Y/N POV
The sky was already dark when I got off the bus.
The wind bit against my cheeks, dry and cold, as if the city itself wanted to keep me outside. My legs felt heavier than ever, my body aching from head to toe. Each step toward home was a struggle—every joint ached, my ribs stung with every breath, and my arms felt bruised to the bone. But the physical pain wasn't the worst part.
It was knowing where I was headed.
That place... wasn't a home. It never was.
I trudged up the slope toward the worn-down apartment block where my so-called family lived. The broken light above the entrance flickered like it always did. No matter how many times it was fixed, it always died again. Just like me.
I pushed open the door. The rusty hinges creaked.
The stink of alcohol hit me before I even stepped inside.
He was home.
And he was drunk.
"Yaaah!" A voice barked from inside. Slurred. Aggressive. "Is that you, you useless piece of sh*t?"
I didn't answer.
There was no point.
I slipped my shoes off quietly and stepped into the living room. The light above flickered once before staying dim, like it couldn't decide if I deserved illumination.
He was slumped on the couch, legs spread wide, a nearly empty bottle of soju dangling from one hand. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, exposing his hairy chest and the ugly scars that lined his abdomen. A cigarette burned in an ashtray overflowing with butts.
"Come here!" he snapped, pointing at the ground near his feet.
I didn't say anything. Just did as I was told.
My body moved on its own.
His eyes were bloodshot. "Where's the money?" he growled.
I kept my voice even. "I told you. I got fired."
"Fired?" he snarled. "You useless bastard! You left this house in the morning and come back at night, and you didn't even get a f*cking job? What the hell were you doing? Jerking off in public? Partying with sluts?"
I stood there in silence.
"You think I'm joking?" he roared, suddenly pushing himself off the couch and charging at me.
Before I could move, his foot slammed into my chest. I stumbled back, hitting the corner of the coffee table before collapsing onto the floor.
Pain exploded in my back.
My breath caught in my throat.
"Don't just lie there!" he yelled and began kicking me, over and over again.
My ribs. My stomach. My thigh.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
There was no point.
His boot hit my face next, splitting the inside of my lip. I tasted blood.
"Answer me!" he bellowed. "What the f*ck were you doing all day?!"
"I was... looking for work," I said finally, my voice hoarse.
He grabbed a bottle and smashed it against the wall.
"Looking for work? Where? A f*cking circus?"
Another kick.
This one sent me rolling onto my side.
"I need money! I lost everything at the tables tonight, and I'm gonna win it back!"
I wiped blood from my mouth. "There's nothing I can give you."
"Oh, you'll give me something, alright," he muttered.
He stomped toward the kitchen. My head was spinning, but I could still hear the sound of drawers opening and closing, the clatter of utensils.
Then I saw it—he came back holding the baseball bat.
My heart slowed.
It wasn't the first time I'd seen that bat.
He didn't even give me a chance to speak.
The first blow landed across my shoulder.
The second—my back.
The third—I lost count.
I gritted my teeth and stayed still, protecting my head with my arms. My vision went blurry, but I didn't cry.
I would not give him that.
"You worthless dog! Leeching off my roof! Eating my food!"
He swung again.
And again.
"Go die, you bastard!"
I don't know how long it went on. Could've been five minutes. Could've been twenty. Time didn't matter when you were being torn apart.
Then, finally, the door opened.
My foster mother.
She stepped in, holding a plastic bag and a small bottle of soju.
"Oh, what now?" she groaned, already annoyed. "What did the brat do this time?"
"This bastard!" he shouted, panting. "He came home with nothing. Not even a single f*cking won!"
She scoffed and set the bottle on the table.
"Well, you're in luck. Kwang Hee sent money today."
My foster father paused.
"...How much?"
"Five hundred thousand won," she said, pulling a small envelope from her purse and tossing it on the couch.
He let the bat clatter to the floor and picked up the envelope with greedy fingers. "That's my son. That's my real f*cking son."
He grinned like a madman. "See, this is what a son should do. Sending money home without being asked."
I was still on the floor, breathing shallow.
Kwang Hee. Their biological son.
The golden boy.
The thief.
The criminal.
I knew exactly where that money came from.
He robbed people. Beat up old men. Mugged tourists.
But they never questioned him.
They loved him for the money he brought in.
"Unlike this trash," my foster father sneered, walking over to me again. He pressed his boot against my face. "Look at you. Can't even bring home a cup of ramen."
