The sun beat down relentlessly, its scorching rays igniting the sky in a fiery blend of crimson and violet — a cruel masterpiece taunting Min-jae's weary spirit. Every fiber of his being shrieked in exhaustion as he hauled the white-haired girl on his back through the long, sweltering afternoon, her fragile weight a grueling challenge pushing his limits. Gasping for air, he collapsed onto the edge of a cracked footpath, the girls crumpling around him — the blonde nestling close, the pink-haired girl curling into herself, the white-haired girl wincing in pain, while the black-haired one gazed blankly into the dusk. His mind drifted to the day's backdrop.
Time rewound to the morning, the day's tale unfolding as they climbed down the goods train, stepping onto gritty soil. The air hung thick with coal dust, sacks piled high, casting jagged shadows — a stark reminder of the yard's industrial grind. As they left, the horizon opened wide, revealing a sprawling plateau where the city thrived. Its flat expanse pulsed with life, a strategic hub where roads and railway lines converged, a bustling commercial crossroads alive with trade. The skyline bristled with warehouses, their rooftops glinting under the harsh sun, while carts laden with coffee, sugarcane, and sisal hinted at a fertile agricultural base stretching beyond.
Lost in the weight of the moment, they ventured forth, soon swallowed by a maze of narrow alleys. Stale air thick with rot led them past rusted gates as the lanes twisted between squat houses with peeling walls, their footsteps stomping like a clumsy dance on cracked stone. Min-jae paused at a dead-end, squinting with a grimace, muttering, "Looks like they slapped this city together on a drunkard's doodle — who the heck designed this nightmare?" Hunger clawed at them, driving them deeper into the labyrinth until they finally stumbled out, lured by the chaotic hum of a bustling marketplace. Vendors peddled fruits — mangoes, bananas, and papayas — alongside trinkets and spices, their shouts blending into a frenzied chorus of commerce. Min-jae approached a vendor, the white-haired girl slung across his back, the other girls trailing behind him. His broken English faltered as he pleaded, "Sir… please, food?" The vendor scowled, swinging a broom at him, and snapped in sharp Spanish — "¡Vete!" — before turning away, dismissing their desperate stares. He then approached a passerby, gesturing for water, but faced the same cold rejection. With that final slap, his frustration erupted. "We aren't stranded in a desert, are we? Can't someone spare a drop for this pitiful soul?" he growled in Korean, fists tightening.
The day dragged on mercilessly. They dodged stray dogs snarling over scraps, paused briefly in a dusty lot watching kids their age playing in a nearby field — a poignant reminder of their isolation that gnawed at their hearts. By evening, desperation took over. Min-jae resorted to scouring dustbins, questioning his life choices. "Even the orphanage beat this — at least they had bread," he muttered, but a shiver raced down his spine as the director's chilling words, "Take off your clothes, niño," and sinister smirk haunted his memory. He shook his head vehemently. "No, anything but that."
Left with nothing, he finally brought himself to search through the trash. Rummaging through a bin, he discovered a torn cardboard sheet. He folded it and handed it to the black-haired girl. "Hold onto this for later — it's better than sleeping in muck," he said with a faint smile. Resuming his search in other bins, he uncovered some empty soda cans and a half-eaten banana. Staring at it, his stomach rumbled, tempting him to eat, but disgust twisted his face. "No way," he spat. But hunger roared louder than his lips, easing his reluctance. Though the banana looked far from hygienic and was too small to waste by cutting, his gaze lingered, and his mind seamlessly drifted to a flashback from his past life.
