PMN - 1

Prologue

“Hey, Song-ah! More fish cakes over here!”

“I’m coming.”

Chewing on English words that refused to stick in her memory, Song-ah scooped up a generous portion of fish cake and carried it to a customer’s table.

The diner felt like it was bustling with customers 25 hours a day. The endless stream of regulars meant the place was never quiet. For nearly half of her shift, she was bent over, working non-stop. In the dining hall, they urged her to move faster, quicker, more efficiently, almost like a horse being whipped to keep running without rest.

“The soybean paste soup goes to table 2!”

“I already took it to table 2.”

“Then hurry up and get it to table 5! What are you doing?!”

She hadn’t even caught her breath for a full minute before being called again. By late afternoon, she had already carried out steaming hot soup dozens of times. If she had known it would be this bad, she would have found a different place to work. With every table needing a full set of side dishes, her entire day was spent carrying plates back and forth.

Only after the customers started trickling out could she finally catch her breath. Even then, taking a short moment to breathe felt like something she had to be wary of. Social life was tough for everyone, but for her, it felt especially relentless. But she had no time to complain, and there was no one to listen even if she did. All she could do was move as instructed. She picked up the pile of trash and carried it outside.

As she placed the designated trash bag in its usual spot and turned her head, a familiar silhouette came into view.

A towering figure, likely around 195 cm tall, with broad shoulders—there was no mistaking who it was, even from a distance. The shape of the man gradually became clearer in the dim light. He was smoking a cigarette in the darkness.

Song-ah stood frozen, unable to even brush off the dirt from her hands, staring at the man who was looking right at her. How long had he been waiting? If he wanted, he wouldn’t hesitate to drag her out of the diner or even a wedding hall without a second thought. His intense, predatory gaze had always cornered her, making her uneasy. The raw, almost feral aura he exuded held a kind of sensuality that felt overwhelming, almost too much to handle.

“What? Do I look sexy?”

“…….”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Hurry up and finish up so we can eat, pretty.”

“I’m not hungry. Go ahead and eat by yourself.”

“Your face is my side dish. Just sit with me. I won’t make you eat.”

“Then come inside and eat.”

“Sure. But hurry up. I’m starving.”

“…….”

“If I start groping while eating, you’ll throw a fit again. Who was the one crying last time, whining about how they’d get fired?”

Ha.

With a small sigh, Song-ah turned and disappeared into the diner.

Watching her retreat, Jong-seop chuckled to himself.

“Even her little tantrums match her pretty face.”

A burst of laughter escaped through his cigarette-laden breath.

Jong-seop casually ran a hand down his crotch as he smoked. Watching her enter, her chest subtly bouncing with each step, made the cigarette suddenly lose its taste. People often talked about his dick being abnormally large, and he knew it. Between those breasts, it would be perfectly nestled, her lips wrapping around the tip.

She never outright rejected his advances, but she was slow to let him in.

Even though she had met his gaze, she pretended not to notice and walked away, her retreating figure unexpectedly cute.

Crushing the cigarette butt under his boot, Jong-seop immediately pulled out another and placed it between his lips. His mouth felt dry, his throat parched.

A thirst he wasn’t used to.

1. Vertex

Four months ago. 

If the flower language of cherry blossoms were midterms, then early winter would be the season of the college entrance exam. 

It was a certain Friday, with the college entrance exam just around the corner and winter looming not far behind, when I met that man. 

The pitch-black darkness had swallowed the sky like a beast, and the air was already cold enough to sting my nose after a long walk. My cheeks still chilled, I entered Yoon Hyung-woo’s office without even trying to warm them up. 

”In the Challet.” 

A fancy name for what was essentially an adult entertainment venue. 

“This is an establishment off-limits to minors.” 

“I know that.” 

“Let her in. She’s the big boss’s granddaughter.” 

At the guard’s words, recognizing Song-ah’s face, the man who had been blocking her path stepped aside, clearing the way. 

On the first floor was a bar, but if you descended the stairs leading to the basement, an illegal gambling den unfolded in the building located in Nonhyeon-dong. Hidden under the dark night, it was a place frequented by high-ranking members of society, as well as police and prosecutors alike, all indulging in pleasure. The illegal gambling den was deeply entangled with organized crime syndicates, making it difficult for the police to intervene. 

