Kang Tae-min's jogs were usually empty—a blur of rhythm and breath, legs cutting through the dawn, lungs burning with purpose he never named. But that morning, his mind refused to go blank.
He thought about Sang-ho's offer. The smooth words, the gleam in his eyes, the promise of ten times what he earned from running deliveries and cleaning tables. "Loan shark," Tae-min muttered under his breath, his feet slapping against the pavement. The words carried both weight and curiosity. What did it actually mean? Just collecting money? Threatening people? He didn't know, but he was already doing harder things for less pay.
As he rounded a corner near a small parking lot, something bright caught his eye—chrome glinting in the rising sun. It was a motorbike, the same model from the magazine he saw the night before. A beast of a machine. Sleek, black, with silver streaks like lightning across its body. Tae-min stopped, watching his reflection warp along the curve of its tank.
"That's the one," he said under his breath. A quiet promise. Not a dream—because dreams were for people who could afford them—but a calculation. An equation that now had a new variable: money.
By the time he returned home, it was almost eight. His clothes clung to his body, and sweat traced rivers down his neck. He didn't have to rush anymore—no delivery route, no restaurant shift. Just… waiting for instructions.
He stepped into the shower, the cold water grounding him, washing away the fog of thought. But then a realization hit him like a slap.
He never gave Sang-ho his address.
He turned off the water, still dripping, grabbed the nearest shirt, and reached for his phone—no messages, no calls. He barely had time to put on his shoes when a knock sounded at the door.
Knock. Knock.
Tae-min opened the door to see one of Sang-ho's men—the one with the perpetual scowl and the heavy steps. The guy didn't bother greeting him, just jerked his chin toward the hallway. "Boss wants to see you. Let's go."
Before Tae-min could respond, he noticed a shadow in the corridor—the landlord. Her hair was still damp from her morning shower, and she wore an oversized cardigan, holding a cup of coffee. She didn't say a word, just watched, concern flickering in her eyes as Tae-min followed the man down the hall.
The car ride was silent. The engine hummed, city sounds faded, and the morning sun peeked through gray clouds. The driver didn't look at him once. Tae-min leaned against the window, watching the streets blur by—his town looked smaller from inside this car.
They stopped in front of the small coffee shop from before, the one that felt like it existed in its own time zone. The bell above the door jingled as he walked in.
It was quiet. A faint jazz tune played from a corner speaker, and the air smelled like roasted beans and something sweet baking in the back. A few empty cups sat on the tables, but there were no customers—just silence, heavy and waiting.
"Sit," the man said.
Tae-min sat at one of the tables near the counter. He tapped his fingers against the wood, eyes scanning the shop.
A door opened at the back, and a woman stepped out carrying a tray. She was beautiful—tall, elegant, her hair tied in a loose bun, her apron spotless. She smiled politely. "Would you like something to drink?"
"I'm waiting for someone," Tae-min replied, voice even.
Her smile lingered for a second longer than expected. "Of course." She turned and disappeared into the back again.
Then Sang-ho walked in, the bell chiming again. The air shifted immediately. His presence filled the small café—charisma wrapped in a casual grin. He was wearing the same leather jacket from that night, sunglasses perched lazily on his head.
"My new recruit," he said, clapping once as he approached. "I was wondering if you'd show up on your own. Guess my guy had to fetch you."
Tae-min stayed quiet.
Sang-ho chuckled, taking the seat across from him. "You look tense. Relax. You're not being interrogated."
"Didn't expect visitors this early," Tae-min replied.
"That's fair." Sang-ho leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Let's get straight to business. You're officially working under me now. The job's simple, but it's not easy."
He reached into his jacket pocket and placed a cheap flip phone on the table. A burner. "This is how I'll contact you. I'll send you names, faces, and places. People who owe me money. You'll remind them of their obligations."
"Remind?" Tae-min repeated.
"Politely at first," Sang-ho said with a grin. "Firmly if they get chatty."
He pulled out a folded paper and slid it across the table. A list of names—some handwritten, some typed. Beside each name was an emoji.
Sang-ho pointed at the first few. "See these? Smiley faces mean they're good. They pay, they just need a nudge. Sad faces? They talk too much. Poop emoji means they're unreliable—runners, liars, the kind who think they can vanish."
Tae-min scanned the list. There were a few poop emojis, more sad faces, and a majority of smiles. But what caught his eye was one blank space—no emoji beside it.
"What about this one?" he asked.
Sang-ho's grin faltered slightly. "That one… you don't need to worry about yet."
He leaned back, exhaling smoke from a cigarette he hadn't lit moments ago. "There's one more emoji I didn't include on your list. The devil face. Means dangerous people. But don't worry—your first run is clean. No devils. You'll go with my guy here," he nodded toward the silent, moody man leaning on the counter. "He's got a knack for getting people to listen."
Tae-min's gaze shifted to him briefly. The man's expression didn't change—stone-cold, eyes dull.
"So that's it?" Tae-min asked.
"For now." Sang-ho smiled again, but this time, there was something sharper behind it. "You'll get your payments weekly. Ten times what you're used to. I'll teach you how to survive in this business, and in return, you'll teach me if that discipline of yours can handle the dirt of this world."
He extended his hand.
Tae-min hesitated for only a moment before shaking it. The grip was firm, confident—two men sealing a quiet deal neither fully trusted.
As he left the café, phone and list in his pocket, Tae-min didn't feel guilt or excitement. Just the same calm, steady voice in his head whispering:
What's next?