One Year Later
The air on the landing outside the principal's office was stuffy, smelling faintly of old gym socks and cheap cleaning solution. Above the students, the black double doors of the rooftop stood firm, each marked with the stark reminder: "STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED ON THE ROOFTOP."
"Isn't the world so unfair?" the student muttered to the person standing beside them. The rhetorical question was aimed less at their companion and more at the universe itself.
"Just look at Ajin," the companion replied, shaking their head. His or her tone was one of total surrender. "She's doing so well for herself that the student isn't even mad."
The student looked up at the forbidden doors, then down at their own plain school shoes. It was a familiar feeling—that heavy, sinking recognition of a socioeconomic or personal gap that could never be closed.
"Oh, she was in the same class as you in junior year, right?" the companion asked.
"Yeah," the student confirmed. "I heard she even knocked the mock CSAT out of the park."
The student remembered all the whispers. Even a year ago, everyone knew she was different. Now, Ajin was less a peer and more a legend.
"She's pretty, smart, popular... and she even has an amazing personality."
The companion's words felt like a list of everything the student was desperately struggling to be. The irony wasn't lost on them. After the terrifying chaos and the dark events hinted at by that initial warning—the one that mentioned depictions of violence—it felt like the student had to fight just to survive, while Ajin simply soared.
"She sounds like she's from a different planet..." the student finally said, a dry laugh catching in their throat.
Maybe she was. Some people, the student thought, were just born with an effortless gravity toward success, leaving the rest of them behind to stare up at forbidden rooftops, wondering if they'd ever catch a break. The student gripped the strap of their bag. One year had passed, and the world had certainly moved on—Ajin being the prime example. Now, it was up to the student to figure out how to catch up.

I stood on the landing, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the polished black tile. The rooftop doors were right behind me. A petty assignment, perhaps, but maintaining order—even small order—was essential.
I heard the low murmur of voices before I saw them. Two students, slacking off, whispering about someone.
"...Life must be so easy for Ajin," one of them griped.
Ajin. Even up here, even in the middle of a lecture about the unfairness of the world, her name came up. A name that represented everything these kids envied and, perhaps, everything I myself quietly acknowledged.
"Right?" the first student continued.
I took a deliberate step toward them, breaking the rhythm of their complaint. "Hey, you two should get downstairs."
Their heads snapped up. They were startled, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. I kept my face neutral, adopting the calm, low tone that always worked best.
"The rooftop..." I began, letting my eyes drift up to the warning sign. I wasn't just quoting a rule; I was embodying it. "...is off-limits to students."
The guy who was doing most of the talking flinched. His companion quickly apologized.
"O-oh... okay... Come on, let's go."
I watched them shuffle away. I didn't care about their excuses or their feelings of injustice; I cared about the rules. It was simple. I stood there, silent, hearing the DASH of my own polished shoe, a small SQUEAAAK as I adjusted my stance, and a final THUD as my heel settled.
Ajin became quite famous at school in senior year.
That was the real irony. I was here, in my full uniform, enforcing every petty rule, fighting to keep the boundaries firm. Meanwhile, Ajin was famous for knocking the mock CSAT out of the park, for being a singular, undeniable exception. She was the one who seemed to effortlessly cross boundaries and succeed in a way that made my own meticulous effort feel... small.
I wondered if they would see me as the villain, the one keeping them from their escape. Fine. Let them. If someone didn't hold the line, the whole school—the whole world—would crumble. And besides, I had my own path. The difference between me and them wasn't envy of Ajin; it was knowing that even someone from a "different planet" had to follow some rules. And for now, I was the one making sure these two followed mine.
I stood on the silent landing, my hand resting near the cold metal of the doorknob. The two rule-breakers had gone, and things were quiet once again... A deep, unnatural kind of quiet that had settled over the school ever since the big incident, the one that had been hinted at on the very first day of this senior year.
I knew the reality beneath the silence. It wasn't peace. It was erasure.
Ajin was the epitome of a straight-A student. She was the perfect cover. Her fame and flawless reputation shone so brightly they blinded everyone to the darkness right next door.
To be honest, it was unsurprising. The way people just moved on.
I thought about the casualties of that darkness.