Pushing past the men bowing their heads in front of Yoon Hyung-woo, I entered his office. 

Hyung-woo, smoking a cigarette, gave me a look that said, What brings you here? but didn’t hang up his phone call. 

“Yes, of course. How could we have known? Lately, our supply has been running low…” 

It seemed the person on the other end abruptly hung up, because Hyung-woo slammed his phone down and extinguished his cigarette with irritation. 

“Damn young punk doesn’t know respect or decency. Doesn’t know how to bow to his elders. Son of a bitch.” 

“It’s true; lately, we’ve been struggling to collect money from Shinwoo’s side too.” 

“Try squeezing them quietly. If we can’t keep Moon-sung’s guys happy, neither you nor I will be able to do business peacefully. They’re already eyeing us greedily. Damn, it’s getting harder and harder to run a business around here. All because they claim it’s their territory.” 

Even though he clearly knew I was there, Hyung-woo continued to grind his teeth and curse at some unknown man without pause. After receiving his orders, the man who had brought stacks of cash disappeared into the basement connected to the office. Each round of gambling involved stakes so high I couldn’t even begin to guess. In an instant, hundreds of millions—or even billions—could change hands. The stench of dirty money filled the air. A familiar smell. 

“How’s school?” 

It wasn’t something I wanted to bring up with Hyung-woo. I’d tried to handle things on my own for as long as possible, but my homeroom teacher had warned me that if I didn’t bring a guardian, I might face expulsion without any recourse. The school had apparently called multiple times, but Hyung-woo hadn’t picked up. The threat of expulsion alone didn’t scare me, but it felt unfair to face consequences for something that wasn’t my fault. That’s why I came here, but now that I was about to speak, my throat tightened painfully. 

“School? What about it?” 

“I got into a bit of trouble with someone.” 

“Damn it. You don’t have much time left to attend school anyway. Why are they calling me over this nonsense? Can’t you just stay quiet for once?” 

“That’s right. Wonder who I take after. It’s not easy.” 

I’d come here reluctantly, tears in my eyes, but now that I’d started talking, the words flowed easily. My hostility toward Hyung-woo seemed to manifest as rebellion. He’d probably sneer at such childish defiance, but still. 

“You’ve been quieter lately, and I thought maybe you’d finally settled down, but damn, you really can’t stand to see me live in peace, can you?” 

“What’s the big deal? Just pay them off, and it’ll be fine.” 

“Do you even know how much money flows under me? How can you say that so casually?” 

“I think I deserve it by now. Besides, this time it was self-defense, Grandpa.” 

“I told you not to call me ‘Grandpa.’ Brat.” 

He tries so hard to act young. Then again, it’s not every day you see a 56-year-old with a 19-year-old granddaughter. Most people assume Hyung-woo and I are father and daughter—it’s more natural that way. Biologically, though, that’s not the case. 

“The one who caused the mess was your son, so why are you blaming me?” 

“If you don’t fix that attitude of yours, you’ll get hurt. Behave yourself until graduation, then go get married.” 

Of course, he’s planning to marry me off to some guy useful for his business. That sly old fox. 

I thought about it: someday, I’d shove his beloved money down his throat and watch him choke to death. Thanks to him, all I’ve learned is how to stab people in the back without getting caught and how to fatten my wallet. Not exactly appropriate lessons for a 19-year-old. 

“Watch out, Grandpa. This year’s your unlucky year. You might die crushed under all that money you love so much.” 

“If only you’d stop causing trouble, I’d be fine.” 

Staying any longer wouldn’t lead to anything good. As I turned to leave, the area outside the door grew noisy. The door opened, and a man walked in—a man wearing a burgundy shirt. 

Whether for better or worse, he immediately drew attention. Something about him stood out. My instincts told me he wasn’t ordinary. 

I instinctively guessed he was the man Hyung-woo had been cursing out earlier. 

“You called me just a little while ago, but how did you suddenly…” 

Hyung-woo’s shocked reaction confirmed my suspicion. 

After all that cursing, Hyung-woo now fawned over the man, approaching him with a grotesque smile. 

Is this his type? Memories of the men Hyung-woo had dated flooded my mind. Quickly, I recalled the faces of the young men who had come and gone from our house. Hyung-woo preferred delicate, slender types with no muscle to speak of. 

