DFR - 1

The beauty salons around the red-light district tend to do better business than those in other neighborhoods. Word had spread that the hairstylists here were skilled because women working the night shift often stopped by for services.

“Moran Beauty Salon,” where Cha-eon worked, was no exception to this trend.

On rainy days, the salon became even busier. For some strange reason, customers flocked to this neighborhood whenever it rained.

“This neighborhood” referred to the collection of businesses surrounding the many entertainment venues—beauty salons, motels, clothing stores, tailors, bathhouses, and restaurants—all forming a bustling commercial area. Cha-eon happened to work at Moran Beauty Salon, located in one of the prime spots in this district.

Grandma Seong-ho, who ran a soup restaurant across the street until two years ago, called it fate. No matter how hard you try to escape, there are things you just can’t get away from. She would often say, almost like a mantra, “People should live according to their station in life.”

Maybe that’s why it felt like this place had an invisible thread pulling her back whenever she tried to leave. Even when she thought she’d escaped, she found herself dragged back here again.

When she crossed this threshold to attend a university she never thought she’d go to, or when she got caught up in campus romances and dating buzz...

All of that turned out to be fleeting. Like following a predetermined path, she always ended up back here.

When night fell, business began, and when the sun rose, the day ended. At Moran Beauty Salon, time flowed differently compared to other neighborhood salons. That was because their operating hours aligned with the busiest times for customers.

“Cha-eon is supposed to close up, but where has she gone off to again?”

“I’m here.”

Cha-eon walked into the salon, brushing rainwater off her collar. While she had stepped out to settle overdue bills with the neighboring restaurant, Yeong-rim had been calling for her impatiently.

“If you have the energy to wander around, clean the floor.”

“If that’s what you want, stop letting debts pile up. It’s not like it’s been just one or two days. Dealing with all of this is such a hassle.”

“You’re nothing like your sister, Su-ji. Su-ji was really kind.”

“Sorry for being such a disappointment, but I need 30,000 won for that tab.”

“What do you mean? I settled the bill exactly.”

Yeong-rim, the owner of Moran Beauty Salon, threw down the broom she was holding and stormed out into the rain.

Cha-eon knew well enough. She and Su-ji were different. Even though Yeong-rim’s words sounded harsh, Cha-eon knew there was no malice behind them. In fact, Yeong-rim was the only person who had extended a helping hand when both Cha-eon and Su-ji were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Her mother had given birth to Su-ji at nineteen. As for their father? She didn’t know who he was. Her mother acted as if he had never existed in the first place, erasing him completely from their lives. That was how they lived.

Still, Cha-eon could guess. Maybe it was curiosity-driven passion, or perhaps a feverish love too overwhelming for someone so young. Either way, whoever he was, he clearly wasn’t capable of handling the responsibility of raising Su-ji and herself.

Thinking about it this way helped her understand, at least to some extent, why she was even here in the first place.

After splitting with her father, her mother started a new relationship and had another daughter, a half-sister. But that sister died before turning three—that much she heard. To be honest, Cha-eon barely remembered her; everything she knew came from Su-ji. She also learned later that after her sister’s death, insurance money came through, and then her mother disappeared.

If Yeong-rim hadn’t allowed Su-ji and her to work at Moran Beauty Salon, Cha-eon might have ended up frequenting the red-light district just to scrape together enough money to survive.

“Cha-eon, wash my hair for me. Did you change the shampoo? I liked the old one better. This one smells too strong, don’t you think?”

“They say it contains high levels of mint, so it keeps your scalp cooler longer. Trust me, good stuff is good stuff. Just use it.”

“There’s no way Yeong-rim would switch to an expensive shampoo.”

“I washed my hair with it too, and the cooling effect lasted a long time. The scent grows on you. Want to smell it?”

“All right, I trust you more than Yeong-rim anyway.”

“I’d like to change it too, but you know I don’t have the power here. Orders are orders.”