Seonghee, who was once hell-bent on bringing Ajin down, was suddenly hospitalized... and was quickly transferred to another school soon after that. Her desk, covered in angry graffiti accusing a "thief," was a grim monument to a forgotten rivalry. A messy, loud, and ultimately futile attempt to challenge the perfect narrative.
The news cycle was even faster.
Jaeo's name was all over the news as the "Killer of Unit 401"... The headline was horrific: "TEENAGER IN PRISON FOR KILLING FATHER." A tragedy so immense it should have shaken the foundation of the school, of our neighborhood.
...But was quickly forgotten... as if he had never existed at all.
I closed my hand over the doorknob, feeling the cold metal press into my palm. Jaeo's horror, Seonghee's disappearance, the students complaining about unfairness, my endless patrols—it all vanished under the smooth, perfect surface that Ajin's existence created.
That was the real unfairness. The world didn't forget the victims; it forgot the truth behind the crime. It chose to focus on the impossible standard of perfection—the Ajin standard—and erase anyone who failed, anyone who broke, anyone who killed.
My job, I realized, wasn't just to enforce the rules of the school. It was to be the silent witness to the school's collective amnesia, holding the line while the world tried to pretend the violence never happened and that the quiet was normal. I took my hand off the doorknob. My work wasn't finished.
I was just leaving the landing when I heard the faint sound of the door SWING open. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person moved through this school with such quiet confidence.
She was the center of attention at school, and... was the object of everyone's envy. Even mine, perhaps, if I were honest with myself. But my thoughts on her were always more analytical. Ajin was a phenomenon I studied, not just admired.
I turned. There she was. Perfect uniform, flawless skin, a subtle and knowing look in her eyes.
"I knew you'd be here," she said, a soft, almost intimate statement that completely ignored the fact that I was actively enforcing a rule. She knew I was predictable, a fixture in this rigid environment.
Her presence always shifted the atmosphere, making the cold hall feel suddenly warmer, sharper. I waited for her to ask about the students I'd just sent away, but she didn't bother. Ajin's focus was always forward.
"I'm going to head to the library after school. Wanna come with me?"
The question was casual, an invitation to a mundane activity, yet it felt like a break in the school's unspoken laws. It was a chance to step off the track of rigid schedules and responsibilities I held so tightly.
I nearly opened my mouth to accept, but the truth I always kept buried rose up to stop me.
But there was still one element of danger that hadn't been resolved.
I watched her, this perfect creation of the school, the media, and everyone's expectations. I knew the rumors were only half the story. Ajin's perfection felt less like freedom and more like a cage she had been forced into.
My mind flashed to an image I shouldn't have been able to imagine: bare ankles, delicate but rigid, bound by a heavy, archaic chain. It was a visual metaphor for the truth no one talked about.
Ajin hasn't been able to break free from the last chain that binds her.
And I, Junseo, the rule-enforcer, the rigid stickler, was one of the few people who could see it. I could feel the tension behind her smile, the forced lightness of her invitation. I knew that whatever darkness had consumed Seonghee and Jaeo was still lurking, attached to Ajin, waiting for the right moment.
Could I risk getting closer? Could I pull myself into the orbit of her danger?
I looked from her perfect face to the black doors of the forbidden rooftop, and back again. The choice was simple: stay on the safe, cold landing, or step into the beautiful, yet perilous, world of Ajin.
"I can't," I finally said, my voice measured. "I still have patrol rounds. Maybe another time."
It was a lie, of course. But some chains were too heavy to touch.

I was just leaving the landing when I heard the faint sound of the door SWING open. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person moved through this school with such quiet confidence.
She was the center of attention at school, and... was the object of everyone's envy. Even mine, perhaps, if I were honest with myself. But my thoughts on her were always more analytical. Ajin was a phenomenon I studied, not just admired.
I turned. There she was. Perfect uniform, flawless skin, a subtle and knowing look in her eyes.
"I knew you'd be here," she said, a soft, almost intimate statement that completely ignored the fact that I was actively enforcing a rule. She knew I was predictable, a fixture in this rigid environment.
Her presence always shifted the atmosphere, making the cold hall feel suddenly warmer, sharper. I waited for her to ask about the students I'd just sent away, but she didn't bother. Ajin's focus was always forward.
"I'm going to head to the library after school. Wanna come with me?"
