Kojiro Nohara was, by all appearances, a perfectly average boy. At sixteen years old, he stood at an unremarkable height of 5'7", with a lean frame that neither drew attention nor invited scrutiny. His black hair was neatly combed every morning, neither long nor short, and his pale complexion blended seamlessly with the crowd in his suburban Seoul neighborhood. If one were to describe him in a word, it would be "ordinary." Nothing about Kojiro screamed brilliance or failure; he existed comfortably in the middle ground, unnoticed and unremarkable. 

Born into a middle-class family, Kojiro's life reflected the monotony of his surroundings. His father, Masao Nohara, worked as an office employee in a small finance company, earning just enough to keep the family afloat. His mother, Misae Nohara, was a homemaker, running the household with a precision that bordered on micromanagement. Their small apartment in a quiet residential complex was clean and functional, but devoid of any personality. Everything they owned served a purpose, and anything unnecessary was considered a waste. 

Kojiro was a decent student. He consistently ranked in the top 20% of his class—not exceptional, but good enough to receive occasional comments from teachers about his potential. His strongest subjects were math and science, not because he particularly enjoyed them, but because his parents deemed them important. "Math and science are where the good jobs are," his father often reminded him. "Focus on what will make you successful, not on silly hobbies." 

Kojiro's daily routine was as predictable as the sunrise. He woke up to his mother's sharp voice, not out of concern but as if she were ensuring a checklist was completed. "Kojiro, wake up! You don't want to be late!" she would call, her tone more impatient than affectionate. He would stumble out of bed, brush his teeth, and sit at the kitchen table for breakfast. The meal was always the same: a bowl of rice, kimchi, and a fried egg. 

His father, seated at the table with a newspaper, rarely looked up. "Eat quickly," he would say in his usual monotone. "You need to focus on your studies. Nothing else matters at your age." 

Kojiro ate silently, nodding along to their usual lectures. "Remember," his mother added, "playing is a waste of time. What good will it do you in the future? Friends will come and go, Kojiro. First, earn a good job, and then think about other things like friends or a girlfriend." 

Their words echoed every morning, shaping Kojiro's perception of the world. To his parents, he was not a child but a project. He was their investment, their retirement plan, their ticket to a future they could no longer reach themselves. They spoke of him with pride to neighbors and relatives, boasting about his grades and how disciplined he was. "Kojiro is so focused," they would say. "He doesn't waste time like other kids." But deep down, Kojiro knew their pride was conditional. If he faltered or strayed from their expectations, their warmth would vanish in an instant. 

At school, Kojiro blended in just as he did at home. He wasn't particularly social, but he wasn't a loner either. He had a few acquaintances he occasionally exchanged words with, but he rarely participated in after-school activities or hung out with friends. His parents had drilled into him that socializing was a distraction, something that could wait until he had a stable job and a respectable income. "You don't need friends now," his father had once told him. "They'll only be useful when you have money." 

Despite his seemingly calm demeanor, there was a quiet storm brewing within Kojiro. He was grateful to his parents for providing for him, but he couldn't ignore the resentment that lingered in the corners of his mind. He resented how they saw him as a means to an end, how they dismissed his desires and dreams as frivolous. He longed to play like the other kids, to laugh and run around without the weight of expectations pressing down on him. But even his moments of rebellion were fleeting; he had been conditioned too thoroughly to stray too far from their control. 

Kojiro's room was as utilitarian as the rest of the house. A desk piled with textbooks and notebooks dominated the space. The walls were bare except for a calendar marked with study schedules and upcoming exams. Any semblance of childhood whimsy had been carefully stripped away. Even the few books and comics he owned were chosen for their educational value. 

In rare moments of solitude, Kojiro would stare out the window, watching the other kids play in the park below. He envied their freedom, their laughter, their ability to exist without the constant pressure of living up to someone else's expectations. He wondered if they, too, would grow up to be like him—shaped and molded by parents who saw them as nothing more than future breadwinners. 

Yet, despite everything, Kojiro never voiced his frustrations. He couldn't. His parents' words were always in the back of his mind, reminding him that his feelings didn't matter. "We're doing this for your own good," they often said. "You'll thank us one day." 

And so, Kojiro continued his average life. He studied diligently, followed the rules, and stayed on the path his parents had laid out for him. On the surface, he was the model son—obedient, hardworking, and respectful. But beneath that facade, he carried the weight of dreams he couldn't chase, questions he couldn't ask, and a longing for a life that was truly his own. 

Kojiro sat at his desk, staring out of the window. He watched the sunlight filter through the branches of a tree swaying gently in the breeze, lost in his thoughts. A sharp voice snapped him out of his daydream.

