at them again.
You walked past the coffee table. Past the overturned bottle. Past your mother's disinterested stare.
You opened the door to your room.
Small. Dark. Cold.
And safe — in the most twisted way.
You locked the door behind you. Sat on the thin mattress. The springs creaked beneath your weight. The air was musty. Your back throbbed. Your side was swelling. But you welcomed the pain.
Because it was real.
You lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling. The cracks above you looked like veins — a dying house with a bleeding heart.
Maybe just like you.
No one would save you. That much was clear.
But maybe... maybe that was a good thing.
Because people who got saved?
They still believed in the world.
You didn't.
And tonight, you stopped believing in yourself too.
——————————————————-
KARINA POV
The door to the dorm clicked shut behind her, but Karina didn't say anything. She quietly slipped off her shoes and placed the small envelope containing the unused VVIP ticket on the hallway table. Her shoulders sagged a little more than usual. She'd worn a mask and cap the whole way back, but even with the disguise, she felt strangely exposed. As if she were carrying something no one else could see.
"Oh—Karina unnie!" Ningning called from the living room, where the others were sprawled on the couch in their casual clothes. "You're back!"
Karina gave a small nod. "Yeah."
Winter looked up from her phone, eyes narrowing as she noticed the expression Karina was trying to hide. "Did you find him?"
Karina took a second longer than necessary to answer. "No. He's not working there anymore."
There was a pause.
"Really? Just like that?" Giselle sat up. "That sucks. We didn't even get to thank him properly."
Karina walked over slowly and sank into the armchair beside them. She didn't reach for the remote. Didn't check her phone. Just stared at the blank TV screen.
"I brought the ticket," she said softly. "Thought maybe I could just slip it to him, no big deal. But... he's gone."
"Maybe he switched shifts?" Ningning offered hopefully.
"I asked the cashier," Karina replied. "He was fired. This morning."
Everyone went quiet for a moment.
"That's... rough," Winter muttered. "Especially if it had anything to do with us."
Karina didn't answer. Her hands were curled tightly on her lap.
⸻
Giselle tried to lighten the mood. "Well, it's not like we know his name. Or number. Or even what he really looks like. How are we supposed to find someone with zero info?"
"Gangnam's not exactly a small town," Ningning added. "He could be anywhere."
Karina nodded faintly. "I know."
⸻
Later that night, after the others had disappeared into their rooms, Karina lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. The VVIP ticket sat on her desk across the room, the corner of the envelope peeking out from under her notebook. She hadn't put it away.
She didn't know why she couldn't stop thinking about him.
He hadn't even done much. He didn't smile. He barely talked. His face was unreadable, like a blank slate. And yet... something about him stayed in her mind.
Maybe it was because he didn't ask for anything in return.
Maybe because he looked at her like she was just a person, not an idol.
Or maybe because for a split second—when their eyes had met in that cramped storage room—she'd felt something real. Something raw. Like he wasn't just some stranger. Like he carried more pain than he let on.
She rolled over and shut her eyes tightly, as if she could squeeze the memory out of her mind. But it didn't go away.
⸻
A soft knock came at her door.
She sat up, surprised. "Yeah?"
The door creaked open slightly, and Winter peeked in. Her hair was messy from lying on her bed, but her eyes were sharp.
"You're awake," she said knowingly.
Karina blinked. "What do you want?"
Winter slipped inside and closed the door behind her. "You've been quiet since you got back. I figured you'd be upset."
Karina looked away. "I'm not."
Winter crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Right. That's why you've been lying in the dark for the past hour."
"I'm just tired."
"No, you're thinking about him."
Karina frowned. "Don't start, Minjeong."
Winter smirked and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not judging. Just... observing."
There was a pause.
"...Fine," Karina muttered. "Maybe I am thinking about him. So what?"
Winter's expression softened. "Why?"
Karina let out a breath. "I don't know. I shouldn't care this much. I don't even know his name. But... he helped us. Protected us, in a way. And now he's lost his job because of it."
Winter stayed silent.
Karina's voice dropped to a whisper. "I feel guilty. I keep thinking I should've done something earlier. Said thank you right away. Offered help. Anything. But I didn't."
"You couldn't have known."
"Still." Karina bit her lip. "I hate this feeling. Like I let something important slip through my fingers."
Winter leaned back slightly, watching her. "Or maybe... you just don't like not knowing."
Karina narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Winter grinned. "You've always been the one in control, unnie. Always composed. Always prepared. But this guy? He left an impression you can't shake. That's new for you."
"I don't like him," Karina snapped, maybe a little too quickly.
"I didn't say you did."
There was a long silence. Karina's shoulders slowly dropped.
"...Okay. Maybe I'm curious. Maybe I want to know who he is. Maybe... I want to make sure he's okay."