The question was casual, an invitation to a mundane activity, yet it felt like a break in the school's unspoken laws. It was a chance to step off the track of rigid schedules and responsibilities I held so tightly.
I nearly opened my mouth to accept, but the truth I always kept buried rose up to stop me.
But there was still one element of danger that hadn't been resolved.
I watched her, this perfect creation of the school, the media, and everyone's expectations. I knew the rumors were only half the story. Ajin's perfection felt less like freedom and more like a cage she had been forced into.
My mind flashed to an image I shouldn't have been able to imagine: bare ankles, delicate but rigid, bound by a heavy, archaic chain. It was a visual metaphor for the truth no one talked about.
Ajin hasn't been able to break free from the last chain that binds her.
And I, Junseo, the rule-enforcer, the rigid stickler, was one of the few people who could see it. I could feel the tension behind her smile, the forced lightness of her invitation. I knew that whatever darkness had consumed Seonghee and Jaeo was still lurking, attached to Ajin, waiting for the right moment.
Could I risk getting closer? Could I pull myself into the orbit of her danger?
I looked from her perfect face to the black doors of the forbidden rooftop, and back again. The choice was simple: stay on the safe, cold landing, or step into the beautiful, yet perilous, world of Ajin.
"I can't," I finally said, my voice measured. "I still have patrol rounds. Maybe another time."
It was a lie, of course. But some chains were too heavy to touch.
I watched Junseo walk away, his refusal to join me at the library as predictable as the sun rising. He was so rigid, so devoted to the rules, but I knew his eyes held questions about me. Everyone's eyes did.
I walked out of the school and headed straight for the Nojeong Central Library. It was a place of temporary escape, a sterile, quiet island in the chaos of Nojeong District.
I found a seat in the back corner, pulling out my books, but the quiet was an illusion. My mind was already occupied by the one unresolved element of danger, the chain that bound me.
I wasn't alone for long. He was there, the only person I allowed close enough to know the weight of my secret. We didn't talk about classes or dreams. We talked about survival.
"Once you graduate, you won't have to worry about your father," he said, leaning in. His voice was low, reassuring. "I'll deal with him."
I looked at him, his face a mask of concern and quiet determination. His promise felt huge, the only real hope I had left. But I knew the reality was more complicated than a simple graduation day escape.
"He quiets down for a while when I give him some money," I explained, my voice flat. It was a confession, the ugly truth behind the perfect grades and the straight-A image. My perfection was transactional; it was the capital I needed to maintain a fragile, temporary peace at home.
I didn't meet his eyes fully, not wanting him to see the shame, or the exhaustion. The school saw me as a goddess, a phenomenon. But at home, I was just a source of income, a shield against my father's rage.
A voice cut through the library's quiet: "THANK YOU FOR VISITING NOJEONG CENTRAL LIBRARY. WE WILL BE CLOSING IN FIVE MINUTES."
I glanced at the wall clock. The hands were close to closing time. Time was always running out. The quiet was ending. The peace was temporary. Soon, I would have to go home, and deal with the next installment of that never-ending payment.
He stood up, gathering his things.
"I'll walk you out," he offered.
I nodded, grateful for the last few moments of safety before I had to face the chain that still held me.
We walked out of the Nojeong Central Library, the evening air crisp and cool. The brief solace was over, and the heavy weight of reality settled back onto my shoulders.
"We can't keep that up forever..." I murmured to my companion, my gaze fixed straight ahead. The 'that' wasn't our study sessions; it was the financial arrangement, the temporary peace bought with my effort and my money.
"At this rate, he'll follow me around... leeching off me for the rest of my life."
The thought wasn't a fear; it was a certainty. My entire life had become a struggle to outrun a parasite. My mock CSAT scores, my popularity, my perfect image—it was all ammunition for a war he didn't even know I was waging.
I felt my jaw tighten. I wasn't going to let that happen.
"I'm not emotional and reckless like Jaeo."
Jaeo's story was a tragedy of impulse, a breaking point reached in a moment of despair. His violence was loud and exposed, instantly forgotten by a world that preferred neat, clean narratives. My path would be different. It had to be silent, surgical, and permanent.
"I'm going to excise this tumor, once and for all."
