Gwangdo
This city is beautiful, but like most things… there's a darker side to it.
A man swung his fist through the air, his arm like a sledgehammer crashing into the jaw of his opponent—a young man with stark white hair. Blood spurted from the impact, painting the crimson floor of the ring with a fresh coat of red.
The crowd erupted.
Their eyes flared with bloodlust as they clutched their bet slips, knuckles white, gripping them as though their very lives depended on the outcome of this single fight.
For some, it did.
The fighter in the cage threw another punch, his fist moving so fast it left a trail of sweat hovering in the air. The white-haired opponent took the hit squarely on the face, blood spraying once more—but even then, he refused to fall.
"Why won't you die?! Die, you bastard!"
A desperate spectator screamed, his voice cracking from the strain.
This violence wasn't just entertainment; it was sick exhilarating culture.
The white-haired man dodged the next swing, anticipating it with inhuman precision. He retaliated with a fist to his opponent's jaw, throwing every ounce of strength into the punch. His opponent staggered as the crowd held their breath.
My life wasn't this bloody and chaotic… Not yet.
Far from the bloodstained ring…
In an empty, rundown classroom, Tae-jide found himself surrounded by familiar faces squeezed in sneers. His cheek throbbed as another punch landed, sending him stumbling backward.
"What's with that face?" one of the boys spat, shoving Tae-jide's shoulder.
He didn't answer.
A foot connected with his ribs, and he felt the breath rush from his lungs as he fell to the floor in pain. Laughter echoed around him, blending with the everyday sounds of the schoolyard below, as if his suffering was a part of the day's entertainment.
"Jin, look at this bastard, huh? He still has that strong face like my beating is an inconvenience," a boy with bleached blonde hair sneered, annoyance flashing across his face as he regarded Tae.
Angry, he cocked back his boot and repeatedly kicked Tae in the gut. Each time his boot connected, it brought out a groan from Tae but nothing more—no pleas, no cries of pain, just grunts of acceptance. Acceptance of his situation.
I could dodge; the kicks are slow.
Sometimes it's best to take a beating in silence.
The group, more thugs than they were students, had finished their cigarettes, so luckily for Tae, his beating session was coming to an end. They threw their cigarette butts to the floor and crushed them with their shoes, only a few casting a final glance at Tae before they exited the classroom.
Tae turned over, lying on his back as he stared at the classroom ceiling, his breath coming in shallow exhales as his body burned with pain. He had gotten used to it.
He lay there a while before he pushed himself off the floor, dusting his clothes in a futile attempt to look less roughed up than he did. He let out a painful sigh as he, too, exited the classroom.
———
Tae walked through the sparsely lit streets, hands shoved into his pockets as the city's chill settled into his bones. The buildings around him were stacked like broken puzzle pieces, they leaned dangerously against one another.
The occasional streetlight flickered, creating suspicious shadows across the cracked pavement. In the alleys, the neon lights of rundown bars and the smell of stale cigarettes mixed with the scent of cheap street food, allowing the place a strange kind of life—a life that struggled and fought for survival just like everyone else here.
Gwangdo is beautiful… but only if you squint hard enough to blur out the ugly parts.
This part of the city was like a half-forgotten wound.
A place where time didn't move forward so much as it stubbornly stagnated. The narrow streets were crowded with vendors pushing carts, families crammed into tiny apartments with windows covered in grime, and stray cats darting through piles of uncollected garbage.
People here lived as though they were always on guard, eyes flicking around like they were waiting for something to go wrong.
Tae didn't blame them. In a place like this, trust was as fragile as the crumbling brick walls and just as dangerous. Survival for most here wasn't about strength; it was about keeping your head down, knowing when to back off, and most of all, never getting involved in other people's business.
Out here, no one cares how tough you are. There's always someone tougher, someone desperate enough to do whatever it takes to come out on top. Some people survive, others thrive on this mess, and the rest… they die.
He kept his eyes forward, occasionally glancing at his reflection in the shattered glass of a closed-up shop. A tall shadow moved in the corner of his eye, and instinctively, Tae slowed his pace, waiting until the figure passed before he resumed walking.
He'd learned long ago to read the streets. The little things—like how you never made eye contact with anyone looking for a fight, how you kept your money tucked somewhere only you knew, and how sometimes a slight detour was the difference between going home in one piece or not.
It was like the city was testing you, chewing you up bit by bit, just to see if you'd break. Every day here was like walking a tightrope between staying invisible and staying alive.