I stayed silent.
"You think we need you? We've got Kwang Hee. He sends money. What the hell do you give us?"
I stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
"You know what?" he said, backing away toward the kitchen again. "If you come back here without money again, I'll carve open your gut and sell your f*cking organs."
He grabbed the kitchen knife from the counter and held it up, waving it like a trophy.
"I'll start with your kidneys! Bet I could get at least 2 million won for 'em!"
"Just ignore him," my foster mother muttered, lighting a cigarette. "Waste of oxygen. Come, drink instead."
My foster father laughed and dropped the knife back onto the counter. "You're right. Why bother?"
I pushed myself up slowly, shaking.
My arms trembled.
My legs were barely stable.
I didn't look at them. Didn't say a word.
I just walked past them, head down, and stepped outside the door.
The hallway was quiet.
No one cared.
No one ever did.
I stood there for a moment.
The silence outside was louder than the screaming inside.
I took out Sam's business card from my pocket and stared at it.
CLUB 9 – Itaewon District
Sam Choi
Security / VIP Relations
Contact: 010-xxxx-xxxx
I stared at the name.
It felt like poison in my hand.
But what choice did I have?
A roof over my head came with blood.
Food came with humiliation.
And staying meant death.
My fingers trembled as I put the card back in my pocket.
I took a deep breath and stepped out into the night.
I didn't know where I was going.
But anywhere...
Anywhere had to be better than home.
The cold wind brushed against my face as I stepped out of the house, but it wasn't cold enough to calm the fire boiling in my chest. The front door slammed behind me. I didn't look back.
My body ached like hell—ribs sore from the kicks, face still stinging from his shoes, and my pride? That didn't exist anymore. Maybe it never did.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, fingers brushing against the stiff edge of the business card Sam had given me. It scraped against my skin like a reminder.
"Call me when you're ready. We could use someone like you."
I didn't want to be "used" by anyone. But what choice did I have?
My steps carried me toward Itaewon. I didn't even realize I'd made the decision until my feet were already moving in that direction. I needed to see it for myself—to know what I might be getting into. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe it was suicide. But when the only thing waiting for you at home is a drunk foster father with a baseball bat and a kitchen knife, even hell looks better in comparison.
As I walked, the streets around me blurred. Bright neon signs, cars speeding past, laughter spilling from bars. All of it felt distant, like I was floating through someone else's world.
In my chest, the anger was still simmering. Anger at the system, at my life, at myself for still breathing.
Why am I still here? Why am I still fighting to survive in a world that doesn't want me?
I clenched my jaw and shoved the thoughts down. Now wasn't the time to fall apart.
Then—screams.
A woman's voice—sharp, terrified—cut through the air like a knife.
I froze.
The voice came from an alley up ahead. My instincts told me to ignore it. Just walk away. It's not your business. Getting involved only brings pain—something I'd learned over and over again.
But I looked.
And I saw them.
A group of men—five, maybe six—surrounding two young women. They were closing in, like wolves circling prey. One of the men had his back turned, but even from behind, I recognized him.
Kwang Hee.
My foster parents' precious biological son. The golden boy. The one who sent money every month that they worshipped like it came from God Himself. Money earned from mugging strangers, running errands for gangsters, probably selling drugs on the side too.
I should've walked away.
I told myself to.
I took one step back.
But then—my eyes caught something familiar. One of the girls. Her long black hair shimmered under the dim streetlight. Her face—half-hidden in fear—was unmistakable.
Karina.
My body moved before my mind could stop it.
"HEY!" I shouted.
My voice echoed louder than I intended, bouncing off the alley walls like thunder.
All heads turned.
The men looked confused. Kwang Hee turned fully to face me. His eyes narrowed as he tried to recognize me.
But my eyes were locked on hers.
Karina.
It was her.
She looked shocked—frozen in place, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
My blood boiled. The fire I'd been carrying inside me all day erupted like gasoline meeting a spark.
This was different now.
This wasn't just some girl.
This was her.
The girl who had bowed in thanks after I defended her at the store.
The girl who, despite being famous, looked me in the eyes like I mattered.
The girl who made me hesitate when I usually wouldn't.
Kwang Hee took a step forward, recognizing me now. "Oii... You again?" he said, voice laced with amusement. "Still alive, huh?"
I clenched my fists, keeping my distance. "Let them go."