The image was clinical, detached. I was not plotting revenge; I was planning a necessary procedure. This wasn't about hate anymore; it was about survival and the reclamation of what was stolen.
I stopped and turned away from my companion, facing the growing darkness. I stood firm, drawing on the cold, hard logic that kept me sane. I had sacrificed my childhood to this monster. The only way to save my future was to terminate the cause.
"I'm going to make him pay... for ruining my childhood."
The perfect Ajin that the school knew—the one who studied late at the library and smiled politely—was a ghost. The true Ajin was here, resolute and utterly cold, ready to make a move that would break the last chain that bound her. The price of my freedom would be high, but I was prepared to pay it. And I was going to ensure that he paid a price much, much higher.
The day was a blur of timed sections and silent pressure. It was the COLLEGE SCHOLASTIC ABILITY TEST, the final, agonizing hurdle. My scores were my leverage, my shield, my weapon. The entire schedule—Korean, Mathematics, English, Social Studies, the final Second Foreign Language session—was etched into my memory, not as a test of knowledge, but as a path to freedom.
I focused intently on the page. My mind, usually running a cold calculus of survival, was now a machine processing information with chilling efficiency. The fate of my future—my escape from my father, my ability to "excise that tumor"—depended on the perfection of these moments.
I glanced up. Beside me, my companion from the library was slumped over his desk, quietly asleep. The soft "ZZZZ" sound was a gentle contrast to the anxiety filling the room. He had already dealt with his own battles; perhaps he was truly free to rest. I wasn't.
Every minute counted. I tightened my grip on the pen. I couldn't afford to be tired. I couldn't afford a single error.
Later, in the computer lab, I was going over mock test data, reviewing results, making sure everything was on track. The final preparation was just as crucial as the exam itself.
I felt a presence behind me and turned to see my companion looking over my shoulder. He seemed to be checking my screen, perhaps judging my performance. I felt a quick spike of tension, hearing a faint "GULP" in the otherwise quiet room—was it mine, or his?
I looked at him, my expression unreadable. Did he understand the monstrous effort, the dark motivation behind my perfect façade? Did he know I wasn't studying to get into a good university, but to buy my life back?
He said nothing, just stood there, silently confirming the gravity of the situation. Every action I took was a step toward that ultimate, final confrontation with my father. And the perfection I displayed here, in the sterile silence of Nojeong High, was the only currency that mattered
The computer screen glowed, illuminating the final proof of my victory. The words hit me with a surge of cold satisfaction: "CONGRATULATIONS, AJIN BAEK. YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO THE LAW PROGRAM." The Law. The ultimate system of control, the perfect tool for someone who understood power and retribution.
My companion was instantly behind me, a grin splitting his face. "NICE!!!" he exclaimed, ruffling my hair with an easy, congratulatory gesture. I leaned into his hand for just a second, a flicker of genuine warmth passing between us. My acceptance wasn't just a win for me; it was the start of the promise he'd made: "I'll deal with him."
I tilted my head back, a slow, deep smile blooming on my face. It wasn't the relieved smile of a student; it was the satisfied smirk of a general who had just won the final battle. The financial leverage, the social capital, the legal knowledge—I had everything I needed now.
The school year ended not long after. In our classroom, 3-1, our teacher stood before us, radiating easy pride.
"I'm proud of you all for working so hard these past three years. Have a great winter break, everyone." He smiled, completely unaware of the battles fought in his classroom, the crimes committed and forgotten. "Don't forget, the graduation ceremony is on February 9th!"
Graduation. That date was more than just a ceremony; it was the final, definitive marker. Once I walked off that stage, I would be free of Nojeong High and free to begin the next phase of my life—the phase where my father became an irrelevance, or worse.
The perfect image was complete: I was the straight-A student, the future lawyer, the epitome of success. Now that the world had given me what I needed, I could finally take back what was mine.
My tuition was secured. My future was solid. My revenge was imminent. The law program acceptance was not a chance for a career; it was my license to excise the tumor and make him pay for ruining my childhood. The chain was broken.
The teacher's voice finally faded. The room erupted in a chaos of relief and joy. This was it—the end of three long years.
My classmates were laughing, shouting jokes across the room. I watched them, detached but not entirely unfeeling.