Cha-eon smiled faintly as she washed the hair of Ae-ran, a regular customer at Moran Beauty Salon and a well-known woman from a nearby massage parlor.

Though it was called a massage parlor, it was essentially a front for quasi-prostitution. All the signs in this neighborhood were like that: men’s massage shops, massage rooms, chat rooms, cafes—all set up nicely, but ultimately places where unsavory activities took place.

The nights in this neighborhood seemed especially long. That was what made it bearable, and also unbearable.

“They said the rainy season was ending, but it doesn’t look like it.”

Yeong-rim must have finally struck a deal because she marched back into the salon, brushing rainwater off her collar.

As Yeong-rim stared at the pouring rain, she muttered curiously, “Funny, I haven’t seen Kim Seok-won today.”

“He’ll probably show up soon, throwing a tantrum as usual. With his temper, does he ever wait quietly?”

Ae-ran shuddered in irritation. Kim Seok-won was one of the local gangsters who ran a massage parlor. He mostly escorted women to get dolled up or monitored and controlled the women working at the shop.

He kept tabs on whether they were meeting clients privately, which could hurt the shop’s business, or if women tied down by debt were trying to run away. These dirty jobs were part of the routine.

Now that Ae-ran mentioned it, Seok-won, who usually loitered outside the beauty salon keeping an eye on things, was nowhere to be seen today.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going to escape to? Even if you leave this place, it’s all a pointless dream. You won’t find anything better out there. Don’t think you can catch some rich guy and change your fate like those other girls. Wake up. If you stay with me, that’s the best life you’ll get. Being born and raised in this neighborhood, isn’t that already the best fate you could hope for? What else do you expect?”

This was something Seok-won had said while pawing at her skirt. Technically, she had grown up in this neighborhood, though she wasn’t born here. But correcting him seemed pointless. Even if she did, it wouldn’t make a difference—he wouldn’t understand anyway, and it would only leave her exhausted.

She knew better than anyone that leaving this place wouldn’t make her life any better. Who didn’t know that? She understood it all too well. After living like this for so long, what good outcome could she possibly expect? But still, she didn’t want to stand by Seok-won’s side, living like a lifeless doll without feelings.

In Seok-won’s absence, another man strode confidently into the salon and gave Ae-ran a disapproving look.

“Hey, come out. Manager Yoon is looking for you.”

“I haven’t even finished my hair yet. Send someone else today.”

“Are you washing hair or jerking off? I told him as much, knowing your stubbornness, but Manager Yoon insists it has to be you.”

“Fine, I’m coming. Just wait a bit.”

In the end, Ae-ran reluctantly smoothed her wavy hair and slipped on her shoes.

“Cha-eon, do you have time tomorrow? Let’s have lunch and go shopping. I have something to tell you. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call you. By the way, you look nice in that outfit today.”

Ae-ran, unlike many others, wasn’t shackled by debt and enjoyed relative freedom. She could eat lunch, go shopping whenever she wanted—things that were far from normal in this neighborhood, where countless women had their freedom stripped away due to debt.

As soon as Ae-ran left the salon, a group of women from nearby bars poured in. It was peak hour, the busiest time of day, and the salon was swamped.

Though Cha-eon was just a part-timer helping with odd jobs and assisting the other stylists, Yeong-rim was a highly skilled professional. Perhaps that was why this tough neighborhood salon managed to attract so many customers and maintain its foothold for so long.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Cha-eon finally washed her hands, which reeked of chemicals. The rain continued to pour relentlessly.

“Not leaving yet?”

As Cha-eon sipped her lukewarm coffee, watching the raindrops trickle down the glass window, Yeong-rim approached, holding a broom tangled with cut strands of hair.

“I will.”

“How about we grab some late-night food before heading home? What do you guys think?”

“Hell yeah. But Cha-eon probably won’t come.”

“Does she have a man hidden at home? She always disappears during moments like these. Aren’t you coming?”

Cha-eon set down her coffee cup and picked up the umbrella she had placed aside. The other women cleaning up exchanged knowing glances at her decisive response.