He laughed. "You know these girls?"
"I said let them go."
One of his friends stepped beside him. "And if we don't?"
"I'll make you."
The alley went quiet.
Even the girls stopped breathing.
Kwang Hee's grin dropped for a second. He looked at me like I'd just grown a second head. "You must've hit your head or something. You think you can talk to me like that?"
"You think just because you're their 'real' son, they'll save your ass again?" I stepped forward now, slowly. "Go ahead. Try me."
My voice didn't shake. My hands didn't tremble. For once—I wasn't afraid. Maybe it was the beating I took earlier. Maybe it was the years of silence I swallowed. Maybe I just didn't care anymore.
Karina was still watching me, holding the other girl—Winter—close. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Her eyes were saying everything.
Please... help us.
And I would.
Because for once in my life... someone needed me.
Kwang Hee's smirk widened. "You're crazy, you know that?"
I didn't respond.
He gestured to his gang, five other guys standing around him, laughing, drunk on soju and arrogance.
"You are alone," he said, "We have six people ready to beat you up.. You think you strong enough to fight us?"
I stepped forward slowly, my footsteps echoing on the pavement. My eyes didn't blink. I didn't flinch.
"You talk too much Kwang hee," I said flatly. "We will see who stronger."
That wiped the smirk off his face.
Two of them moved first. The others stood back, forming a loose circle. They thought it would be easy. They didn't know me. They didn't know what I'd been through—what I was.
The first one swung a wide right hook at my jaw.
I ducked clean under it, stepped inside his range, and drove my knee into his gut so hard he collapsed instantly with a choked gasp.
Before his body hit the ground, the second guy came charging in with a haymaker.
I turned, caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted it sideways until I heard the pop of strain, and slammed my fist into his cheekbone. He crumpled, blood spurting from his nose, landing next to his friend.
The laughter stopped.
I was in the center now. Surrounded.
But Karina and Winter were no longer being held.
I turned slightly and shouted over my shoulder, eyes still on the next guy lining up.
"GO!" I barked. "Run!"
Karina hesitated. "But—"
"GO!" I roared, not taking my eyes off the guy in front of me.
That snapped them out of it. I saw them grab each other's hands and run down the alley, out toward the main road.
Kwang Hee made a motion like he was about to chase them, but I shifted my body just enough to block the path.
His jaw clenched, but he didn't move.
Two more came at me.
One had a bottle in his hand, raised like a weapon.
I stepped in as he swung, caught his wrist, and slammed my palm into his elbow joint—snapping it backward with a wet crack. He screamed and dropped the bottle, clutching his arm.
The other guy of the group tried to grab me from behind.
Bad move.
I dropped low, grabbed his ankle, and twisted hard, sending him spinning off balance. As he hit the ground, I drove my heel into his ribs.
Four down.
Only one left standing.
And Kwang Hee.
He hadn't moved an inch the entire time. Just stood there, watching with wide eyes, face pale under the streetlamp.
The fifth guy—his last standing friend—looked around and realized what had just happened. His confidence evaporated.
He bolted. No words. Just turned and sprinted down the alley, past Karina and Winter's escape path.
Coward.
That left Kwang Hee. Alone. Trembling slightly now, though he was doing his best to hide it.
I walked up to him slowly.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he crossed his arms and forced a laugh. "You think you're tough, huh? Just 'cause you know a few MMA moves from high school?"
I didn't respond.
"You're nothing," he spat. "You're still the same worthless loser you've always been. You think just because you can throw a punch, you matter now?"
I kept walking.
He backed up a little.
"You live in our house, eat our food, breathe our air—and you act like you're the victim? You don't even belong in our family!"
Still, I said nothing.
"You'll never be one of us!" he screamed. "Even if you save a hundred girls, even if you fight the whole damn world—you'll always be nothing!"
I stopped, just a step in front of him now.
My fist clenched.
Every word he said stung like acid poured on old wounds. Words I'd heard before. Too many times. But this time... I wasn't swallowing them.
I raised my fist slowly.
His eyes widened. He took a step back.
But I didn't throw it.
I just looked him in the eye.
And spoke.
"Maybe I am nothing. Maybe my life is meaningless."
He froze.
"But at least I live it as myself," I said softly. "I don't lie. I don't steal. And I sure as hell don't make other people suffer for it."
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
I dropped my hand.
"You don't scare me anymore, Kwang Hee."