"If you show up late, you'll have to stick around for another year!" someone shouted, eliciting groans and laughter.
"Boooooo!" came the reply. "Aw, come on! No way, hahaha!"
The camaraderie was palpable. They were all celebrating a shared experience and looking forward to an uncertain but free future.
"See you at graduation!" someone yelled as the first students started pouring out of the room.
I gathered my things slowly, the weight of my acceptance letter and the finality of my decision settling over me. Outside the window, the world was turning white. Fine, powdery flakes were falling, dusting the rooftop and the empty school grounds. It was winter break, the season of rest and quiet reflection, but for me, it was the start of the execution phase.
I looked out at the snow-covered rooftop. The place Junseo guarded so strictly, the symbol of everything forbidden, was now just a white landscape under a vast, gray sky.
I felt a stark, almost dizzying clarity. The tuition—my ticket to the Law Program and the power that came with it—was secured.
"Oh, looks like I can pay tuition starting tomorrow."
My lips barely moved as I whispered the thought to myself. The acceptance letter, the congratulations, the farewells—it was all just groundwork. The real victory was the financial leverage, the concrete means to escape the shadow that had been my father.
The snow fell silently, muffling the last sounds of laughter from the hallway. There was no more running, no more pretending. I had earned my freedom, and starting tomorrow, I would begin the process of making the person who stole my childhood pay the ultimate price.
The date on my phone screen was a glaring red flag. The TUITION DEADLINE was looming, stretching from the first to the third of the month. The Law Program acceptance was the easy part; paying for it was the real, immediate challenge.
"Money will be tight for a while... after I pay my tuition fee," I thought, staring at my reflection in the window. "I've almost run out of the money I saved up while going to school..."
The truth was, I was almost completely drained. Every good grade, every perfect score, every hour of study had been monetized and meticulously saved. That fund was supposed to be my weapon, the thing that ended my father's control. Now, it was just enough to get me through the university doors.
"Should I try and stick it out with what I have left...? Or maybe I should get a part-time job."
The thought of sacrificing more time to a mundane job, diverting my energy away from my meticulous plans for revenge, was infuriating. I had spent a year building this perfect escape, and now my resources were failing me at the final hurdle. The unfairness I heard my classmates complain about on the rooftop felt acutely real now. I had the power to change my destiny, but I still needed cash to turn the key.
My thoughts were violently interrupted.
My phone, resting on the desk beside me, began to vibrate, a harsh, buzzing sound: "BZZZZZ BZZZZZ."
The caller ID was unmistakable: JUNSEO.
Junseo. The rule-enforcer. The one I'd invited to the library, the one who saw the perfect façade and still held himself apart. I looked down at my feet, momentarily lost in the sound of the buzzing, before picking up the phone.
"Hey, what's up?" I answered, forcing a lightness into my voice.
I had just finished securing my ticket out of hell, but here was the very real, messy world intruding. Junseo's call was an unexpected variable, pulling me out of the cold calculus of my financial dilemma and back into the complicated human drama I thought I had mastered.
I wondered if his call was a distraction, or if it was the beginning of the next crucial move on the board.
I had picked up the call from Junseo, but before I could fully address the topic of my dangerously low savings, the line went quiet. He hadn't said anything of substance, just the low BZZZZ of the phone vibration and then his voice, polite but distant.
I frowned, looking out at the heavy snowfall. It was a perfect, quiet scene, utterly at odds with the frantic TUITION DEADLINE burning into my mind.
Suddenly, I heard his voice again, though it was slightly distorted, like he had put the phone near his mouth and then pulled it back.
"Oh, I'm just calling to let you know that I got home safe and sound," he said. He sounded tired, but relieved. "It's snowing a lot outside."
I let out a tired sigh. He was always worrying about me getting home safely, a strange, gentle contrast to my own calculated coldness.
"See? I told you to go home... before it started snowing!" I teased him gently. He was right, of course. He was always right.
"Yeah, you were right as usual..." he conceded, a slight chuckle in his voice.
I leaned against the wall, pulling my sleeve down over my hand. The weight of the world felt lighter when I talked to him. He was the only person I allowed to see the "I" that wasn't the perfect, straight-A student.
"You made sure to lock the door after I left, right?" I asked, a familiar anxiety creeping in. "That door is so old, it would fall off if someone bumped into it."
