The convenience store was always coldest at night.
Yuri pulled her employee vest tighter around her uniform shirt, even though she knew it wouldn't help. The air conditioning was set to arctic levels—Mr. Cho's theory was that cold stores kept products fresh and employees alert. Mostly it just made Yuri's fingers numb as she scanned items and counted change.
10:00 PM. Start of shift.
She'd clocked in exactly on time, changed into the ugly orange vest with the store logo, and taken her position behind the register. The previous shift worker—a college guy named Minsu who was usually high—had left the counter a mess. Cigarette cartons scattered, the cash register ₩500 short, empty coffee cups shoved under the scanner.
Yuri cleaned it methodically. Put the cigarettes back in order by brand, counted the register again and made a note of the shortage, threw away the cups. Everything had a place. Everything had an order.
Control. Always control.
Her phone sat face-down next to the register. She'd turned off notifications hours ago. Didn't need the distraction. Her father had already taken everything she had—there was nothing left for him to demand until she got paid tonight.
The first customer of the night came in at 10:13 PM.
Old woman, probably seventy, buying a single banana milk and a pack of tissues. She counted out exact change with shaking hands—₩2,300 in coins. Yuri waited patiently, didn't rush her, bagged the items carefully.
"Thank you, grandmother," Yuri said.
The old woman smiled, her face crinkling. "Such a polite girl. Working so late on a school night."
"I need the money."
"Your parents should be taking care of you."
Yuri's customer service smile didn't waver. "Have a good night, grandmother."
The woman left, and Yuri was alone again.
Her stomach growled. She'd had nothing to eat since the kimbap at lunch yesterday—over thirty-two hours ago. The hunger was a constant presence now, a gnawing ache that had progressed from uncomfortable to painful.
She had ₩0 in her wallet. Wouldn't have money again until this shift ended at 2 AM and Mr. Cho paid her—₩48,000 for four hours of work. He paid cash at the end of each shift, which was the only reason Yuri could survive her father's unpredictable demands.
The math played out in her head automatically: ₩48,000 minus ₩5,000 for food over the next few days = ₩43,000 to deposit. That would bring her total savings to ₩2,919,500. ₩80,500 away from three million.
She pulled out her calculus homework, spread it across the counter. The test was this morning—she'd barely survived it. Walking to school had taken an hour and forty minutes because she'd gotten lost twice in neighborhoods she didn't know. She'd arrived sweating and exhausted, with ten minutes to spare before first period.
The test had been a blur. She thought she'd done okay, but her brain had been foggy from hunger and exhaustion.
Yuri worked through practice problems now, even though the test was over. It helped keep her mind occupied. Kept her from thinking about the hunger, the exhaustion, the fact that she had to walk home again after this shift and wouldn't get to bed until almost 4 AM.
10:47 PM. A group of college students stumbled in, already drunk, laughing too loud. They scattered through the store, grabbing snacks and more alcohol. Yuri watched them on the security monitor, making sure no one was shoplifting.
They came to the counter with an avalanche of stuff—ramyeon, chips, chocolate, three bottles of soju, beer, more snacks. One of them, a guy with bleached hair, leaned on the counter while Yuri rang everything up.
"You're pretty," he slurred. "What's a pretty girl doing working here?"
"Your total is ₩43,200," Yuri said, not looking at him.
"I asked you a question."
"₩43,200."
His friend pulled him back. "Dude, leave her alone. Here." He handed Yuri a credit card.
She processed the payment, bagged their items, handed everything over. The bleached-hair guy was still staring at her.
"We're having a party in Hongdae," he said. "You should come. After your shift."
"No, thank you."
"Come on, it'll be fun. Free food, free drinks—"
The mention of free food made Yuri's stomach clench. She pushed the thought away.
"Your receipt," she said, holding it out.
They finally left, taking their noise and their offer of free food with them. Yuri threw the receipt in the trash—they never wanted receipts—and went back to her homework.
Her vision blurred slightly. She blinked hard, rubbed her eyes. Low blood sugar. Just a few more hours. Then she could eat.
11:15 PM. A businessman in a rumpled suit, buying a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. He didn't make eye contact, just paid and left. Yuri could smell the alcohol on him from across the counter. Another drunk. Seoul was full of them.
She thought about her father, probably passed out on the couch by now, the money he'd stolen from her already spent on more soju.
₩14,200. He'd taken ₩14,200 from her. Money she'd earned, money she'd needed.
The anger flared briefly, then died. Anger didn't help. Anger didn't change anything.
11:43 PM. Two girls, high school age but not from Seongmin. They bought makeup remover and pads, whispering to each other and giggling. Normal teenagers doing normal things.
Yuri rang them up and tried not to think about how long it had been since she'd done anything normal. Since she'd had friends, gone to parties, giggled about boys.
Since she'd been a person instead of just a survival machine.
Midnight hit.
Halfway through her shift.
Yuri's hands were shaking now. She gripped the edge of the counter, steadying herself. The fluorescent lights were too bright, making her head throb. Everything felt slightly unreal, like she was watching herself from a distance.
*Just two more hours. You can do two more hours.*
At 12:30 AM, Mr. Cho called. "Everything okay there?"