"What are you thinking about, Kojiro?!" his mother, Misae, shouted, her voice laced with a mix of irritation and nervous energy. She walked over and stood in front of him, hands on her hips, before suddenly breaking into a laugh. "You're such a daydreamer. Focus, okay?" She bent down and kissed him on the forehead. "Do good on the entrance exam today. Have you gone through everything again? You've revised all the sections, haven't you?"

Kojiro nodded hesitantly. Before he could respond, his father, Masao, stepped into the room, patting him firmly on the shoulder. "Relax, son. Be confident and write well," he said with a faint smile, trying to project a calm aura. "Don't overthink it. You've prepared for this."

With their words of encouragement ringing in his ears, Kojiro picked up his bag and walked out with his parents. At the exam center, the scene was chaotic, with parents and students bustling about, the nervous energy almost palpable. As they approached the gates, his parents waved enthusiastically, blending in with the crowd of other parents doing the same.

"Good luck, Kojiro!" his mother shouted, smiling brightly, while his father nodded approvingly. Kojiro managed a small wave back, his expression neutral, and walked through the gates.

Inside the exam hall, he found his assigned bench and sat down. The invigilator handed out the question papers, and the hall soon fell silent except for the rustle of papers and the faint scratching of pens. Kojiro focused on the task before him, methodically working through the questions. It was just another exam, he thought. He finished early, checked his answers, and waited until it was time to leave.

As he stepped out of the classroom, Kojiro saw a tall, strikingly handsome boy leaning casually against the wall. He radiated an air of arrogance, his posture relaxed yet commanding attention. The boy smirked as he spotted Kojiro.

"Hey, nerd," the boy called out, his tone dripping with mockery.

Kojiro recognized him immediately—Jake, one of the most popular students in school. Jake's confident aura was the exact opposite of Kojiro's quiet demeanor. Kojiro sighed inwardly but walked towards the group that had gathered around Jake, knowing it was inevitable.

"Yo, how was the exam?" someone in the group asked as Kojiro approached.

"It was okay," Kojiro replied softly.

The group burst into laughter. "You always say that, but then you end up coming first!" another student teased.

Kojiro offered a weak smile but didn't respond. The conversation quickly shifted to a new topic—future plans.

"So, what do you want to be?" someone asked, the question cutting through the noise and landing squarely on Kojiro.

Kojiro froze, the question catching him off guard. His mind raced as he tried to formulate an answer. What do I want to do? he asked himself. For a moment, his mind was blank. Then, almost instinctively, he blurted out, "A doctor."

The group nodded, satisfied with his answer, but Kojiro's heart sank. He hadn't said it because he wanted to be a doctor. He had said it because that was what his parents expected of him. Most of his relatives were doctors—respected, wealthy, and often able to secure medical school seats with money rather than merit. It was the path laid out for him, the one he was supposed to follow.

But Kojiro's family wasn't like theirs. They were middle-class, living on a careful balance of budgeting and saving. The pressure to succeed, to lift the family out of mediocrity, rested entirely on his shoulders. He was the donkey carrying the weight of his parents' dreams, but he hadn't yet realized how deeply he was drowning in it.

The conversation moved on without him, the group now planning to go to karaoke to blow off steam after the exam. Kojiro stood silently as they chatted, knowing no one would invite him. They assumed, correctly, that he would decline, saying he needed to go home.

As the group dispersed, Kojiro walked outside and spotted his parents waiting for him near the gate. His mother waved enthusiastically as his father checked his watch.

"How was it?" his mother asked eagerly, her face lighting up when she saw him.

"It was fine," Kojiro replied, his voice steady.

"Good," his father said with a nod. "We've been standing here for five hours in the sun, waiting for you." His tone wasn't accusatory, just matter-of-fact, as if to remind Kojiro of their sacrifice.

To celebrate, they took him to a restaurant. It wasn't a fancy place, just a worn-down hotpot joint they visited for every special occasion. The air was warm and stuffy, and the furniture was scuffed from years of use. They ordered the usual—a steaming pot of broth filled with vegetables and thinly sliced meat.

Kojiro stared at the dish as the pot bubbled in front of him. For as long as he could remember, this was their tradition. Every birthday, every exam result, every so-called milestone in his life—they always came here, and they always ordered hotpot.

His parents chatted animatedly, discussing the exam and their plans for his future. Kojiro nodded along, but his mind wandered. He thought about the group at school, about how they had asked him what he wanted to do. He had never seriously considered the question before. What do I want to do? He didn't know. All he knew was what his parents wanted for him, and even that felt like a distant dream, more theirs than his.

As the hotpot simmered, Kojiro forced a smile and picked up his chopsticks. He ate quietly, listening to his parents talk, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him like always. For them, this was a celebration. For him, it was just another reminder of the life that wasn't truly his.