He paused, and I heard a strange sort of shuffling noise on his end. Then, his voice dropped, becoming hushed and a little strained.
"Oh, give me a second. I think I'm getting a call..."
My stomach immediately tightened. A call? Who else would call him now? I didn't say it out loud, but I felt a burst of ownership, of panic. He was my refuge, my co-conspirator. His attention shouldn't be diverted.
"A call? Who else would call you other than me—?"
I heard the sharp cut-off on his end before he gave me a proper answer, just the slightly harsh click of the mute button.
"I'll call you back."
And then, the line went dead. I stared at the disconnected screen, my heart pounding a sudden, frantic rhythm against my ribs. The snow outside seemed to fall faster, heavier. He was the one person I had trusted completely with the burden of my "last chain," the one person who knew about my father. Who else could possibly be calling him with an urgency that shut me out?
I gripped my phone, the warmth in my chest instantly replaced by a sharp, cold spike of suspicion. The world had gone quiet again, but this time, I knew the silence wasn't peace. It was a threat
The line was dead. The silence after he hung up was heavy, colder than the snow falling outside. I stared at the disconnected screen, trying to rationalize his strange, abrupt cut-off.
My tuition deadline was tomorrow, and my money was nearly gone. His call was a momentary lifeline that had been yanked away by a mysterious "other call." My mind raced, trying to invent a plausible excuse, but my deep-seated suspicion—honed by a lifetime of deceit—refused to settle.
Then, the phone in my hand buzzed again.
I looked down. My eyes widened. My blood ran cold. The screen didn't show my companion's name; it showed a name that struck terror and anger into my heart: LOANSHARK.
The phone vibrated violently against my palm: "BZZZZZ BZZZZZ." A frantic, demanding call from the people my father owed, the constant, invisible threat that had dictated my life for years.
"WHY IS HE CALLING ME...?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.
It wasn't a question of why the loanshark was calling. It was a question of how they got my number. It meant that my father had finally run out of options. It meant that my perfect firewall of scores, lies, and distance had finally failed. The chain I thought I had broken had just tightened around my neck.
My eye narrowed, focusing on the screen. The financial burden was no longer a matter of paying tuition; it was a matter of immediate survival. The game had just changed from a cold, calculated strategy to a violent, unpredictable fight.
The Observer's Perspective
Meanwhile, somewhere else, my companion stood in his apartment, a look of profound guilt and apprehension on his face. He had just hung up on me, cutting off my question.
He looked at the small phone in his hand, a mixture of determination and regret crossing his features as he made a quiet CLICK on his screen.
He was likely getting ready to deal with the problem his own way, convinced that his drastic actions were necessary to protect me from the truth of my situation.
"THERE SHE GOES," he thought, likely watching my perfect, unsuspecting student profile on his screen.
He set his phone down on a table, picked up a discarded towel, and walked toward the other room.
"I'LL CALL HER AGAIN AFTER I SHOWER."
He believed he had paused the danger, that a quick shower would reset the board. He thought he was shielding me. But the loanshark's call had already reached me, forcing my hand.
I wasn't the perfect girl who needed rescuing. I was the one who had just been cornered, and the moment the phone vibrated with that terrible name, the time for "excising the tumor" passed. The time for a final, violent solution had arrived.
The warning at the very beginning of this whole ordeal echoed in my mind: "WARNING: THIS EPISODE CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE THAT MAY BE UPSETTING FOR SOME VIEWERS."
It wasn't a warning for the past. It was a promise for my future.
I stared at the name on my screen: LOANSHARK. The phone was shaking in my hand, vibrating with a demanding, malevolent energy: BZZZZZ BZZZZZ. My heart was pounding, the perfect composure I'd spent years cultivating dissolving into cold, raw fear.
"WHY IS HE CALLING ME...?" I whispered, but I knew I had to answer. Ignoring them was not an option.
I took a deep breath, smoothing my expression before hitting the green button. I turned away from the room, walking to the most private corner of the apartment.
"Hello...?" I said, my voice measured and small, instantly slipping back into the role of the polite, harmless student. "Hey, it's me, Mr. Jin."
Mr. Jin. The name of the loanshark who represented the Lucky Block Casino debt.