Winter leaned in, teasing. "So you do like him."
Karina groaned and threw a pillow at her. "Shut up."
Winter laughed, catching it easily. "Alright, alright. I won't tease anymore. But listen—if you really want to find him... maybe we still can."
Karina glanced at her. "How?"
"You said he mentioned he lives somewhere nearby, right? Around this area?"
Karina nodded slowly. "Yeah. He said he's from somewhere around this district."
"So let's go look."
Karina blinked. "You're serious?"
"Why not?" Winter shrugged. "Tomorrow night, after our schedule. We've got the evening off, and it's not like we'll be mobbed if we dress down. We can walk around, grab snacks, and just... see."
Karina hesitated.
"It's a long shot," she said quietly.
Winter smiled. "Sometimes the long shots are worth it."
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet, dimly lit by the small lamp on Karina's desk. Outside the window, the lights of the city blinked softly like distant stars.
"...Okay," Karina finally said. "Let's try."
Winter nodded. "Cool. It's a plan then."
She stood up and stretched. "Now sleep. You're going to need energy for idol duty and a mini manhunt."
Karina rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips now.
As Winter left and gently closed the door behind her, Karina lay back down on her bed.
Her heart was still uneasy, but it didn't feel quite as heavy anymore.
She didn't know what she'd find tomorrow night.
But she wanted to try.
She had to.
—————————————-
Y/N POV
You woke up before the sun had fully risen.
Pain greeted you first — a dull, pulsing ache that wrapped around your ribs and echoed through your spine. Your body felt like a collapsed building, every brick of bone and muscle cracked from the weight of last night. For a second, you just laid there, your back against the worn-out mattress, eyes unfocused as the ceiling above you blurred in and out of clarity.
Then, slowly, you turned your head.
The room was silent. The only sound came from the faint ticking of the old wall clock and your own breathing — shallow, steady, restrained. You didn't wince. You didn't groan. That would have been too human.
You sat up, teeth clenched as the muscles in your torso screamed. Your t-shirt clung to your skin, soaked in dried sweat and blood that had clotted somewhere under your shoulder blade. You didn't bother checking it.
With quiet, measured steps, you got off the bed and walked towards the mirror beside your closet. It was cracked on one corner, but enough of it remained to reflect what you were used to seeing.
Bruises. So many bruises.
Large, discolored patches of blue, purple, and yellow covered your chest and sides, trailing down to your abdomen. You lifted your shirt, examining them. One mark near your ribs looked particularly bad — probably where the bat hit hardest. There were older scars too — reminders of past beatings that never fully faded.
You just stared at yourself.
There was no anger in your eyes. No frustration. Just the same dead expression — empty, cold, and unreadable.
You exhaled through your nose and turned on the faucet, splashing your face with cold water. It stung where your lip was split. You didn't flinch.
You didn't have the time to feel anything.
⸻
After changing into a clean — but still old and faded — shirt and jeans, you stepped out of your room. Your shoes made no sound on the dusty floor. You moved like a ghost, careful not to draw attention, even though you knew you'd be noticed anyway.
Your foster father was still passed out on the couch, one arm dangling to the floor, the other loosely gripping an empty bottle of soju. His snores filled the room, mixing with the sour stench of alcohol that clung to the air like fog.
Your foster mother was already awake.
She was sitting at the small table near the kitchen, a cigarette between her fingers and a bottle of soju in front of her — breakfast, apparently. Her eyes, dark and lined from years of bitterness, flicked toward you as you entered the room. She said nothing.
You stood there for a second, and she raised one hand lazily, waving you toward the door like you were a stray dog in her house.
Your fingers curled slightly, but you said nothing.
No good morning. No complaint. No explanation.
Just silence.
You stepped out and closed the door behind you.
⸻
The streets were already alive when you reached the main road.
Even in the cooler seasons, Seoul never really slept. People passed you by in waves — students with backpacks, office workers in pressed suits, old ladies carrying bags of vegetables from the morning market. Life went on.
You walked in the opposite direction.
You didn't have a plan. Not really. But you knew what you needed to do.
Find work. Any work. Fast.
The pamphlets posted on windows and notice boards were your first target. You checked each one carefully — dishwashing, delivery, warehouse helper, parking assistant.
You tore off a few tabs with contact numbers and made your way to the closest one.
⸻
"Sorry, we're not hiring anymore."
That was the first rejection. The man barely looked up from his phone before waving you away.
You bowed slightly and left.
⸻
"We're looking for someone with more experience, sorry."
The woman at the second place didn't even wait for your response before turning back to her customer.
⸻
The third shop's owner actually came outside when he saw you looking at the 'HELP WANTED' sign.