“Next time. I have plans with Ae-ran tomorrow. You all heard earlier, right? It’s true.”

“Such deep friendship. Are you sure you’re not secretly living with a man and running a household?”

“If that happens, I’ll be the first to let you know.”

“You crazy girl. Guess you’re still not interested in settling down, huh?”

Leaving behind the laughter of the women at Moran Beauty Salon, Cha-eon stepped out of the shop and headed toward the alley. This narrow neighborhood was lined with illegal establishments and entertainment venues, filled with motels. And at the far end stood a small studio apartment.

Until recently, Cha-eon had been living in one of those motels, but she had finally managed to rent a small room of her own.

As soon as night fell, the moans of men and women from both sides of the walls would echo through the motel. There was Mr. Kim, who would stumble out into the hallway after drinking, shouting at the top of his lungs. In the winter, mold would grow on the wallpaper, forcing her to clean it every day. Nothing about that motel was ever right. It had taken a full ten years to finally escape that place.

Tonight, however, the only sound was the soft patter of rain. The alley was unusually quiet.

Cha-eon placed her folded umbrella by the entrance and reached for the door lock. The keypad lit up as she touched it. The floor was a mess, wet with rainwater—though, in this old villa without an elevator, visitors were rare. Yet, strangely, the floor was soaked. Something felt off, different from usual.

She should have turned back before opening the door. Trouble always struck at the most unexpected times and places.

The moment Cha-eon opened the door, she understood why she’d been feeling uneasy. Her body froze before she could even think to retreat.

“...”

Through the gap in the doorway, a damp, suffocating stench invaded her nostrils. Mixed with the smell of rain, it carried an intense odor that sent chills down her spine—a nauseating scent, reminiscent of the metallic tang of fresh blood she’d once smelled at the butcher’s shop across the street. Alongside it was the thick haze of cigarette smoke, mingled with a faint, icy trace of cologne. A sharp, unmistakable male presence.

Cha-eon clamped her hand over her mouth as nausea overwhelmed her. The room fell silent again after a brief moment of chaos.

Collapsed against the table, clutching his blood-soaked abdomen, was Seok-won—Kim Seok-won.

The man who had kicked open her door more than once, insisting they live together. When she refused, he slapped her and dragged her to the massage parlor he ran. He swore he’d make her beg for him, force her to choose him willingly. She’d run barefoot only to be dragged back half-naked countless times, each time earning another slap across the face.

“Ch-Cha-eon… please, help me…”

Her feet moved toward him despite herself. Though she should have backed away, she couldn’t ignore his desperate plea.

“Kim Seok…”

The men in black shirts blocking Seok-won stared at her. Their expressions betrayed no surprise or discomfort, as if they had anticipated her arrival.

Cha-eon realized immediately: she was the intruder here.

“You’re late.”

The words came from a man perched casually on the edge of her cheap mattress, one leg crossed over the other. Among the group crowded into the small room, he alone appeared composed. His cuffs were neatly fastened, his shirt immaculate as he smoked a cigarette. He looked up at her with an unreadable gaze.

“Why so surprised? Are you his lover?”

He gestured toward Seok-won with a flick of his chin.

“…”

Her lips were sealed shut, unable to form a single word. For some reason, her eyes drifted to the smoking man. His dark, emotionless pupils reflected no disturbance, no ripple of feeling.

“This is getting boring. Am I supposed to just sit here waiting for answers?”

Fear gripped her. She had lived thinking death wouldn’t matter, but now her body trembled uncontrollably, and hiccups escaped her throat.

The man watched silently as Cha-eon covered her mouth, trying to suppress the hiccups. He simply inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

Calm down. You’ve seen worse, endured worse. Even times so miserable that death seemed preferable. With that thought, Cha-eon steadied herself and shook her head slightly. Somehow, it made the situation bearable.

“So, are you sleeping with him?”

“He’s just a guy from the neighborhood. We know each other.”

“I see.”