But the man standing before me now was unlike anyone I’d ever seen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing in every way. My experience with men was limited to those I’d grown up with in elementary, middle, and high school, but even so, my judgment was quick. 

This man was different.

Yoon Hyung-woo, who had never once bowed his head to the police, was now groveling before someone else. It was the first time I realized he could be so servile in front of another person for the sake of maintaining his business. 

He fawned over the man who managed this territory, practically ready to kiss his ass if it meant keeping things running smoothly. The expression “ass-kissing,” which my only friend Chul-woo often used, suddenly felt more vivid than ever. 

In a world full of hardened men stained by their years in this underworld, the man standing tall with broad shoulders stood out as anything but ordinary. Even his burgundy shirt, stretched taut across his flat stomach like a hanger, seemed far from average. Paired with tailored suit pants, every detail about him exuded an air of meticulousness. 

His tattoos extended up his neck, though they weren’t fully visible—just enough to spark curiosity. Was it a phoenix? Or perhaps some kind of bird of prey? Whatever it was, one thing was certain: this man wasn’t involved in any run-of-the-mill business. His mere presence here confirmed that much. 

“Why don’t you think carefully before mouthing off and risking dentures earlier than expected, old man?” 

Though his demeanor radiated raw savagery, there was something oddly refined about him. His sharp features were perfectly proportioned within a small face, as though crafted by divine hands. For a brief moment, I forgot to blink, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his appearance. 

I wasn’t naive or inexperienced enough to let my heart race purely because of his looks. Still, I couldn’t deny that he drew my gaze. It felt like encountering something entirely new, something I’d never seen before—a sensation akin to shock. 

A few strands of hair fell loosely over his high, straight nose, adding to the allure. His prominent nose bridge, meticulously shaped eyebrows, flawless skin free of blemishes—even cleaner than mine—and piercing eyes framed by bold, tattooed lines created an image both polished and audacious. He embodied contradictions yet somehow harmonized them flawlessly, making it impossible not to stare. 

“Old man. If even one counterfeit bill is found among your goods, you’ll end up wearing diapers.” 

Lost in thought, I accidentally locked eyes with him. Given how blatantly I’d been staring, it would’ve been strange if he hadn’t noticed. 

“Pretty girl, what are you looking at?” 

He blinked slowly, and only then did I realize he was speaking to me. 

At that moment, an instinctive realization struck me. 

This man... he’s the one who can bring down Yoon Hyung-woo. My heart raced. 

Even if Hyung-woo brandished a knife, this man wouldn’t flinch. He could kill Hyung-woo. A primal sense surged through me, electrifying every nerve and piercing my heart. 

My spine tingled. Joy overshadowed fear, clouding my vision and penetrating deep into my brain. It was as if a bullet had lodged itself in the deepest part of my heart, spilling endless streams of red blood coursing through my veins. Despite the fleeting shock akin to being shot, I finally felt alive—just imagining it made my pulse quicken. 

Nineteen years old, drowning in the muck of life, this single ray of light felt like an irresistible temptation. A fierce desire exploded within me like fireworks, urging me to leap in no matter the cost. 

“If we’d been caught smuggling counterfeit bills, we’d know exactly what happens. Since we started handling distribution ourselves, not a single fake has slipped through our hands. This is the truth.” 

I grew up watching Yoon Hyung-woo expand his illegal empire, building floors upon floors. He wasn’t just skilled at navigating life—he was the type who, had he lived in older times, would’ve cozied up to royalty and enjoyed a long, prosperous life. That wasn’t just my speculation; it was what a fortune-teller once said. 

Chul-woo dragged me along one day, claiming we were going to get our fortunes read for fun. But when the fortune-teller abruptly asked about the rest of my life, even I was surprised. After all, I was still in school uniform, barely an adult. 

The fortune-teller explained that while Hyung-woo himself might live a long life, his descendants were cursed. Crushed under the weight of his karma, none of his offspring could thrive. They suffered short lives, entangled in misfortune like tangled threads, unable to rise above their circumstances. The best course of action, she advised, was to distance ourselves physically—it would benefit us both. 

She assured me that without that old man around, I wouldn’t need to worry about longevity. Then, she took the pocket money Hyung-woo had given me as her fee. 

But the fortune-teller was wrong. 