"Hey! Don't touch that — the position's already filled!"
You hadn't touched it. You hadn't even stepped inside yet.
⸻
You kept walking.
Your reflection in the store windows told you why.
Hair unkempt. Eyelids swollen from lack of sleep. Clothes slightly wrinkled from constant use. A bruised lip that you hadn't bothered to hide.
You looked like trouble. Like someone who wouldn't last a week.
By the time the fifth place turned you down, it was already past noon. You hadn't eaten. Your stomach twisted with hunger, but you ignored it. Hunger was normal. Hunger meant you were still alive.
You sat on a bench for a few minutes, letting the sun hit your face. You could feel sweat starting to build on your neck and back.
You didn't wipe it.
Just one more place, you told yourself.
One more try.
You kept walking.
⸻
The last shop was a small bakery. The sign on the door said "Kitchen Assistant Wanted — Full Time."
You stepped inside.
It was warm, smelled like fresh bread. A woman was behind the counter. She looked up, paused for a moment, then gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Yes?"
"I saw the sign outside," you said. "Is the position still open?"
She looked you up and down, her eyes lingering on your clothes, your lip, your eyes.
Then she shook her head.
"Sorry, we just filled it this morning."
You nodded once.
No questions. No argument.
You turned and left.
⸻
The sky was starting to darken now — orange bleeding into the edges of clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement.
You were about to head home when you saw him.
At first, you thought maybe you were imagining it. That your mind was playing tricks on you.
But no — it was him.
Sam.
Same hair, same posture. Slightly more polished than back in school, wearing a branded jacket and sunglasses even though the sun was nearly gone.
You slowed down immediately, instinctively turning your body away to avoid eye contact. You didn't want this. Not today. Not ever.
But you were too late.
"Oi! Y/N! Is that you?"
You didn't respond. Just kept walking.
"Yah! I said is that you?"
You sighed and turned around.
Sam jogged up to you with a wide grin, pulling down his shades.
"Aish, I knew it. Look at you, man. Damn — you look exactly the same. Still got that zombie face, huh?"
You didn't smile. Just stared.
He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still not much of a talker. You always were the mysterious one, huh? How long's it been... five years?"
You didn't correct him.
Sam glanced around, then pointed at the pamplet in your hand.
"Looking for work?"
You nodded once.
He let out a low whistle. "Tough times, huh?"
You didn't answer.
Sam looked you over again. "You know, I actually might be able to help. My dad runs a few places around Itaewon — clubs and stuff. I'm working at one of 'em now. They're looking for new bouncers."
You raised an eyebrow.
"You remember back in school, right?" he continued. "You were into MMA, weren't you? I remember you were tough as hell."
You didn't deny it.
Sam stepped closer. "Look, the job's not glamorous, but the pay's decent. Plus, you get free food. Just stand around, look scary, keep the drunk idiots from causing trouble."
You remained silent.
"But hey, I get it," he said. "It's not for everyone. The scene can be a little... wild. But if you change your mind..."
He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to you.
You stared at it for a second before taking it — barely — with two fingers. Slid it into your pocket.
Sam grinned. "That's the spirit. Just give me a call. I'll hook you up."
You didn't say thank you.
You just turned and walked away.
He watched you go, then muttered under his breath with a smirk, "Kid like you... you'll come around. I know it."
—————————————-
KARINA POV
The sun had barely risen over Seoul, but the dorm was already buzzing. The girls of aespa were preparing for a long day ahead — schedules stacked from morning till night, and no time to breathe in between.
Karina sat quietly on the couch, sipping her lukewarm coffee, staring at the floor like it was going to offer her answers. She hadn't slept well. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory of the convenience store flashed in her mind — the way he stood there, quiet but solid. The way he helped them, not because he had to, but because he chose to.
Winter walked past, yawning, her hair a messy bun of chaos. She paused, noticing how still Karina was.
"You good, unnie?" she asked, stretching her arms overhead.
Karina blinked slowly. "Yeah. Just tired."
"Hmm." Winter didn't push, but she'd known Karina too long to believe that answer.
⸻
The day went by in a blur of sweat and rehearsals.
Vocal practice in the morning.
Dance practice until noon.
A photoshoot under the hot lights of a crowded studio.
A quick meal — if energy bars and vitamin drinks could count as one.
Then another two hours of choreo corrections with their dance coach, who was unusually strict that day.
Karina tried to focus. She really did. But her mind kept drifting. Her body moved on autopilot, steps perfectly memorized, but her heart wasn't in it. Every time she had a moment to rest, she found herself wondering — Was he okay? Did he get in trouble? Was he still working at that store?
She hadn't even gotten his name. No contact. No photo. Nothing.
By the time the sun began to set, the girls slumped into their company van, half-asleep, muscles aching.