"Yes, sir. Register's balanced, no problems."
"Good. I'm leaving the morning delivery list on my desk. Check it when you close."
"Yes, sir."
He hung up. Mr. Cho was a man of few words, which Yuri appreciated. He didn't ask questions, didn't care why a high school student was working until 2 AM, just wanted the store run efficiently.
She could do that. Even running on empty, even dizzy with hunger, she could do her job.
12:45 AM. A woman with a crying baby, buying formula and diapers. Yuri helped her bag everything quickly, her customer service smile automatic.
"Thank you," the woman said, looking exhausted. "Sorry about the noise."
"It's okay. Have a good night."
The woman left, and the store was quiet again except for the hum of the refrigerators.
Yuri leaned against the counter, closed her eyes for just a moment.
The smell of the store hit her all at once—instant ramyeon, hot dogs rotating on the warmer, fresh bread in the display case. Food. Everywhere. And she couldn't have any of it.
She opened her eyes, pushed away from the counter. Needed to move. Needed to do something.
She started restocking shelves even though they didn't need it. Just needed to keep moving or she'd fall asleep standing up.
1:00 AM.
One more hour.
The door chimed.
Yuri looked up from the shelf she was organizing.
A man walked in. Mid-forties, wearing stained work clothes, stumbling slightly. Drunk. Very drunk.
Every alarm bell in Yuri's head started ringing.
She moved back toward the counter, watching him. He headed straight for the alcohol section, which was always a bad sign. Drunk people buying more alcohol were unpredictable.
He grabbed two bottles of soju, stood there swaying for a moment, then grabbed a third bottle. He turned toward the counter and his eyes locked on Yuri.
Something in his expression made her skin crawl.
He came to the counter, set the bottles down heavily. The smell of alcohol rolled off him in waves—he must have been drinking for hours already.
"₩9,000," Yuri said, her voice flat and professional.
The man pulled out his wallet, fumbled with it. Bills fell on the floor. He bent down to pick them up and nearly fell over completely.
"Fuck," he muttered, grabbing onto the counter for balance.
Yuri stayed very still, every muscle tense.
He finally got the money together—mostly coins and crumpled bills—and slapped it on the counter. Yuri counted it quickly. ₩10,000.
She made change—₩1,000—and held it out to him.
The man didn't take it. He was staring at her now, his eyes unfocused but intent. Predatory.
"You're awful young to be working here alone," he said.
"Your change is ₩1,000, sir."
"How old are you?"
"Sir, please take your change."
"I asked you a question." His voice was getting louder, aggressive. "How fucking old are you?"
Yuri's heart rate spiked. She knew this pattern. Had seen it before. Drunk men who got angry when you didn't engage, who took any response as an invitation, who escalated when they felt ignored.
"I need to ask you to take your items and leave," she said, her voice completely flat. Emotionless. Giving him nothing to latch onto.
"I'm a customer. I can stay as long as I want."
"You've completed your purchase. The transaction is finished."
"Don't tell me what to do, you little bitch."
He reached across the counter suddenly, grabbed her wrist.
Pain exploded up Yuri's arm. He'd grabbed the same wrist her father had grabbed two days ago, the one that was already bruised, already tender.
Yuri's training kicked in on pure instinct. She twisted her arm sharply, the way she'd learned to break her father's grip. The movement was automatic, practiced from years of similar situations.
The man's grip broke. Yuri stepped back quickly, putting distance between them, her wrist throbbing.
"Don't fucking touch me," she said. Her voice was ice-cold now, all pretense of customer service gone.
"Or what?" The man started coming around the counter, moving toward the employee side. "You gonna call the police? Do it. I'll be gone before they get here. But maybe I'll have some fun first."
Yuri's hand moved to the panic button under the register. One press would alert the security company, maybe the police.
But that meant questions. Reports. Her name in a system. Police asking why a seventeen-year-old was working alone at 1 AM. Social workers getting involved. Her father finding out she'd caused trouble.
She couldn't press it.
Her mind raced through options. The back door was fifteen feet away. She could run. Lock herself in the back office. Call for help.
But then he'd be alone in the store. Could steal everything, trash the place, and she'd lose this job. She couldn't lose this job. This job was ₩192,000 per month. This job was her ticket to LA.
"Sir," Yuri said, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat. "I'm going to give you one chance to leave. Right now. Take your items and go."
"And if I don't?" He was only a few feet away now, blocking her path to both exits.
"I have your face on camera." Yuri pointed at the security camera above the register. "You're being recorded right now. Full HD video and audio. If you don't leave immediately, I will press this panic button, which alerts both the security company and the police. They'll have your face, your voice, and video evidence of assault and threatening behavior."
It was partially a bluff. The camera was real, but it was old and the footage was grainy at best. And the panic button didn't actually go directly to police—just to a security company that might call the police eventually.
But he didn't know that.
The man looked up at the camera, then back at her. His expression shifted—calculation replacing immediate aggression.
"You think you're so smart," he said.
"I think you should leave before you get arrested for assault."
"I barely touched you."