I hadn’t asked about my lifespan because I wanted to live longer. I simply wondered when this meaningless existence would finally come to an end. How long would I have to endure each suffocating day? When would I finally catch a breath? Would college change things? No—the ties of blood, like the string of fate, could only be severed by death. As long as we lived, we remained bound by blood. 

“Make sure your guys behave themselves and don’t screw up. Your golden years should be comfortable. You’ll want to leave somewhere with good memories, right? You love that kind of stuff.” 

For the first time, I saw Yoon Hyung-woo silently endure insults, trembling with suppressed rage. So, he was capable of patience after all. Strangely, it pleased me. An indescribable thrill coursed through my body, shaking me to the core. Yoon Hyung-woo had a weakness. 

“What are you staring at? Have you fallen for me too?” 

“...Not a chance.” 

This man was far from ordinary. He was utterly insane—but solidly so. If he wanted, he could end Yoon Hyung-woo. 

“Dealing with old folks gives me such a headache. They make you repeat yourself over and over. I won’t say it again, so do the math right, old man. Take care of your own mess.” 

After Kim Jong-seop and his gang left, the office quickly grew noisy again. I stood stupidly where he had been, replaying the fleeting euphoria I’d felt earlier while watching Hyung-woo count his money. 

“Damn bastard. When I leave this line of work, I’m killing him.” 

“Boss, just bear with it. Are you avoiding shit because you’re scared?” 

No matter how you looked at it, it seemed like fear driving him. Humans, after all, tend to become cowardly when weak. That’s why he groveled and smiled obsequiously at that man. 

“Go eat quietly and go home. Don’t cause trouble. Do I need to keep visiting the police station because of you?” 

Hyung-woo peeled off a wad of cash from the stack he was counting and handed it to me. He didn’t bother checking the amount, nor did he glance at the money. The message was clear: in exchange for this money, I was to shut up and obediently attend school. It was also hush money, implicating me further in the operation of his business. 

For a high school student like me, with nowhere else to stay and no other means of survival outside of Hyung-woo’s house, there was no real choice. 

“How much has gone into bribes for that bastard? And now, because of a granddaughter who isn’t even his daughter, I’m stuck running errands for this tiny household.”

Refusing to take that money wouldn’t have changed anything. I snatched the bills like a predator seizing its prey, stuffed them into my pocket, and left the office. A strange sedan slowly disappeared from view at the edge of my sight. Earlier, Hyung-woo had referred to him as Moon-sung.

I handed the thick wad of cash I’d received from Hyung-woo to the man guarding the entrance of the bar.

“Who exactly is that guy, Moon-sung?” 

I lived in a world where everything could be resolved with money. Having survived nineteen years under such a grandfather, I knew well how to survive. 

---

“Hey, damn it, Yoon Song-ah! Why are you blocking the hallway? Do you think this corridor belongs to you alone?” 

Why do people torment others? 

“Are you acting so cocky because you think Jin-hyung’s got your back? He protects you, and now you think this place is yours, huh?” 

There was a day when I foolishly tried to approach this philosophically. But expecting meaningful answers from kids who’ve only been alive for nineteen years was unrealistic. 

Adults hide and mask their emotions better, but these kids couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do the same. Approaching the situation through the lens of basic human instinct made more sense. From that perspective, maybe I possessed something that irritated them. Jealousy. Inferiority. These were often the root causes of hatred. 

But what did I have that they didn’t? What made me stand out? 

At first, rumors spread about my grandfather running a famous room salon in Gangnam. That seemed to be the starting point. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a room salon but an illegal gambling den, yet I didn’t feel compelled to explain or elaborate on my family affairs—it wasn’t worth the effort. 

The rumors spiraled out of control in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Absurd lies clung to me like leeches: that I engaged in compensated dating, that I’d gotten breast implants, and other nonsensical fabrications. 

But they knew. Deep down, they knew none of those rumors were true. And yet, they deliberately targeted me anyway. By the time I realized this, it was already too late to stop it. 

People who share a common enemy tend to bond even tighter. My school life became consumed not by academics or friendships, but by endless gossip about Yoon Hyung-woo and me. I endured baseless insults daily, always at the center of scandal. 

But why go so far? Why stamp these rumors as if they were truths? 

My understanding of human behavior remained limited. Why did they see me as a threat? Why couldn’t they tolerate my presence within their boundaries? 

Unable to articulate answers, I became socially vulnerable, forced to endure their hostility in silence. 

