It was 6 AM I'm Kim Jumnyeon, a young and hardworking individual, began my morning routine. I quickly brewed coffee at the cafe where I worked, knowing that I had to get to my next job shortly. After finishing up, I jumped on my bicycle and rode through the bustling streets, delivering packages to the various people in the city.
As the morning turned to noon, I continued to push myself, having finished my job as a delivery person. Despite the growing tiredness, I did not take a break. Instead, I simply sighed, knowing that taking time to rest would mean losing valuable income that I desperately needed.
Finally, at the end of the week, my salary came. However, as I counted my earnings, a wave of disappointment washed over me. The amount I made was not nearly enough to pay for my mother's medicine and the debt I owed, let alone pay for my college tuition. I felt a deep sense of despair, knowing that I would have to continue to work multiple jobs just to barely make ends meet.
That evening, I visited my mother in the hospital after finishing all the chores. I entered quietly, my face displaying the exhaustion and worry that weighed heavy on me. I sat on the chair next to my mother's bed, the room bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights. Exhaustion was etched on my features, the countless hours I worked to support them both took its toll on my body and mind.
My mother looked at me with concern, noticing the exhaustion on my face. "Jumnyeon? Are you okay? You seem tired," she asked softly. I nodded, forcing a weary smile.
i took her hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Mom, don't worry. I'll work harder to earn more money. I'll get you out of this hospital," I assured her. "You just focus on getting better, okay?"
She smiled at me, her eyes filled with pride. "I'm so lucky to have a son like you." She caressed
My mother's eyes filled with guilt as she spoke, "I'm sorry... I wasn't a good mother to take care of you. I'm supposed to do this for you... And your dad left us..."
He squeezed her hand a little tighter and shook his head, "Mom, please, stop saying that. It wasn't your fault that bastard disappeared. You're the best mom a guy could have."
I gently stroked my mother's forehead, then spoke softly, "Now, go back to sleep and rest. I'll come back to visit again tomorrow, okay?"
I leaned in and gave my mother a warm hug, the faint scent of hospital lingering in the air. As I pulled away, I stroked her hair one last time before standing up, preparing to leave the hospital room.
The next day, I forced himself to attend my classes at university despite my exhaustion. I entered the classroom, my eyes red and bags underneath, showing signs of countless nights with little to no sleep. However, despite my best efforts, I found it difficult to concentrate on the lecture. My mind was weary, and my body ached for rest.
My friend sat next to me during the break, concern etched on his face. "How will you continue those three jobs if you can't even rest? The worst part is, your salary isn't enough," he observed.
I let out a sigh, my shoulders slumped in defeat. "I know... I don't know what to do." The weight of his situation was overwhelming, and I felt completely lost.
My friend gave me a reassuring smile and patted my shoulder. "I have a perfect job for you. You can be a bartender in a bar, I heard the salary there is worth it. They're hiring a new bartender. Go see it, and I'll come with you," his friend explained.
My eyes widened at the proposal, a mix of hope and uncertainty filling me. After a brief moment of hesitation, I nodded, knowing that I didn't have many options.
Saturday night came, and I, alongside my friend, arrived at the bar. Surprisingly, the manager was impressed by my skills and hired me on the spot. I was ecstatic and thanked my friend profusely. Finally, it seemed like a job that would give me a steady income and enough to help pay for my mother's medication and college tuition.
It was my first time working as a bartender in a bar, and I was immediately struck by the sight of the numerous fancy people dressed in expensive clothes. I couldn't help but feel a little out of place, but I was determined to work hard and earn as much as I could. i poured, mixed, and served drinks with practiced ease, trying my best to keep up with the high-paced environment of the bar.
I had just finished working and was assigned to close the bar. After finishing my tasks, I heard some suspicious noises outside and decided to investigate. I slowly approached the source of the sound and peeked around a corner, my heart racing with fear and curiosity. To my surprise, I saw a tall man lighting a cigarette and casually pressing his foot on someone else's face.
