★YUNA★
I light a cigarette as Gi-hun tosses a bundle of money onto the table. Smoke curls from my lips as I pick up the bundle, balancing the cigarette between my lips. I count the notes, scoff, and let the cigarette fall from my lips.
"That's it?" I fling the money onto the table, the notes scattering like dead leaves.
Gi-hun sighs, throwing me a sharp look, but keeps quiet.
"This is just a hundred thousand won, ajeossi. Are you kidding me? This isn't even close to enough!"
That gets his attention. He glares at me, his jaw tightening.
"You ungrateful little bitch. Where the hell did you learn to act like this?" he snaps, staying firmly in his chair.
I swallow hard, forcing myself not to cry. Tears? No way. Not in front of him. Gi-hun might be an asshole, but he's the ass-fucking-hole who gives me jobs—the guy who pays my bills and keeps food on the table. For now.
Pulling the hood of my hoodie over my head, I nod silently, picking my money and leave his office.
---
It's been like this ever since I turned nineteen. Picking pockets, swiping wallets, running scams—those were my skills, my survival kit. Until Gi-hun. He found me on the edge of death after I tried robbing some VIP. Two bullets—one in my torso, the other in my leg. The pain was excruciating, but dying wasn't an option. Not before my grandpa. He's the only family I have left.
I sigh, walking to the bus stop. The ten o'clock bus finally pulls in. I climb on, mumble my stop to the driver, and find a seat at the back.
Pulling out my phone, its cracked screen looking like a spider's web, I skim through the messages. Most are from He-ra and Mrs. Lee, our neighbor who looks after Grandpa when I'm out. I open Mrs. Lee's texts first. The first five are about Grandpa running out again, shouting for his wife. He does that often—his memory slipping, confusing past and present. The next five ask why I haven't been answering my phone.
Yeah, sorry, I was busy pulling off a job for a hundred thousand lousy won.
The last two texts are a relief: Grandpa's back home and asleep.
I reply quickly, thanking her and saying I'm on my way. Then I switch to He-ra's messages.
She's mad I ditched her at the club and now insists I owe her pork belly.
"Ssibal," I mutter. "How could I have forgotten?" I text back an apology, explaining I'm broke and can't afford pork belly right now.
Her reply is instant:
Hera: Forget the pork belly. You should've come! We met this hot guy!
I roll my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips.
Yuna: You know I don't care about guys, Hera.
The three dots pop up immediately, her typing furiously:
Hera: This one's different, Yuna-ya! He's crazy hot. And get this—he's the younger brother. Can you imagine how hot the older brother must be? But seriously, why didn't you come?
Yuna: LOL x2. I had work after school. Heading home now. Talk later.
I shut the phone off, ignoring its buzz as I step off the bus at my stop. The streets are quiet, almost eerily so. My neighborhood isn't the safest at night, but danger's nothing new to me.
The narrow alley leading to my place feels different tonight. The air's heavy, and the sound of footsteps behind me sets my nerves on edge. Someone's following me.
Sliding my hands into my hoodie pockets, I grip my pocket knife with my right hand. My left hand slips the phone inside. I glance at the ground, watching the shadow behind me grow closer under the flickering streetlights.
I quicken my pace. So does he.
The footsteps echo louder, closing in. Panic surges. I break into a run, taking a sharp turn away from home.
"You stupid cunt! Where do you think you're going?!"
His voice is gruff, coarse, and dangerously close.
A sharp yank on my hair jerks me backward. I stumble and hit the ground hard, the asphalt scraping my palms.
Before I can react, he's on me, pinning my arms to my sides with his knees. His knife gleams under the dim light, longer and sharper than mine.
"Damn, you're pretty," he sneers, his eyes roaming over me. "Bet those lips would feel amazing on my cock—"
"Fuck you."
My right hand moves instinctively, plunging my knife into his neck, right where his pulse beats.
The blade sinks deep, warm blood spraying across my hoodie. His eyes widen in shock as a wet gurgling sound escapes his throat. He collapses sideways, clutching at the wound as blood pools around him.
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the dark puddle spreading beneath him.
I killed him.
The realization slams into me like a freight train. My chest tightens, my hands trembling uncontrollably. I force myself to my feet, legs shaking so badly I can barely stand and I collapse.
The body lies sprawled in the blood-soaked dirt, his lifeless eyes staring blankly. My breath comes in shallow gasps as I scan the alley, praying no one saw. The street is empty, eerily quiet.
With shaking fingers, I pull out my phone and dial Gi-hun.
He picks up immediately.
"I killed someone," I whisper, my voice quivering. "He attacked me, and I—"
"Shit," he curses, cutting me off.
The call ends abruptly, leaving me alone with the lifeless body and the sound of my own pounding heartbeat.