“You think having money makes us laugh? So what if you’re rich, you bastard.” 

Some students came from families wealthy enough to make headlines, yet wealth alone didn’t provoke bullying. And no, I didn’t entertain thoughts of death or despair. Killing someone—or wanting to die myself—wasn’t part of my mindset. Life stretched endlessly before me, an unbroken line without visible endpoints. Right now, I simply stood at one arbitrary point along that continuum. 

At first, it baffled me. Didn’t they want me to comply? I gave them money when asked, bowed my head when told, bent over backward—but nothing changed. 

That’s when I understood. My reactions didn’t matter to them. No attitude I adopted would alter their actions. From the beginning, I’d been their target, plain and simple. Once I realized this, I stopped caring. Whether I obeyed or rebelled, the outcome remained the same. 

“Fuck off, bitch. Both of you.” 

“What the hell, crazy bitch.” 

It wasn’t that I lacked friends entirely. I had companions, decent relationships—until I caught the attention of the school delinquents. Gradually, even those close to me distanced themselves, fearing association with me might ruin their own lives. 

I accepted it. Kids are like that. Nobody wants to get entangled unnecessarily and ruin their school life. If I were in their shoes, I’d probably do the same. 

I didn’t resent them or question whether we’d ever truly been friends. All I wanted was to graduate quickly. That was it. 

Truthfully, I considered dropping out and diving straight into the workforce, but pride held me back. I refused to let mere bullying—or someone else’s mistakes—dictate my life’s direction. Stubbornness, perhaps, but I clung to that resolve. 

I didn’t want to lose. I wanted to graduate defiantly, leaving this school behind. Dropping out wouldn’t solve anything; reality grounded me. With just a high school diploma, how could I earn a living? For now, enduring until college seemed necessary. 

Even amidst this misery, I recognized my insignificance in the face of cold, hard reality. To attend university safely, I needed to buy study materials with the money Hyung-woo provided. Somewhere along the way, my despair calcified into ash, leaving behind barren, desiccated earth. 

The college entrance exam was near, signaling the end of this exhausting chapter. Ignoring them felt like the wisest choice. The commotion caused by slapping a girl who insulted my absent mother felt like yesterday. Another incident was out of the question. 

I ignored their taunts, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. When I showed no response, they grabbed my hair as expected. 

“I heard Jin-woo has issues too. Isn’t it always birds of a feather?” 

They yanked my curls harshly. Suddenly, anger surged inexplicably. Watching innocent people dragged into their gossip—why extend their malice to Jin-woo, who had done nothing wrong? Now, they targeted not just me but my only friend. Fury erupted uncontrollably. 

A sharp spike of rebellion pierced my brittle heart, rising like molten lava. I jabbed the mechanical pencil I held into the back of the hand gripping my hair. 

The school erupted in chaos. My homeroom teacher rushed over, and a crowd gathered, whispering and staring. After enduring similar incidents repeatedly, I’d inadvertently become notorious. Yet, I no longer cared. It wasn’t resilience but immunity—I’d grown numb to the shock. 

More than anything, I hated the idea of kids seeing Hyung-woo. His meticulously groomed appearance, energetic demeanor despite his age, and the distinct aura of a man who’d spent his life handling dirty money set him apart. I loathed the thought of others noticing how different he was—and realizing I inherited that peculiarity.

I didn’t want the kids to discover that the rumors about my grandfather might not just be rumors. 

“The person is on their way now. I told them to come. The school hopes to resolve this quietly, especially since the college entrance exam is approaching, but who knows how the other side’s parents will react.” 

My homeroom teacher calmly informed me that my grandfather was coming. I simply nodded indifferently and returned to the classroom. 

Song-ah pressed herself against the window, gazing outside. Boys were fiercely chasing a soccer ball, sweat dripping down their faces. Winter was just around the corner, yet these kids were absorbed in soccer even in the chilly weather. What was so fun about it? Moving their arms and legs so much—how could they enjoy it? For someone like me, who had no connection to sports, it was incomprehensible. 

“Yoon Song!!” 

Chul-woo waved his arms wildly, shouting. Why did he have to call out like that instead of just continuing to play soccer? Swallowing the sarcastic remark forming in my mouth, I ducked my head back inside the window. 

