Rain dripped lazily from the eaves of the small apartment where Jin lived alone. The faint smell of instant noodles and damp laundry filled the room. He sat cross-legged on the floor, peeling yet another meager meal from its wrapper, silently counting the minutes until he could leave for school.
School wasn't exactly a haven. It never had been. Every day brought the same routine: sneers, punches, snide remarks. Jin had learned to duck, dodge, and—most importantly—ignore. But today, the bruises on his arms and the soreness in his back reminded him he couldn't hide forever.
"Watch it, loser!" a voice snapped behind him as he entered the hallway. One of the usual bullies shoved him into a locker. Books clattered to the floor. Jin gritted his teeth, swallowing the familiar urge to lash out. "Sorry," he muttered, though no one was listening.
As he sat in class, pencils scratching across paper, whispers and laughter followed him. A spilled drink, a missing notebook, or just being there was enough to earn ridicule. He had no one to defend him, no parent to call, no older sibling to protect him. His grandmother had passed away months ago, leaving him truly alone. His parents? He didn't even know where they were.
By evening, he trudged home, exhausted from both work and the emotional weight of school. Jin cooked another instant meal, ate silently, and stared at the walls. The silence of the apartment pressed down like a stone. Thoughts crept into his mind—maybe it's easier to just stop trying… to disappear.
But then he remembered her words, echoing softly in his memory: "Enjoy life at its fullest, Jin. Don't let it slip away." A lump formed in his throat, and tears stung his eyes. He buried his face in his hands and let himself cry, mourning the life he never had. That night, he curled up under the thin blanket and allowed himself to sleep with a small, stubborn hope: maybe tomorrow could be different.
The next morning, Jin packed a small bag and left for the new city, a place where no one knew his name. The streets buzzed with unfamiliar faces, neon signs, and the distant honking of cars. He felt both anxious and strangely liberated. A fresh start—a school where he wasn't a punchline, a house that wasn't empty of warmth—awaited him.
The journey was long and exhausting. He sat in the train, staring out the window, watching rain-soaked streets blur into motion. He remembered his grandmother's laughter, the smell of her cooking, and the soft way she had tucked him in during nights like this. A pang of loneliness hit him, but it was softened by determination. This time, he wouldn't just survive. He would start living.
Finally, he arrived at the old family house. It was larger than he expected, dusty, creaking, and full of forgotten memories. As he stepped inside, the smell of old wood and mildew filled his nostrils. Sunlight filtered through cracks in the windows, casting uneven beams across the floor. He dropped his bag and rolled up his sleeves, determined to make this place his own.
Cleaning wasn't glamorous. Cobwebs fell in clouds, dust coated every surface, and he sneezed repeatedly as he wiped counters and scrubbed floors. But among the scattered furniture and old trunks, he noticed something… unusual.
Strange objects were tucked in corners and behind cabinets—oddly shaped tools, faded books with symbols he didn't recognize, and trinkets that glimmered faintly as if they had a light of their own. His curiosity flared, pushing aside fatigue. He examined each item, imagining their stories, feeling a strange connection to the past he never knew.
Then he saw it: a heavy, iron-bound door, partially hidden behind a toppled bookshelf. Its surface was etched with intricate, shifting patterns. The handle felt cold under his hand, almost alive, sending a shiver up his spine.
Jin stepped back, breathing heavily. A thousand questions buzzed in his mind: What was behind this door? Had his grandmother known? Why had he never seen it before?
Despite a flicker of fear, excitement coursed through him. For the first time in years, he felt that spark—the possibility of something beyond mundane life, beyond sorrow and bullying. He pressed a hand against the door again, this time with more resolve. A faint warmth spread through his fingers, like the house itself was acknowledging him.
He laughed nervously. "Well… here goes nothing," he whispered.
The rain outside had stopped, leaving the world wet and sparkling. Dust motes floated in the shafts of sunlight that broke through broken windows. For the first time in a long while, Jin felt… alive. The weight of life, the endless suffering, the loneliness—all of it felt lighter somehow, as if the universe had handed him a key to something extraordinary.
He sank onto the floor for a moment, letting the silence wash over him, and allowed himself one small thought, a flicker of mischief in his tired eyes: Maybe life's about to get a lot more interesting.
And as he stared at the mysterious door, a strange tingling sensation ran through his body, like electricity dancing beneath his skin. He didn't know it yet, but the moment he decided to touch that door again, his life was about to change forever.