The tall man took a puff on his cigarette, his eyes narrowed as he continued to press his foot on the other person's face. He spoke in a cold, dangerous tone, "You think you can just borrow money from me and disappear? You owe me, and I intend to collect one way or another."
As I tried to quietly leave the scene, I clumsily stumbled over a trashcan, causing a noise that echoed in the silent night. I gasped in surprise, but before I could fully compose myself, the tall man's voice suddenly rang out, "Who's there?"
I was taken off guard and quickly sprang to my feet. Fear coursed through my veins, and without thinking twice, I bolted away, my heart pounding in my chest.
It was Sunday morning, and I was slowly enjoying my breakfast. However, as I ate, my mind kept wandering back to the incident from the previous night. The thought of narrowly escaping the dangerous encounter caused a wave of anxiety to wash over me. I couldn't help but feel unsettled by the memory, realizing just how close I had come to potential danger.
In the middle of his breakfast, my phone suddenly vibrated on the table. I picked it up, expecting it to be a mundane notification. However, I was surprised to find a text from my manager, informing me that the usual morning shift bartender was sick and that I needed to cover for them.
I quickly finished my breakfast and hurried to get ready for work. I grabbed my uniform and made sure he had everything I needed. After a few minutes, I was out the door, hopping onto his bicycle as I pedaled towards the bar, mentally preparing myself for the shift ahead.
I arrived at the bar and made my way behind the counter, ready to start the morning shift. However, the surprise and uneasiness that I had felt earlier returned suddenly when the man from the previous night casually walked into the bar. I froze for a moment before quickly trying to recompose myself, my heart racing once again.
The man from the previous night took a seat on one of the chairs, the menacing aura around him almost palpable. He looked up at me and said in a commanding tone, "I'll have a drink."
I nodded slightly, trying my best to hide my trepidation as I started preparing the drink. The man's presence made me incredibly uncomfortable, and I couldn't help but feel like I was in danger again.
I took a deep breath before speaking, my voice just a little trembled. "What kind of drink would you like, sir?" I tried my best to sound casual and unbothered, but the anxiety of the situation was clearly getting to me. I hoped that the man wouldn't notice the slight waver in my voice and just orders something quickly.
The man looked up at me with a slight hint of amusement, noticing the slight tremble in my voice. But he didn't comment on it, instead simply saying, "I'll have a whiskey, neat."
Throughout the day, I found myself increasingly distracted. Although I was trying to focus on my work and attend to the other customers' needs, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every now and then, I would glance up and notice the man from the previous night staring at me, a sly smile on his face. The intensity of the man's gaze made me uneasy and heightened my anxiety.
I was working diligently behind the bar, trying to keep up with the growing crowd of customers. However, in my haste, I accidentally spilled a drink on one of the fancy, well-dressed men sitting at the counter. As the liquid splashed onto the man's sleeve, he let out a loud and obnoxious yell and started to berate me.
I felt a flush of embarrassment and fear wash over me. I immediately lowered my head in apology, my voice stuttering as I tried to explain and apologize for the mishap.
As the fancy man fumed and raised his hand, ready to hit me for the spilling the drink, the man from the previous night suddenly stepped in. He casually stopped the man, his voice cold and authoritative as he said, "Relax, fella. No need to be violent... He's mine."
I froze in surprise at the man's words, my eyes widening in shock. The man had just claimed me as his own, right in front of everyone. The customers around us gasped and whispered amongst themselves, clearly shocked and intrigued by the bizarre turn of events.
The man from the previous night spoke up once again, his tone filled with a sinister menace. He leaned in closer to the fancy man and said, "If you don't leave him alone, I'll break all your bones into pieces. You don't want me to do that, do you?"
I was torn between stepping in to intervene and standing back, my uncertainty and fear preventing me from making a decision. On one hand, I was grateful that the man from the previous night was standing up for me and preventing the fancy man from causing further harm, but on the other hand, I was wary of the man's possessive claim on me and what his intentions might be.
I fidgeted behind the counter, my gaze flickering back and forth between the two men, unsure of what I should do.
TO. BE. CONTINUED