The sharp, envious gazes of my classmates were suffocating. Chul-woo seemed popular again, probably because of his soccer skills. My already noisy mind grew even more cluttered. I just wanted to live quietly, but having someone as carefree as him sticking close by made everything heavier. His bright smile left me speechless. 

By now, he must’ve changed back into his uniform. Chul-woo grinned as he spun the chair in front of him around to face me. He must’ve washed his face vigorously—his forehead and hair were still damp. 

“Yoon Crazy, you held out for a long time. I heard you stabbed those guys’ heads with your mechanical pencil. You really went at it.” 

“Not their heads, but close enough.” 

“Right. Either way, whether you snap later or end up paying settlement fees, it’s all the same. Just live your life however you want. It’s better that way.” 

“If I live however I want, your head won’t be safe either.” 

Should I punch him? Chul-woo pretended to throw a punch, then glanced around cautiously before asking: 

“Hey, do you even go home these days? If you don’t feel like going home, just come over to my place. It’s no big deal to let you crash there.” 

“What if rumors start? I can’t handle being in school anymore.” 

“That’s a lame excuse.” 

It was about six months ago. To escape Hyung-woo and his partner starting another loud fight at home, I wandered aimlessly and eventually knocked on Chul-woo’s door. 

“Hello, ma’am. Sorry for coming so late, but is Chul-woo here?” 

The familiar face of the woman who answered the door turned toward me, her eyes unmistakably displeased. She quickly noticed where her disapproving gaze was directed. I licked my lips, which were covered in bandages. The sting of judgmental stares hurt more than the split skin. At first, Chul-woo’s mom had welcomed me warmly, perhaps after hearing through him that my family was well-off. She encouraged us to get along—but that warmth didn’t last long. 

She must’ve sensed with an adult’s intuition that I wasn’t a student from an ordinary background. She probably realized I wasn’t the type to quietly study and enter university like everyone else. Sometimes, age brings a certain instinct—a kind of foresight you can’t gain no matter how much you desire it. I couldn’t hide the feeling of being exposed before her. 

“Chul-woo went to the academy. And listen, Song-ah, I hope you’re not going to interfere with Chul-woo’s university plans. The college entrance exam is coming up soon, isn’t it?” 

“…I’m sorry.” 

After that day, I never visited Chul-woo’s house again. Her words were blunt, but she was right. If Chul-woo suffered setbacks during this critical period because of me, I’d feel guilty too. 

“Hey, are you going to accept that guy’s confession?” 

“What guy?” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. That Jin-hyung guy or whatever.” 

“Aren’t you older than him?” 

“What the hell does age matter? If we’re in the same grade, we’re all friends.” 

He made a face as if offended by the mere idea of calling someone “hyung.” Men really threw themselves into trivial matters. Still, Chul-woo had a point. Whether nineteen or twenty, what difference did one year make? Yet, students treated titles like life-or-death issues. Everyone called each other “hyung,” influenced by something they’d seen somewhere. Chul-woo seemed particularly annoyed by it. 

“No matter who it is, I can’t stand that guy. He pisses me off.” 

“Whether you accept him or not isn’t your concern.” 

“If you’ve got balls, damn it, you should live with some weight behind you. He brags about living well, and girls flock to that kind of thing.” 

“True. Admitting inferiority is a healthy way to express emotions.” 

“Ah, Yoon Crazy. What are you even saying?” 

“Let’s go to church later.” 

“Where? Are we eating sushi?” 

Thinking I’d misheard, Chul-woo asked again. 

Two black-haired high school seniors carrying backpacks—it wasn’t exactly the image of people heading to church. Neither of us was devout enough to beg for good scores on the college exam, nor did we have any particular religion. But I had something I wanted to pray for. 

Class was starting, so I nudged Chul-woo away. “Go back to your class.” He turned reluctantly, looking disappointed. Every day was a struggle to survive in this school. Deep down, I knew I shouldn’t form personal connections with anyone here. Chul-woo seemed hurt that I didn’t open up fully to him, but I didn’t feel like explaining the reasons behind my rejections, born from my misery and detachment. 

“Yoon Song-ah. The homeroom teacher is calling you.” 

At the sound of my name, the classmates who had only been showing me the backs of their heads turned to glance at me. 

“Can’t you live quietly? Your life is so damn noisy.” 