Winter sat beside Karina, glancing at her with narrowed eyes. "You've been zoning out all day."
"I'm just tired," Karina replied, voice low.
Winter leaned in slightly, whispering, "Is this about that guy from the convenience store?"
Karina didn't reply. She looked out the window, the neon lights of Gangnam slowly flickering on as the city transitioned from day to night. The silence between them lingered for a beat too long.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Winter teased softly.
Karina finally sighed. "I just... I feel like we owe him something. And I hate not knowing if he's okay. That's all."
Winter smirked. "You like him."
Karina rolled her eyes, but her ears turned red.
"Unnie, I'm your bestie. Don't even try to lie to me."
"It's not like that," Karina mumbled. "I just feel guilty. And curious. He felt... different. Like... he's been through something."
Winter nodded slowly. "Well, if you're still thinking about it, why don't we try to find him tonight?"
Karina turned to her, surprised. "Tonight?"
"You said he mentioned the store was somewhere near here, right? Maybe if we walk around the area... we might run into him."
Karina hesitated. "Gangnam's huge. What are the chances?"
"Zero, if we just sit here and do nothing," Winter said firmly. "Come on. Let's just try."
Karina's lips tugged into a faint smile. "Alright. Let's try."
⸻
Back at the dorm, the girls freshened up quickly. They didn't want anyone — not even their main manager — to know where they were going. Just in case.
Karina wore a black hoodie, cap pulled low, and a mask that hid most of her face. Winter matched her style, looking more like a rebellious student than a global idol.
As they reached the door, Ningning shuffled out of her room, rubbing her eyes.
"Eh? You guys going somewhere?" she mumbled.
"Just to the convenience store," Winter lied smoothly.
Ningning narrowed her eyes. "Dressed like you're robbing a bank?"
Karina gave a short laugh. "We're just... trying to stay low-key. You know how sasaengs are."
Ningning shrugged. "Don't get kidnapped."
"Thanks," Winter muttered, dragging Karina out the door before she could say more.
They took public transport, hopping on a subway toward the area near the store. The city pulsed with life around them — lights, noise, crowds. It was nearly 10PM, but Gangnam never really slept.
They started walking from the convenience store, peeking into every small alley, café, and corner shop. They even asked one or two store owners indirectly if they'd seen a tall guy working nearby, but no one recognized the vague descriptions they gave.
An hour passed. Then two.
Karina's legs were starting to ache, but she didn't say anything. Her eyes kept scanning the streets like she was searching for a ghost.
Winter finally pulled her to a stop. "Unnie. We've been walking in circles. I don't think he's here."
Karina bit her lip. "Maybe we're too late..."
They stood in silence for a while, the night now darker, the streets quieter.
"We should head back," Winter said, checking her phone. "It's almost midnight."
Karina nodded, though she felt a heavy weight of disappointment settle in her chest.
⸻
The nearest bus stop was a block away — but the only path there led through a narrow alleyway where a group of men were gathered, drinking and smoking.
Winter froze when she saw them. "Let's not go that way."
Karina hesitated. "The other way's closed for construction. That's the only route."
"We could wait until they leave?"
"They don't look like they're going anywhere," Karina muttered. "Just... don't make eye contact. We'll walk fast."
Winter nodded, but her grip on Karina's arm tightened.
They stepped into the alley.
It didn't take long. The moment the group of men saw two girls walking alone at night, they stood up — smirking, already drunk.
"Hey, hey~ where you going, pretty girls?"
Karina lowered her head, pushing forward. "Don't stop. Just keep walking," she whispered.
But the men moved fast — surrounding them, blocking their path.
"Don't be shy. Join us for a drink," one of them said, holding out a bottle of soju.
Winter clutched Karina's sleeve, fear in her wide eyes.
"Please," Karina said, voice firm but polite. "We don't want trouble. Just let us through. If it's money you want—"
"We don't want your money," the tallest one laughed. "We just want company."
Another reached out, trying to touch Karina's arm. She pulled back immediately.
"Back off!" Winter shouted, her voice trembling.
The laughter only grew louder.
Two girls. No one around. No escape.
Karina stepped in front of Winter, heart pounding. "Take the money. Just leave us alone."
"Money's easy to find," one of them sneered. "But two pretty girls walking alone like this? That's rare."
Winter looked like she was going to cry. Karina's mind raced. There was no way out. No one coming.
Somebody help us...
Her heart screamed the words, but no sound came out.
And then—
"HEY!"
A voice. Loud. Angry. Cutting through the night.
All the men turned their heads toward the street. So did Karina.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Eyes cold. Jaw clenched. Shoulders broad. And looking like a storm about to break loose.
There — standing under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp —
was him.