And with that, I turned my back on him.
He stood there stunned as I walked past the five groaning bodies on the pavement. Past the shattered glass. Past the blood smeared on my knuckles.
As I reached the mouth of the alley, his voice rang out behind me.
"You think this is over?!" he shouted. "I'll tell Appa what you did! He's gonna kill you, you hear me?! You're DEAD when you come home! DEAD!"
I didn't look back.
I just kept walking.
Because for the first time in years...
...I didn't care.
————————-
KARINA POV
"RUN!"
His voice snapped me out of my trance.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to stay. I didn't want to leave him alone.
But the way he looked at me... there was fire in his eyes. Not fear. Just fierce determination.
Winter grabbed my wrist, tugging. "Unnie, come on!"
I hesitated—one last look at him standing in front of those men, protecting us—and then my legs finally moved.
We ran. Down the alley. Past the blinking neon signs and shuttered convenience stores. My heart was pounding, my breath uneven. Not from the sprint... but from the fear of what we left behind.
The bus stop came into view just ahead.
And as if fate was mocking us... the last bus of the night pulled away, right as we reached the curb.
"No..." Winter breathed out, hands on her knees. "No, no, no—"
The taillights faded into the distance.
"We missed it," I whispered.
Winter turned to me, her face pale. "Unnie... that was the last bus."
"I know," I replied, trying to keep calm even though my heart was racing.
"We're stuck here," she said, panic rising in her voice. "It's already past midnight. There's no taxis. No people. What if... what if someone else comes along like those guys?"
Her voice trembled at the end.
I looked around. She was right. The streets were quiet—too quiet. Most of the shops were closed. Even the traffic had died down. The wind had picked up, and the dark sky above us felt heavier now, pressing down on our shoulders.
Winter clutched her arms tightly. "Unnie... what do we do now?"
I exhaled, pulling her into a side hug to comfort her. "It's okay. We're okay now. We'll figure something out."
But inside, I was shaking.
Not just from the fear of being stranded.
But from guilt.
He told us to run.
He stayed behind.
And now I had no idea if he was even still standing.
My chest clenched at the thought.
Should I call the police? Should we go back?
"Unnie," Winter said again, softly this time, like she was reading my thoughts. "That guy... he saved us. That was..."
"I know," I said, staring at the road. "That was him."
Winter's brows furrowed. "Should we call the police?"
My fingers were already pulling out my phone when she said that—but I froze mid-action.
"Wait..." she said quickly, reaching out to stop me. "Unnie, think carefully."
I looked at her. Her face was full of concern—but there was something else too. Hesitation.
"We're idols," she said gently. "If this gets out... what if it becomes a scandal? 'aespa caught in back alley attack'? You know how people twist things."
I didn't respond.
She added, "And what about him? What if he gets in trouble too? He fought all of them alone."
I gritted my teeth. "So what, we just leave him there?!"
"No," she said quickly. "Of course not! But... maybe we don't involve the police just yet."
I lowered my hand slowly.
"Then what do we do?" I asked.
Winter hesitated for a second before her eyes lit up. "Let's call our manager."
My heart skipped a beat.
"The manager?"
She nodded. "Just ask him to come get us. We don't have to tell him everything. Just say we were out and missed the bus. Once he comes, maybe we can drive around and check the area, or..."
I didn't wait for her to finish.
I scrolled through my contacts, found our manager's number, and hit call.
He picked up after two rings.
"Karina? What's going on?" His voice was sharp with worry.
I forced my tone to stay light. "Oppa, sorry... we were out walking a bit to get fresh air. Lost track of time. We missed the last bus."
A pause.
"You're where?"
"Near the last bus stop from the alley next to that old bakery... remember that spot from before?"
There was silence for a beat.
"Wait there. Don't move. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Okay. We're fine. Just... don't worry, okay?"
"I'm already worried," he muttered, before hanging up.
I put my phone down.
Winter gave me a small nod. "That's the best call."
We sat on the cold bench. The silence settled between us like a heavy fog.
I stared at my hands in my lap. They were still shaking slightly. Not from fear now—but from the image of him stepping in front of us. The way he stood between us and those monsters like a wall.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't even know who we really were.
He just acted.
Winter broke the silence. "Unnie... I'm sorry."
I looked at her, confused. "Why are you apologizing?"
She gave a sheepish smile. "Because I agreed to follow you on this wild idea. And now look at us..."