The criticism was directed squarely at me. Did they think I wanted attention? In my mind, I wanted to curse them out and slap both sides of their faces. It wouldn’t have been hard, but dealing with the aftermath would’ve been annoying. Handling it would mean talking to Hyung-woo again. Better to endure unfairness a hundred times over. Being dragged around and summoned everywhere was just tiresome and irritating.

This bland, uneventful life—no matter how much I resisted, it was obvious that I’d be the only one left worse off. There were plenty of kids waiting for me to take their bait, but biting into it wouldn’t end well for me. 

When I entered the faculty office, Yoon Hyung-woo sat at a counseling desk in a neatly pressed gray suit. He held his coffee cup with a hand adorned by a metal ring, exchanging pleasantries with my homeroom teacher. His polished appearance seemed excessive for someone who had come to clean up after their troublemaking granddaughter. Rather than a parent, he looked more like a corporate executive visiting to pat an employee on the back—overly arrogant and disdainful. 

Hyung-woo ran an illegal gambling den and believed the path he’d walked was absolute truth. Handling cash directly all his life made him think money could solve everything, that it was the root of all things. With an inflated sense of pride in his own life, his face appeared untouched by time. Sitting there as if representing the offending student, he wore an expression that dared anyone to challenge him. But I knew the coldness hidden behind his polite facade. 

It was the same when my father died. He had said, “People die every day—why are you crying so much? If word gets out, it’ll only cause trouble for those left behind.” To him, the death of a father wasn’t a big deal. He clicked his tongue at my emotional reaction, telling me to learn restraint. At six years old, emotions were something to suppress. 

“When you were younger, you never caused any trouble, but now puberty’s hitting hard, huh?” 

He didn’t know. My puberty had ended during winter break of my first year in high school. 

“Am I getting expelled?” 

The homeroom teacher interjected. 

“No, not exactly, Song-ah. Since the college entrance exam is just around the corner, I’ll try to resolve this quietly…” 

“If you’re going to call the police, go ahead.” 

I spoke clearly while staring into Hyung-woo’s eyes. He remained silent, calmly glaring at me with his usual audacity. 

“Once Hye-kyung’s parents arrive…” 

“Let me know when it’s decided. I’ll do whatever’s needed.” 

With a short bow, I exited the faculty office. I was confident that Hyung-woo, who hated unnecessary noise, would handle things quietly. Avoiding troublesome situations was instinctual for someone like him—a criminal’s defensive reflex. 

“She’ll come crawling back when her allowance runs out. Just leave her be. Kids these days are all the same.” 

I shut the door firmly behind me, cutting off his fading voice. Hyung-woo treated problems like transactions, always ready to smooth things over with pocket money as if paying for services rendered. Though I didn’t know his true intentions, he ensured my pockets were never empty. That’s why they were always full. 

He knew better than anyone that silencing a rebellious granddaughter or taming a wild colt was best done with cash. Having lived his entire life prioritizing money, it wasn’t hard to understand his mindset. 

Yes. I believed I had the right to take what little compensation I could. It was payment for the sins he’d committed against me. The days of playing dumb, closing my eyes, and plugging my ears were almost over. Clenching my teeth, I spent the last stretch of my teenage years this way. 

In the end, my grandfather was training me with dirty money. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it still left a bitter taste. The weapon used to protect men had somehow worked on me too, someone who despised them more than anyone. Being tied down by the label of “minor” only fueled my frustration. Graduating quickly seemed like the fastest path to independence. 

I pulled out my phone. 

「+39」 

The 39 unread messages were all from Chul-woo: “Math class is so boring,” “I really want a cigarette,” “Let’s grab some bread,” each one a cry for nicotine. Without bothering to read through the endless chatter, I scrolled down and typed into the chat window. 

「Do you know of any part-time jobs?」 

「What about that job you mentioned before—is it still available?」 

I hesitated, deleting and retyping several times, my fingers aimlessly tapping away. Eventually, I closed the chat window altogether. 

That filthy money—I no longer wanted to accept it, yet ironically, it was also the money that had clothed, sheltered, and fed me until now. I knew Hyung-woo expected something in return, but… 

The last time I worked at a convenience store Chul-woo recommended, I got fired for fighting with a drunk customer. After that, I refused any other positions he suggested, fearing I’d cause more trouble. Though I received recommendations for other part-time gigs, options for minors were limited, and balancing school made finding suitable hours difficult. 

According to Chul-woo, restaurants that served alcohol couldn’t hire minors. 