It was a lazy middle school afternoon back home. His parents were out, and his two sisters were locked in a fierce scuffle over the TV remote, each yanking the other's hair in a desperate bid for control. The remote slipped, flipping to a wildlife channel mid-fight. Seeing the chaos, Min-jae muttered, "Let the tigresses clash among themselves," and settled in to watch whatever flickered on screen. On the channel, Child vs. Wild aired, featuring none other than The Man, The Myth, The Legend 'Polar Bear Grylls', a renowned wildlife adventurer trekking through a dense jungle. Spotting a half-eaten fruit, Grylls paused, addressing the camera with rugged authority, "Listen up, survivors! If you get trapped in a jungle with no food and stumble across a half-eaten fruit like this, don't just shove it in your mouth. It's crawling with microscopic critters you can't see — silent killers waiting to strike. Your best move is to wash it thoroughly before eating. But if water's scarce, use your saliva to scrub it down — it's packed with antimicrobial power to fend off those unseen threats!"
Snapping out of the trance, he spat into his hand and rubbed the banana clean. His gaze shifted to the girls, their eyes twinkling with anticipation. As their twinkling eyes sparkled with longing, he felt a surge of resolve and split the banana into four pieces, placing one in each girl's mouth. He tilted his head sideways, his palm pressing his chest with reluctance he controlled his sorrow, letting a fake tear roll down with a dramatic sniff, only to snort back his nose as duty stole the show with a smirk! Though meager, the small bite brought the girls delight, their eyes a glow with the joy of discovering an oasis in the midst of a desert. Watching them, Min-jae steadied himself, murmuring, "Min-jae, this wouldn't fill my mouth, let alone ease my hunger", yet his stomach grumbled in protest. Still, he sighed in reluctance — "Guess, mosquito meat is also meat."
As the sun dipped below the horizon and night enveloped the world, Min-jae — exhausted and unfed for nearly 24 hours — spotted a dark, narrow alley that tapered off ahead. Shielded by empty trash bins upfront, it offered a secluded nook for the night, hiding them from the leering gazes of any human predators. He trudged through the bins into the alley's depths. Gently lowering the white-haired girl from his back, he retrieved the cardboard sheet from the black-haired girl's hands — the one he'd given her earlier. He tore it into two halves, laying one on the ground, then motioned for the girls to lie and rest upon it. Checking the white-haired girl's ankle, now more swollen, he ripped a strip from his oversized T-shirt, adjusting it to fit, and wrapped it as a bandage. She hissed, mumbling, "Mne bol'no (it hurts)," in a language he didn't understand. "Hang in there," he told the white-haired girl, patting her head. Then he draped the other half of the cardboard over the resting girls as a makeshift blanket. Stretching out on the cold, dusty street beside them, he muttered, "A man's gotta endure," his resilience a silent vow.
The scene shifts to midnight where the panel zoomed in on Min-jae's face, one eye twitching with irritation. The view pulled back: the blonde clutched his waist, the pink haired girl's leg draped over his. "Great, my new bedmates," he thought with a mental snarl, his irritation growing. "Hey," he snarled, turning his head towards the blonde, "why aren't you clutching that doll? Do I look like a toy or something?" Then to the pink-haired, "And what's with that leg on me?" but his words fell on deaf ears.
He recalled what had happened just a few hours ago. As he lay on the bare, dusty ground, the girls had slid the cardboard covering them. They took his hand and pulled him into their midst, with the blonde on one side and the pink-haired girl on the other. The white- and black-haired girls settled in at the corners, huddling close.
Later, still pinned, he gazed upward towards the sky, watching the stars, reflecting on his past life. He recalled how much he despised it, wishing that if he regressed to his younger self, he'd avoid such a pathetic existence — only to find himself now in an even bleaker struggle. Back then, he loathed his life more than anything — corporate drudgery, skipping meals, surviving on ramen — yet now, he fretted over tomorrow's sustenance. His thoughts circled back to the present, pondering how to secure food, the burden of all five weighing heavily on him. Begging crossed his mind, but he chuckled, "Never learned to beg — guess I flunked the beggar's academy." Stealing or pickpocketing tempted him, but the risks loomed large. Noticing his small stature, he smirked at the irony: "Can't even reach a pocket, let alone pick it." With a deep breath, he resolved, "Let's think about it tomorrow".
"To be continued..."
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