So yeah, the world ended. I'm starting to think the apocalypse is just the planet's way of playing a very bad prank—and spoiler alert, it's winning.
But first, let's rewind a bit.
My name's Han Yoon-ah. I'm an only child—born into a family of three. My parents were so busy chasing money, they barely had time for me, which meant no parental guidance and all the freedom to mess up however I wanted.
I remember the year the apocalypse began. Man, it was unexpected. We thought it was just some horror movie playing out—until it wasn't.
That year? Easily the worst of my life.
Sadly, my only companion was myself. I was born a recluse—or maybe not. I don't really remember the details. Why would I, anyway?
My life was a jumbled mess. I was always bullied at school. Fighting back wasn't really an option.
Maybe telling the bully to *fuck off* wasn't my brightest idea, but… well, I think I'm starting to ramble.
Anyway, the story goes on. My parents died when I was sixteen in a plane crash. Since then, I've lived alone on the fortune they left behind. They were never really my parents. Just two people who happened to bring me into the world and forgot to raise me after that.
I left Seoul and moved to Busan. Not the pretty coastal part tourists see on postcards. No, I found the quietest, most out-of-the-way neighborhood I could find and rented a crumbling building that looked like a haunted house no one dared tear down.
I packed one suitcase, grabbed my hoodie, stuffed in my phone, and left like I was fleeing a crime scene.
The day I arrived at the train station, the sun was hiding like it knew something I didn't. I climbed into the train, found an empty seat, and slumped into it. My hoodie was pulled low over my face, my blue cap pressed tight. If invisibility were a skill, I'd have maxed it out.
Sleep took over—again. That's what I did best. Sleeping was my way of shutting out the world. If I wasn't awake, I couldn't think. Couldn't remember. Couldn't hurt.
At some point, the train conductor came by, tapping my shoulder with all the gentleness of a rockslide.
"Ticket?" he barked.
I blinked slowly, resisting the urge to hiss like a feral cat, and handed him my crumpled ticket from my pocket. He grunted, nodded, and moved on.
Eventually, the train pulled into the Busan station.
I stepped off with one hand dragging my blue travel box behind me and the other shoved deep into the pocket of my oversized hoodie. I probably looked like a runaway delinquent. Or a rich girl in disguise, which... technically, I was both.
I hailed a cab and immediately passed out again. The driver didn't say a word, bless him. Just drove in silence. Unlike other drivers who talk like the radio is broken and they're filling the gap with their life story.
Maybe this is how cabbies are here?