"huh!"
"Where... am I?"
The boy was lying on the floor of a school building, woke up from unconsciousness,a dull ache throbbed in his temples as he sat up, dazed.
He looked around, the familiar hallway suddenly alien.He took a deep breath, his hand pressing against his aching head. He tried to remember — what had happened? The last thing he recalled was walking down the stairs toward the school gate... then nothing. Looking around, he noticed the dim light, the long shadows. It was evening. The school was silent. His legs wobbled as he stood. He thought about the fall, trying to recall why he had lost consciousness. Slowly, he began to walk forward, step by unsteady step.
It was evening, and the moon shone softly in the darkening sky. A few clouds drifted slowly overhead, and only silence remained. The school building was quiet — no voices, no footsteps — just Minwoo, beginning to walk forward, step by unsteady step.
Each movement sent a dull throb through his head, but he pressed on, making his way toward the main hall. As he walked, fragments of memory flickered into his mind.
"Ugh… I must've lost my balance on the stairs," he thought. "Everyone probably left school early. Of course—they didn't wait for me. I was stuck cleaning the classroom. And now, thanks to this fall, I'm even later getting home."
The main hall door was locked.
No sound from inside. No light.
He turned, scanning the dark corridor.
One classroom nearby had two large windows — old, cracked at the edges, but intact.
He approached the nearest one.
The latch was loose — not fully locked, just jammed. The kind that clicks shut but can be pried open with pressure.
A push latch. A sliding lock. Weak.
He gripped the edge, shoved upward —
A creak.
Then the window gave way.
He climbed through, dropped to the ground outside, and landed in a crouch.
No alarm. No one came.
Just the wind. The moon.
And silence.
He stood.
Then began walking towards the main gate.
After reaching the main gate, he saw the security guard asleep — slumped in his chair, head tilted back, soft snores escaping his lips. The small guardhouse beside the gate looked like a tiny home: dim light inside, a radio murmuring low, a blanket draped over the edge of the seat.
He paused.
One wrong step — and the guard would wake.
But the path ahead was clear.
He moved silently, step by step, keeping low, avoiding the patches of moonlight on the ground. The gate wasn't tall — maybe chest-high — with iron bars and a simple latch on the other side.
He gripped the cold metal, swung one leg over, then the other.
For a second, he balanced — half on, half off.
Then he dropped down, landing softly on the grass outside.
No sound.
No alarm.
The guard didn't stir.
He stood straight, took a breath, and began walking — slowly at first, then faster — down the quiet road toward home.
Behind him, the school faded into the dark.
Ahead, the night waited.After that, he thought:
Well, today wasn't a very good day. Again, I fell asleep in the middle of the lecture, and that damn old hag of a teacher gave me punishment.
Well, whatever. I can just live my life without anyone bothering me, anyway.
His parents had died two years ago in a car accident, leaving him completely alone. They hadn't left much money — they never had much to begin with. His father had worked in a factory, earning just enough to get by.
After they died, he had only enough to pay off their debts and survive for a few months. So he sold the house, packed what little he had, and moved to this city. Now he lived in a rented room — small, quiet, meant for one person.
No family. No noise. No one to care.
Just him.
He walked on, the quiet road lit by scattered streetlights, until he saw a small convenience store glowing ahead. The glass doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and he stepped inside.
The air was warm, carrying the faint smell of instant noodles and coffee. Rows of snacks, drinks, and ready-to-eat meals lined the shelves. He moved to the back, opened the heated cabinet, and pulled out two packs of instant ramen — one spicy, one plain. He grabbed a bottle of water and a small rice ball wrapped in plastic.
At the counter, an old man with white hair and thin-rimmed glasses looked up. His nametag read "Su". He wore a faded green apron, and his hands moved slowly but surely as he scanned each item.
He gave Minwoo a gentle smile.
"You're late today, Min. Did something happen?"
Minwoo avoiding eye contact and replied
"Oh, it's nothing much. I just fell asleep in class longer than I thought, Grandpa Su."
The old man chuckled softly, bagging the items.
"Again? You should try staying awake, young man. Or at least nap at home."
Minwoo took the bag, nodded, and turned to leave.
"Maybe tomorrow."
The doors hissed shut behind him.
After walking a while, Minwoo reached the two-story apartment building where he lived. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, turned right, and stopped in front of his door.
A small metal plate was fixed to the top — Number 17. No name. No decoration. Just a number.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a worn key, and slid it into the lock. The door clicked open.
Inside, silence.
The room was small and nearly empty — a mattress in the corner, a folding table, a backpack slumped against the wall. Dust coated the windowsill and the edges of the floorboards.
He closed the door behind him.
He prepared his ramen — poured hot water into the cup, sealed the lid, and waited three minutes. Then he opened the packet of rice ball, unwrapped it, and began to eat.
After finishing, he washed the bowl and spoon, dried them, and placed them back on the shelf.
He went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped in. The warm water ran down his back, washing away the dust and fatigue — but not the heaviness in his chest.
When he was done, he changed into old clothes and lay down on his bed.
Staring at the ceiling, he thought:
I'm tired. So tired. Not just today — every day feels like I'm dragging myself forward. I don't have a dream. No goal. Nothing that makes me want to wake up tomorrow.
And it's boring. Living like this… it's just empty. I have no one who cares if I live or die. And honestly? I don't care about anyone else either. It's just me. Always has been.
And now, even my uncle and aunt said they won't give me any more money from now on. No support. No help. Just… nothing. They thought of me as if I was a burden to them.
Life isn't peaceful. Now I need to earn money myself . Paying rent. Water bills. Groceries. Daily expenses — they Will never stop.
Ugh. I knew it would come to this. Sooner or later.
I guess I'll have to find a part-time job soon.
Damn it.
As these thoughts echoed in his mind, his eyelids grew heavier, like stones sinking into still water.
One by one, the edges of his awareness began to blur.
His breathing slowed. His body sank deeper into the thin mattress, as if the bed itself were pulling him down.
The weight of the day — the fall, the silence, the loneliness — pressed on him, not harshly, but like a blanket too thick to fight.
He didn't close his eyes. They simply… stopped opening.
Thoughts flickered, then faded —
I'm tired…
So tired…
Just… rest…
And then, there was nothing.
Just darkness.
And sleep.