He didn't waste time on pleasantries. His voice was rough, direct, and carried the threat of violence I'd only ever heard in nightmares.
"He said he had nothing to pay us back with, so we put him in one of our gambling dens to work off his debt..." Mr. Jin's voice was a low growl. "...but he gambled away what little he had, and ran away."
My mind seized on the first part of his sentence. "He." My father, Seongyu, was finally gone—not by my hand, but by his own stupidity. A surge of relief was immediately drowned by a wave of disbelief. He was desperate enough to gamble away his last chance at survival?
I gripped the phone tighter. My chance for a clean break had been bought not just with my money, but with the temporary leverage of his capture. Now, he was loose. A dangerous, frantic BANG BANG BANG sounded on his end, a chilling backdrop to his words.
The loanshark continued, driving the final, devastating stake through my plans.
"Is Seongyu that bastard with you by any chance?"
"WHAT...?" I choked out. My mind reeled. Seongyu. My father's name. They were looking for him. But then came the final, brutal twist.
BANG! The noise on his end was loud, a fist slamming against something, followed by a shouted, frantic question that made my world tilt.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but the man's next words confirmed my worst fear: not that they were looking for my father, but who they thought was hiding him.
"He said he was staying with some kid who has a place near the library..." Mr. Jin growled.
I stared into the middle distance, my vision blurring. The boy who swore he would "deal with him." The one who promised he would protect me. The one who had just abruptly hung up to answer another call.
The loanshark wasn't just a threat to me; he was looking for the person I loved, and that person was compromised, connected to my father, and possibly even shielding him.
My perfect world shattered. The chain wasn't broken; it had wrapped around the one person I trusted. My escape was not an option anymore. Now, it was time for the final, bloody procedure.
The loanshark's call had been a final, shattering moment of clarity. My father, Seongyu, was on the run, and the people he owed had found my number, eliminating my last shield of anonymity. The money I had saved was for tuition, not for a bribe, and now both my future and my immediate safety were in jeopardy.
I had just hung up when the front door of my small, carefully hidden apartment was kicked open. The sound was deafening: CRASH! The frame splintered. He stood there, the loanshark, a grotesque grin on his face, his boots tracking snow across my floor with a heavy THUD THUD.
"Ajin..." he snarled, his eyes sweeping the room. "Where's the money you got from snitching on your daddy?"
He had followed the trail of my father, and somehow, the blame for the debt had been twisted onto me. He knew I had money; he knew I was the "straight-A student" with a Law School acceptance.
"I don't know how you found me, but get the hell out..." I spat back, my voice shaking only slightly. "Before I call the cops."
His grin widened, revealing a sickening arrogance.
"Call the cops? Ha! Oh, so you're gonna snitch on the cops too, huh? Go on! Call 'em then!!"
He took a menacing step toward me. His laughter was wild, manic. He was a force of nature, utterly unbound by the rules that governed my world.
"He's in big time this time," he sneered, his heavy boot raising dust from the floor. "If he comes to find you... give us a call like last time."
Last time. The memory was a fresh, hot scar. I had called them before when my father's violence had escalated, using their greed as a weapon to temporarily neutralize him. They knew I was capable of betrayal.
"Oh, and stay away from him if you do see him."
He wasn't warning me; he was claiming ownership of the hunt. My father was his property now, and I was just a source of information and cash.
I looked at the loanshark—at the face of the corruption and violence that had poisoned my entire childhood. I had planned to excise this tumor slowly, legally, once I was armed with my degree. But now, he was standing in my home, demanding my life, my money, and my future.
My eyes fell to the calendar on the wall, the February 2nd TUITION DEADLINE circled in red.
"I just have to kill you before they get here!!" I screamed.
My hands shot out, grabbing a heavy object—a knife, a lamp, anything—and I brought it down with all the cold, desperate force of three years of bottled rage. The sound was a horrific, dull WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! as I struck him.
"AAAHHHHHH!!!" The scream was the only sound I made, a raw cry of pain and release that was instantly muffled by the desperate struggle.
The violence I had tried to avoid, the recklessness I had sworn I was above—the fate of Jaeo, who killed his father and was quickly forgotten—was now my only path. The perfect student was gone. Only the killer remained. I had paid the tuition, but the true price of my freedom was just beginning.