Still, I decided to endure a little longer. Once I turned 19, legal opportunities would expand. Patience was my specialty. 

Private tutoring seemed lucrative. Maybe it could work for me too. Physical labor wasn’t my forte anyway; using my brain felt more natural. To tutor effectively, though, I’d need to get into a prestigious university. Fortunately, I was confident I could achieve that. 

I’d prove I could live comfortably without relying on Hyung-woo’s money. 

Even as I resolved this, a faint sigh escaped me. 

“Yang Chul-woo, you only talk about cigarettes when you see me.” 

I regretted not learning to smoke when Chul-woo offered to teach me. These days, cigarettes were practically a public snack among high schoolers—and Hyung-woo’s staple. Not even considered junk food, yet everyone indulged freely. 

I unwrapped a candy from my pocket and stuck it between my index and middle fingers, pretending it was a cigarette. The round candy rolled awkwardly across my tongue, leaving an unpleasant sticky sensation in my mouth. Trying to mimic adults felt pathetic. Why was I eating such tasteless candy anyway? 

Flicking the strawberry-flavored lollipop stick into the hallway trash, I headed toward the classroom. The seasonal change must’ve been affecting me—my throat felt scratchy, my nose congested, and a chill ran through my body. A cold was coming on, and once I caught one, it lingered for weeks. I usually tried to avoid getting sick, but I was particularly prone to catching colds. 

“Yoon Song-ah!” 

At the sound of my name, I lifted my drooping head. Jin-hyung, who always smirked knowingly as if aware of the troubles I endured, today hid his usual grin. 

“Hello.” 

“We’re in the same grade, yet you’ve been addressing me formally for a whole year.” 

“In the same grade, but others address you formally too.” 

“You can just call me by my name. By the way, are you okay? I heard the kids were bullying you again. Didn’t I tell you to just punch them?”

“Yeah, I did.” 

I gestured toward the faculty office, signaling that I’d caused enough trouble and didn’t want to talk about it. Jin-hyung chuckled as he watched me. 

That smug grin of his was so self-satisfied—he probably thought he was God’s gift to women. Nineteen or twenty, immaturity was universal. 

“Pretty girls really are beautiful even when they just blink their eyes. My heart suddenly raced—I’m flustered.” 

“Are you not tired of spouting nonsense?” 

“Nope. When it comes to you, I never get tired of it.” 

Jin-hyung pulled out his phone, grinning mischievously. Clearly, he had learned how to flirt from the wrong manual. True, if looks were a prerequisite, he was well-equipped, but I wasn’t one of those idiots at school who would fall for a pretty face alone. While I didn’t dislike attractive men, being drawn to his appearance didn’t mean my heart fluttered for him. 

The reason I didn’t respond to his teasing wasn’t because I had any complaints against him. Sometimes, those mischievous eyes of his—looking at me like he didn’t know what to do with himself—were preferable to having my hair yanked and being scratched at. 

It was common knowledge in school that Jin-hyung’s uncle was part of the Moon-sung group. Some kids harassed me simply because Jin-hyung seemed to like me. But whether his uncle was connected to Moon-sung or worked at the Blue House—it wasn’t my concern, nor was it something I cared about. Though now, things might change slightly. 

“Uh…” 

“Hmm?” 

“You and cigarettes… Never mind.” 

“You want to smoke? Do you even know how? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smoke. Should I teach you?” 

I bowed my head slightly and turned away. My mind was too noisy to casually learn how to smoke right now. 

As Song-ah walked away from him, she glanced back. Jin-hyung was still standing there, watching her. She approached him again and held out her open palm. 

“Huh?” 

“I’ll teach you.” 

“What?” 

“You asked for my number, right?” 

He had nagged endlessly about exchanging numbers and grabbing a meal together, but now that she was offering, his face turned red, and he looked utterly flustered. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. Twenty years old or not, he was definitely still my age. The thought amused me. Anyway, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get to know this guy. Sharing my number wasn’t going to cause any harm. 

“Damn. It’s been 319 days since my first confession.” 

“First?” 

“Wow, don’t tell me you forgot? That hurts. I confessed to you eight times.” 

Song-ah entered her contact info into his phone and handed it back. He immediately called her, confirming it was indeed her number. Moments ago, he was acting all hurt, but now he flashed his white teeth in a bright smile.