The man crushed his cigarette onto the floor, grinding it under his shoe, then wiped his hands absently with a cloth—her handkerchief, left on the desk. Every motion flowed seamlessly, as though breaking into someone’s home and behaving rudely was second nature to him.

One of the men grabbed Seok-won by the scruff of his neck and yanked him upright.

“Cha-eon, save me! Please, Cha-eon!”

Duct tape was slapped over Seok-won’s mouth before he began to take a brutal beating. Already bleeding heavily from deep wounds in his side, his body convulsed under the blows.

Cha-eon stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. The sounds of violence mixed with Seok-won’s groans filled the air. Soon, his unconscious form slumped forward, his hair matted with blood.

An eerie silence settled over the room.

“You made me ask twice.”

The man’s voice, low and chillingly cold, cut through the stillness. It was devoid of emotion, like the monotone hum of machinery.

Only belatedly did Cha-eon realize the question was directed at her. What had he asked again?

Was she Seok-won’s lover? How absurd. But faced with a dying Seok-won, she lacked the courage to snap back.

Did she want to cling to life, pathetic as it was? Or did she simply not wish to die so miserably? She didn’t know her own heart.

The man continued to study her, his black eyes glinting with something sinister. There was a menacing aura about him—the kind exuded by those who kill for a living. She instinctively knew that many lives had ended at his hands.

“What are you staring at?”

“…”

“Deaf?”

He smirked, a humorless smile that revealed no teeth. He had been watching her intently, gauging her emotions.

“Oh, this is your house, huh? Sorry, sorry.”

His mocking apology hung in the air, dripping with insincerity. Cha-eon frowned at the unsettling disparity between his words and demeanor.

Behind him, Seok-won lay motionless, eyes closed. If anyone deserved an apology, it wasn’t her.

The man pulled out a phone from his back pocket. Even as he listened to the voice on the other end, his gaze never left her. His eyes remained ambiguous, unreadable.

Throughout the call, he uttered not a single response. It was strange, but Cha-eon didn’t care. Her hiccups persisted, leaving her stomach aching.

Glancing briefly at Seok-won’s battered form near the table, she wondered what fate awaited him. As if reading her thoughts, the man ended his call and rose to his feet.

A wave of cologne washed over her—the same scent she’d noticed when she first entered the room.

“Let’s wrap this up. The girl’s trembling.”

“What should we do with this guy, Boss?”

“What do you mean, ‘what should we do’? Clean him up.”

The man’s voice was flat, almost chilling in its calmness. Seok-won’s limp body was hoisted like a sack of goods and carried out. Cha-eon watched as he was dragged away, his life uncertain, unable to muster the courage to intervene.

When she had been dragged before strange men by Seok-won’s hand, her first instinct had been to strangle him on the spot.

But that was only a fleeting thought, something imagined but never acted upon. She hadn’t wanted to be complicit in such violence—she lacked the resolve to follow through, anyway.

“Ah, here. Take it.”

The man handed her his bloodstained handkerchief. Before she could catch it, it fell to the floor. As he turned to leave, seemingly indifferent, Cha-eon impulsively grabbed the hem of his shirt, unable to let go even as his gaze shifted sharply to her.

“Is... is that man dead?”

“Do you want to check for yourself?”

When Cha-eon remained silent, the man sighed faintly, his eyes fixed on hers. With an air of annoyance, he scratched his brow.

“Si-baek. Go get another one from the packaging.”

“N-no...”

“She wants to see. Show her.”

His kindness was laced with mockery.

“No.”

Tears welled up in her eyes without warning. It was strange. After Su-ji’s death, Seok-won had become unbearable. She hated how he looked down on her after she was left alone. She hated her miserable situation, his condescending advice to “make do,” his slaps when she refused to love him, and the way he dragged her to sell her body when she rejected his marriage proposal.

She despised him. Yet, witnessing his brutal end left an indelible shock.

“But why did you… do this to Kim Seok-won?”

“What good will knowing do?”

“...It happened in my house.”