"You grabbed my wrist hard enough to leave marks. That's assault. And it's on camera."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Yuri kept her hand near the panic button, her expression completely neutral. She'd learned from her father that showing fear made things worse. You had to stay calm, stay cold, give them nothing.
Finally, the man grabbed his bottles.
"Fucking stuck-up bitch," he muttered. "Too good to be friendly. Hope someone teaches you a lesson someday."
He stumbled toward the door.
"You forgot your change," Yuri called after him, her voice still perfectly steady.
He gave her the middle finger and walked out.
The door chimed.
Yuri stood there, her heart hammering so hard she thought her ribs might crack. She looked down at her wrist—already turning purple where he'd grabbed it. New bruises over the old ones.
She took the ₩1,000 from the counter and put it in the register. The man wasn't coming back for it.
Then she walked very calmly to the bathroom, locked the door, and threw up.
Not from fear—though there was fear. From exhaustion and hunger and adrenaline and the fact that her body was running on absolute empty and had nothing left to give.
She knelt on the dirty bathroom floor, retching into the toilet, her whole body shaking.
When there was nothing left to throw up, she stayed there for a moment, forehead resting on her arm.
*Just one more hour. One more fucking hour.*
She cleaned herself up. Rinsed her mouth, washed her face, looked at herself in the mirror.
Pale. Dead-eyed. Barely holding on.
*361 days.*
No. 360 days now. One day down.
*360 days until freedom.*
She could survive 360 more days of this.
She had to.
Yuri went back to the counter. Her hands were still shaking, but she forced them steady. Finished restocking. Checked the time.
1:47 AM.
Two more customers came in before closing. Both normal, both quick transactions, both in and out in under three minutes.
At 2:00 AM exactly, Yuri locked the front door and flipped the sign to "Closed."
She counted the register—balanced perfectly, including the drunk man's ₩1,000. Locked the safe. Turned off the coffee machines. Checked the delivery list Mr. Cho had mentioned.
Then she went to the back office where Mr. Cho kept the cash for payroll.
He'd left an envelope with her name on it. Inside: ₩48,000 in cash.
Yuri counted it twice to be sure, then shoved it deep in her pocket.
₩48,000. Salvation.
She clocked out, turned off the lights, locked up the store. The night air outside was cold and she breathed it in deeply, letting it clear her head.
She walked to the nearest 24-hour convenience store—a different chain, not Mr. Cho's. Bought triangle kimbap (₩1,200), a bottle of water (₩800), and cup ramyeon (₩1,500). Total: ₩3,500.
She ate the kimbap right there, standing outside the store under the fluorescent lights. The first food in thirty-six hours. Her stomach cramped immediately, not used to food anymore, but she kept eating. Forced every bite down.
The ramyeon she'd save for tomorrow.
₩48,000 minus ₩3,500 = ₩44,500.
She'd deposit it all tomorrow morning before school. Well, before the walk to school.
The subway wasn't running anymore this late. Yuri started walking. Her apartment was about 8 kilometers away. At her current pace, exhausted and running on pure willpower, it would take about two hours.
She'd get home around 4:30 AM. Could sleep until 5:45 AM. That was... she calculated in her head... one hour and fifteen minutes of sleep.
Better than nothing.
Yuri walked through the empty Seoul streets, the only sound her footsteps and the occasional car passing. The city was different at this hour—quieter, darker, almost peaceful if you ignored the exhaustion and fear.
Her wrist throbbed with every step. Her head ached. Her legs felt like they might give out.
But she kept walking.
*360 days.*
*₩2,921,000 after tomorrow's deposit.*
*₩79,000 away from three million.*
*Just keep going.*
She made it home at 4:23 AM. The apartment was dark and silent. Her father would be passed out in his room, dead to the world.
Yuri unlocked the door as quietly as possible, slipped inside.
The living room was a mess—more empty soju bottles, food containers, the TV still on playing static. Her father had passed out in his bedroom this time instead of the couch. Small mercies.
She turned off the TV, then went to her room.
Changed out of her uniform—she'd have to wear it again in a few hours, still hadn't had time to wash it. Counted the money again: ₩44,500. Put it in the hiding spot under her mattress with the cup ramyeon.
Then she pulled out her bottle of sleeping pills.
She had maybe an hour of sleep before she had to get up and start the whole cycle again. The pill would help knock her out fast, make sure she actually got some rest instead of lying there unable to sleep.
She broke a pill in half—trying to make them last—and swallowed it dry.
Then she lay down on her mattress, still in her clothes, and set her alarm for 5:45 AM.
One hour and twenty-two minutes until she had to wake up.
The sleeping pill started to work almost immediately, dragging her under.
Her last thoughts before unconsciousness were numbers:
*₩44,500 to deposit tomorrow.*
*8 kilometers to walk to school.*
*360 days until LA.*
*360 days until freedom.*
*Just survive.*
Yuri's breathing slowed, deepened.
The apartment was silent except for her father's snoring from the other room.
She slept.
Hard, drugged sleep.
The only kind she could manage anymore.
Tomorrow she'd wake up and do it all again.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
For 360 more days.
But tonight, for one hour and twenty-two minutes, she didn't have to think about any of it.
Tonight, she could just sleep.