Minho dragged his feet as he entered his apartment, exhausted from working double shifts. He had been working overtime to save enough money for their overdue rent.
He was running out of time, and the landlord had threatened to evict them if he didn't pay in time.
He found his dad in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. This was unexpected since his dad rarely cooked and preferred takeout, only when they were lucky enough that his father hadn't gambled even the food money.
This act was strange to Minho, and it made him wonder what had sparked the sudden change of heart, hoping it wasn't another sign of trouble.
"Hi, dad," he said, dropping his bag on the floor. "What's the occasion?"
James, his dad, smiled at him, turning off the stove. "You've been working hard, son. thought I'd make you something nice for dinner."
He served some soup in a bowl and handed it to him. "Here, try this. It's your favorite chicken and noodle soup."
Minho brought the bowl to his nose and sniffed it. Despite his dad's efforts, he couldn't help but feel suspicious, considering James wasn't usually affectionate, especially after his wife left them.
He had lost his job and become a compulsive gambler, gambling all of his savings, and was left to rely on Minho to support them both.
"Thanks, Dad," said Minho, forcing a smile. "How did you pay for this, though? We barely have enough for rent and bills, Dad. We can't afford this."
"Don't stress about it," said James, waving a hand at him. "I have a plan. I have a feeling that tonight's going to be my lucky day. I'm going to win big."
A surge of anger washed over Minho's face. He had tried his best to keep this man from gambling, but he wouldn't listen. There was no way they would end their problems with a stroke of luck.
It was a hopeless and shady idea because his father had accumulated so much debt and was still going after more.
"No, Dad," said Minho, disappointedly, putting down his bowl. "You can't do this. You know it never works. It'll always be you losing more than you win. And what about those guys you owe?"
James waved his hand dismissively. "Relax; those guys won't do shit. They're just trying to scare me. I can handle them. Trust me, everything will be okay. Just relax and eat your food."
Feeling helpless and frustrated, Minho shook his head. He knew there was no point in arguing with his dad because he was in denial. He decided to focus on his soup, pretending to enjoy it.
It was their rare dad-son moment, and he didn't want to ruin it, hoping he would make his father happy at least once.
Bang!
He lifted the spoon to his mouth when a bang startled him, and he almost threw it away. Two burly men in masks and leather jackets had stormed into their apartment, holding guns.
"Where is he? That fucking bastard!" shouted one of the men, pacing the room, searching.
Minho felt his heart stop when he recognized the voice. The same one called him a week ago, threatening to follow his dad if he hadn't cleared his debt by Thursday. And today was Thursday.
James had clutched his soup bowl like his life depended on it. Minho saw the terror in his eyes and realized that his dad knew this would happen. That may be why he decided earlier to be a good father and make dinner.
He dropped his spoon. "Who are you? And what do you want?" he shouted, hoping to distract the intruders. Maybe these were his futile attempts to save his irredeemable father from the loan sharks.
The intruders' attention turned to him, with one pointing a gun at him.
"See, Daddy here owes us a lot of money, and we are here to collect."
The other man pointed a gun at James' head, something that made Minho even more nervous and disoriented. He had come home from work, craving just a few minutes to go to this.
"Please," James began, "If you give me just a little more time, I'll pay you back, I swear."
"You've had enough time, James!" yelled the man as he smashed a vase on the floor, sending shards of glass scattering everywhere. "The money, now!"
James reached under the table and pulled a wad of crumpled bills he had stashed there, handing it to them, hoping it would be enough. It wasn't.
"You think this is a joke, huh?" said one of the henchmen, yanking him by the collar. "It looks like you need a lesson in respect."
A slap landed across James' face, sending him falling to the floor. Followed by a kick in the chest, and another, and another. The man groaned in pain, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He tried to shield himself, but it was of no use. The man was relentless.
"Stop, stop it, please!" Minho cried as the horrendous scene unfolded right before him. He wanted to step in and shield his father, but these men had guns. They would even change their minds in a snap and shoot him instead.
The tattooed man shot Minho a harsh gaze, aiming the gun at him. "What did you say, kid?"
"It looks like the kid wants to join the party." The other man said, grabbing Minho by the arm.
"Get out of here, or I'll call the cops!" Minho said, trying to sound brave.
"Your kid's got guts, James. It's too bad he gets them from a loser like you. It would be a shame if something happened to him." The tattooed man taunted James. He looked at Minho and said, "See, daddy here owes us, and if he can't pay," he continued, tapping his gun, "we might have to take some collateral."
Minho, overwhelmed by the tension, tried to get up. But the man's grip was too firm, pinning him on the chair even harder. The man had a gun to his head. Minho felt the cold metal of the gun press on his skull, and he knew he was in trouble.
Don't you fucking move!"
The man was huge. Minho was tall, but he still had several inches on him. His grip was so tight that he could bench him if he wanted to. His dark, hooded eyes met Minho's, making him even paler. Next thing he knew, this man had gotten a hold of him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him. The much he saw in his face was a flash of gun and little else.
"Take me then, please; take me instead!" Minho cried helplessly, trying not to have a heart attack, considering the barrel of a gun was just an inch away from his skull.
"Well, well, well, how about we step outside, kiddo?" the man asked, jamming his gun at the back of Minho's head. He couldn't shake the thought of having his brain blown out into squiggly little chunks as the man led him outside towards the porch.
"No! No! Please!" James cried, crawling towards them. "He has nothing to do with this. Please, leave him alone. He is innocent. I'll find a way to pay you back, please." He turned to Minho. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into this mess," he said guiltily. "I thought I could handle it. I'm sorry."
On realizing it wasn't a sensible thing he had done, Minho wanted to change his stance, maybe apologize or something, but before he could decide his next move, the man fisted his shirt and pushed him.
He stumbled forward right into the other man's back. Hissing angrily, the giant man turned to face him, holding his handgun right in front of Minho's face.
Minho grabbed the man's hands with his to pry them open, but the grip was far too firm, and his efforts proved pointless.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"
The gun came crashing into the side of his head swiftly, sending his face to the ground with a hard smash as he slowly faded into unconsciousness.
The last thing he saw was a pair of massive black boots striding away.