What else could she do? Even asking felt like putting her life on the line.

“If I tell you, can you handle it? Will you carve him a coffin or something?”

The man gestured toward her hand, still clutching his shirt. Realizing what he meant, Cha-eon let go and immediately covered her mouth. The metallic stench of blood surged back into her throat, making her gag.

“You can’t even handle it, yet you ask so many questions.”

“Um, excuse me...”

There were so many things she wanted to ask, but forming words felt like an impossible task.

“But hey.”

The man furrowed his brow slightly, as if he’d been waiting to broach the subject.

“The color scheme feels a bit tacky, doesn’t it?”

He critiqued her cheap taste.

At first, Cha-eon didn’t understand what he meant. His serious expression made it hard to believe he was joking. But when she followed his gaze to her skirt, she realized what he was referring to.

“Huh?”

His cold eyes mocked her silently. He wrinkled his nose, wiped his middle finger with another handkerchief pulled from his pocket, and glanced at her crumpled one on the floor. She stared blankly at it before looking up.

With an air of indifference, he stuffed his own handkerchief into the pocket of her blouse, leaving it dangling like a makeshift accessory. Deal with it yourself, his gesture seemed to say.

“I’m not... that kind of person.”

It wasn’t something she should have said to someone who exuded such arrogance. She knew the danger she was in—his blade could easily turn on her—but the words slipped out anyway.

The man chuckled soundlessly.

“Sure, got it. Noted.”

His tone dripped with sarcasm, a clear sneer.

“My apologies.”

As if mocking her trembling fear, he gave her a fleeting smirk before turning and walking away.

Her vision blurred. Still reeling from the tension, she clutched the bookshelf for support when another figure suddenly entered her field of view. A tattoo snaked across the back of his hand, marking him as one of the men who had stood opposite Seok-won earlier, knife in hand.

“You’d better keep your mouth shut. You’re struggling with student loans, aren’t you? Better hold onto this place.”

His warning was polite yet menacing. He flicked open a lighter, playing with the flame—a silent threat she understood all too well.

After one last, serpentine glance, he left without another word. That silence terrified her.

Only then did Cha-eon inhale deeply, the lingering scent of blood rushing into her throat. Clutching her mouth, she bolted for the toilet.

Though her stomach was empty, waves of nausea wracked her body. Trembling, she grabbed a rag and scrubbed the bloodstains off the floor. Even after they disappeared, she continued rubbing until her palms blistered.

Seok-won’s soaked hair, limp and drenched in blood, remained vivid in her mind like a photograph frozen in time.

Why had Seok-won died? Without knowing the reason, she had become an accomplice to murder.

Staring at the cigarette-scorched floorboards, Cha-eon shoved the rag into the trash. She picked up her own cheap handkerchief from the floor and tossed it in as well. Only after clearing every trace of evidence did she finally catch her breath.

And yet, the smell of blood lingered.

It wasn’t the first time she’d encountered it. She’d seen battered men dragged out of motel rooms in this neighborhood countless times, some never returning. Violence was something she had grown accustomed to—it was part of her upbringing, her survival.

But the scene in this room, the suffocating stench, was different. It clawed at her mind, leaving her dizzy.

Was it because she knew him? Or was it something else?

Sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, Cha-eon hugged herself tightly, imagining the cigarette smoke still lingering amidst the metallic tang of blood.

“Haa, ha.”

Her breathing quickened. Memories she’d tried to suppress resurfaced, overwhelming her. Her body collapsed limply onto the floor.

Don’t think about it. Covering her eyes with her hand, she took several deep breaths to steady herself. Then, almost unconsciously, she turned her head toward the door.

Outside, Ae-ran’s voice grew louder as she approached, chatting on the phone. Footsteps echoed up the stairs, followed by silence. The familiar sound of a window opening drifted through the poorly insulated walls.

The thought of accidentally running into Ae-ran sent shivers down Cha-eon’s spine.

The crime belonged to those men, but the guilt weighed solely on her shoulders.