A fight broke out somewhere down the street, the sharp sound of fists hitting flesh echoing between the walls, followed by a pained grunt and a muffled yell. Tae didn't even flinch. It was another sound in the music of the slums, as familiar to him as his own footsteps.
He passed a group of kids huddled around a fire burning inside a rusty oil drum, their faces half-lit and gaunt with the kind of hollow look only this city could carve into someone so young.
Eventually, he turned onto a narrow alley that led to his place—a tired, two-story building squeezed between others just as worn and decrepit. The door was barely hanging onto its hinges, and the windows were boarded up, probably more out of habit than actual security.
Inside, the lights were always dim, the walls paper-thin. Privacy was a foreign concept here; even whispers carried from one side of the building to the other.
As he got closer, the faint sound of voices reached him, sharp and angry, slicing through the usual hum of the slums. Tae slowed, recognizing the tone—a confrontation brewing, tension he could feel from outside.
He hesitated at the door, taking a breath and listening to the raised voices on the other side.
Tae slipped quietly around the side of the building, his steps soft on the cracked pavement. The back door creaked as he pushed it open, and he winced at the sound, pausing to listen before stepping into the small, dim kitchen. He moved quickly to the counter, sliding open the drawer beside the sink with barely a sound.
Beneath a few old dish rags lay a small handgun, cold and heavy as he wrapped his fingers around it. He didn't hesitate, tucking it into the waistband at the back of his pants, feeling the cold metal press against his skin.
This isn't a life of choices, he thought as he steadied his breath. It's survival. Some days, you can talk your way out of things. Other days…
He pushed the thought aside and stepped into the cramped hallway, moving toward the sound of voices. The fear in his mother's tone sliced through the quiet like a knife, and he clenched his fists as he rounded the corner to the living room.
The sight made his stomach twist: his mother, standing with his two sisters—Ji-a, only eleven, clutching her older sister Hana's hand with a white-knuckled grip. Hana stood a step in front, as if trying to shield her little sister, her face pale but her expression defiant. In front of them, lounging in their only chair, was a man with a gun resting casually on his knee.
Banker, Tae thought, feeling his jaw tighten.
Banker's real name was Jang Seok-woo, but no one called him that—not unless they were suicidal. He was a known loan shark, one of the more ruthless members of the Black Brigade, the kind of man who thrived on people's desperation.
Tae had heard about him before, knew the stories. His mother had taken a loan from him when times were hard, thinking she could pay it back. But debts with men like Banker didn't just vanish. They lingered, grew like rot, until they consumed everything.
Banker glanced up as Tae entered, a smirk spreading across his face. "Ah, finally. Here's the man of the house," he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. He looked back at Hana, eyes sliding over her in a way that made Tae's blood boil.
"Let's be reasonable, yeah?" Tae said, keeping his voice steady, even though his heart was pounding. "We just need more time. We'll pay you back. Just… leave my sister out of this."
Banker chuckled, a sound as dry as sandpaper. "Time?" He looked around as if the shabby room had offended him. "You're out of time, kid. You think I'm running a charity here?" His eyes narrowed, focusing on Hana again. "But I'm a generous guy. If your family can't pay, I'll take the girl off your hands. She's pretty enough. Could make herself useful, earn back what's owed."
A sick grin twisted his face, and Tae felt a surge of rage flare up in his chest. He wanted to lunge at him, to punch that smug smile off his face, but he forced himself to stay calm. His hands itched with anger, but he needed to be smart, needed to be ready.
Sometimes it doesn't matter how good you are at surviving, he thought, the weight of the gun pressing into his back. Some days, you'll have no choice but to kill or be killed.
He just hoped today wouldn't be the day he died.
Without another word, Tae's hand moved, reaching for the gun, and in the split second he drew it, Banker's eyes widened. The man reacted, raising his own gun, and then—
The sound of a gunshot filled the room, loud and sharp, echoing off the walls.
For a moment, Tae didn't feel anything. He stood there, eyes locked on Banker, his mind struggling to catch up to what had just happened. He lifted his hand to his chest, fingers brushing against wetness, and as he brought his hand back, he saw the blood smeared across his skin.
I forgot, he thought as a bitter taste rose in his mouth. Hope is dead here. And it'll get you killed if you let it.
The world around him began to blur, the shapes of his mother and sisters blending together as their screams filled the room, ringing in his ears. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor, the cold seeping into his skin as he lay there, staring up at the cracked ceiling, his vision fading into darkness.
The last thing he heard was his mother's frantic cries, mingling with Ji-a's sobs, as the world slipped away.
———
"It's complete, the system is installed"