"No," I said quickly. "Don't say that. This is all on me. I dragged you into this."
Winter shook her head. "I wanted to find him too. You're not alone in that."
I smiled faintly.
Then her tone grew quieter.
"Do you think he's okay?"
I didn't answer right away.
"I don't know..." I whispered. "I hope so."
My mind played back the sound of fists, shouts, breaking bones. I could still hear his voice shouting at us to run. I could still see the way he stood tall, even when surrounded.
"I feel like we owe him everything," I added softly.
Winter nodded.
Another pause.
Then—footsteps.
Quick ones.
We both froze, whipping our heads toward the sound coming from behind the bus station.
My heart stopped.
"Hey!"
A voice.
Familiar.
"What are you two still doing here?" he asked, stepping out from the shadows. "Why didn't you leave yet?"
Winter stood up so fast the bench creaked.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was him.
His shirt was ripped, stained with dust and maybe a bit of blood. There was a cut on his cheek. His knuckles were bruised. But he stood tall. His eyes were sharp. His voice steady.
Alive.
"You're..." I started, but my voice failed me.
He gave a small frown. "You should've gotten on that bus."
"We missed it," Winter answered quickly. "It just left."
He looked between the two of us, then sighed.
"I told you to run," he said quietly. "Not to wait around and get stranded."
"You're bleeding," I blurted, taking a step forward.
He glanced at his hand like he just noticed.
"It's fine."
"No, it's not fine!" I snapped, emotions finally pouring out. "You could've been killed!"
"But I wasn't," he replied calmly.
"You didn't have to save us," I said, voice cracking slightly.
He looked me in the eye. "I did."
Something about the way he said that—like it wasn't a choice—made my chest ache.
Winter looked between us and quietly stepped back, giving us space.
I swallowed. "Are you... okay?"
He nodded once. "They ran. I doubt they'll come back tonight."
"Did they... hurt you?"
"I've had worse."
I looked down, fists clenched. "I'm sorry."
He blinked. "For what?"
"For dragging you into this. For... being reckless."
He tilted his head. "You didn't drag me into anything. I was already there."
Silence again.
Just as I thought he was going to disappear completely behind the station, I found my voice.
"Wait."
He paused mid-step.
"You saved us... again," I said softly. "That's twice now."
He turned back to face me. His face still had that calm, guarded look. But there was something warmer in his eyes now. A flicker of something gentle.
"But we don't even know your name," I added. "What is your name?"
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then, slowly, he stepped out of the shadows. A small smile tugged at the corner of his bruised lip.
"You've been wondering since that night, haven't you?"
I blinked. He noticed?
He walked closer—just enough so we weren't yelling across the bus stop. The dim light from the street lamp made the cut on his cheek more visible, but his eyes never wavered.
"My name's Y/N," he said simply, reaching out his hand. "Nice to meet you... properly."
I stared at his hand for a second before reaching out with mine and shaking it gently.
"I'm Ji-min," I said softly.
His smile widened.
"Didn't need you to tell me that," he said with a quiet laugh. "I already know who you are... Karina."
I laughed softly too, pulling my hand back.
There was a strange warmth in my chest. Like I'd been waiting to hear his name this whole time and didn't even realize it.
We stood there for a beat, in silence.
Then—a flash of headlights turned the corner.
The manager's car.
I gasped, realizing he'd see Y/N, and things could get complicated.
Without thinking, I reached into my jacket, grabbed a pen, then quickly stepped toward Y/N. He looked surprised as I grabbed his hand.
"Wait, what are you—"
"Hold still," I said, scribbling quickly across his palm.
He looked down at his hand, seeing a phone number written in blue ink.
My number.
I looked up at him, then brought my hand to my ear and mouthed, Call me.
His eyes widened slightly.
"You sure?" he asked.
I nodded. "Just... don't disappear again."
He didn't answer—but he smiled. A real one, this time.
Then, just as the car slowed in front of us, he took a few quick steps back and disappeared behind the bus station wall again, slipping into the shadows.
The car door opened, and our manager rushed out.
"Where the hell were you two?!"
Winter and I quickly stepped toward him, giving excuses.
But my mind wasn't really there.
My eyes kept drifting to the back of the station.
And my hand clenched lightly, remembering the feeling of his rough, warm skin against mine.
Y/N.
Now I knew his name.
And somehow... that made everything feel different.