KARINA POV
The ride back to the dorm was uncomfortably silent at first, with only the low hum of the van engine filling the space. Karina sat next to Winter in the backseat, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her jacket. She could feel the tension in the air—thick and pressing—like a storm waiting to break.
Their manager, seated in the front passenger seat, finally turned slightly to look at them through the rearview mirror. His expression wasn't angry in the usual scolding way. It was deeper than that. Worried. Anxious.
"What were you two doing out this late?" he asked, voice calm but laced with an edge. "It's almost 3:30 in the morning. Do you know how dangerous it is?"
Karina hesitated. Her throat felt dry. She'd rehearsed a version of the truth—just not all of it.
"We just went out to walk and grab something to eat," she said, forcing her tone to stay casual. "Lost track of time, I guess. The buses stopped running before we realized."
She could feel Winter glance at her but didn't meet her eyes.
The manager didn't respond immediately. He turned fully in his seat now, brows furrowed. His voice dropped slightly—more serious, almost fatherly.
"Are you being honest with me?"
Karina opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"I mean it, Ji-min," he continued, using her real name now. "If you two were doing something... anything... I'm not going to report it to anyone. I'm not going to tell the company or the others. But I need to know. Were you followed? Did something happen?"
Karina bit the inside of her cheek, guilt starting to crawl under her skin like cold water. She felt Winter shift beside her, uncertain, eyes flicking between Karina and the back of the manager's head.
Neither of them spoke.
Just silence.
The manager sighed heavily, rubbing his temples before facing forward again.
"Fine," he said, more to himself than to them. "If you want to keep secrets, that's your choice. I won't push you tonight."
The weight of his disappointment hit Karina harder than she expected.
"But next time," he added after a moment, voice softer, "don't scare me like that again. When you called... I thought something had happened. I've never heard you sound like that before. I was seconds away from calling security."
Karina swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry," she finally whispered. "Really."
Winter echoed her quietly. "Me too."
The manager gave a small nod but didn't speak again for the rest of the ride.
Karina leaned her head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the van's ceiling. Her mind was still at that alley. Still hearing the sound of his voice shouting for those drunk men to back off. Still seeing the way he'd stood between them and danger without hesitation.
And now he was gone again.
Why didn't I ask for more? A name. A way to find him. A real way.
Karina glanced down at her phone in her lap. Still no notification.
But a part of her—a fragile, hopeful part—kept wishing it would buzz any second now.
As soon as they stepped through the dorm door, Karina could feel it.
That silent, heavy tension hanging in the air.
Giselle and Ningning were both in the living room, sitting on the couch with their phones in hand, but the second Karina and Winter walked in, both girls looked up—and worry immediately crossed their faces.
"There you are!" Giselle stood up first, eyes scanning Karina's expression. "What happened? You two were gone for hours. We were this close to calling the company."
"We were about to go out and look for you ourselves," Ningning added, her tone sharp but full of concern. "You said you were just stepping out for a quick walk..."
Karina shared a glance with Winter. She could already feel the weight of the night pressing on her, and the last thing she wanted was for their conversation to be overheard by their manager.
"Not here," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let's go to my room."
Giselle and Ningning looked confused, but they followed without another word. The four of them moved quickly and quietly down the hallway, careful not to wake anyone else—or worse, alert their manager that something was going on.
Once the bedroom door closed behind them, Karina sat on the edge of her bed, running a hand through her hair. Winter dropped beside her, while Giselle and Ningning sat on the floor in front of them, eyes wide with curiosity and concern.
"Okay," Giselle said, crossing her legs. "Spill."
Karina took a deep breath.
So did Winter.
And then they told them everything.
They started from the beginning—how Karina had gone back to the convenience store and discovered he wasn't working there anymore. How she and Winter had decided to look for him, walking around the area, following the small clues they had. How they ended up in a dimly lit alley. How those drunk men had surrounded them. How scared they were.
And how he appeared out of nowhere—again—to protect them.
As Karina described the moment she heard his voice cutting through the noise, her own voice softened. She remembered the way he stood there, like a wall between her and the world, so unshaken by the threat in front of him. The way he looked at her—not like a celebrity, not like someone untouchable—but like a person.
"He didn't even hesitate," she said quietly. "He just... stepped in."
Ningning gasped softly. "What happened after that?"
"He fought them off. Just like that. Like it was nothing," Winter added. "He didn't get hurt or anything. It was like he'd done this a hundred times."
Karina nodded. "And before he left, I... I gave him my number."
There was a beat of silence.
"You what?" Giselle's voice rose slightly. "You gave a random stranger your number?"
"He's not a random stranger!" Karina snapped before she could stop herself. Then she took a breath and lowered her voice. "I mean... he's the same guy who helped me the other night. Twice, now. He didn't ask for anything. He didn't even want attention. He just... helped."
Ningning tilted her head. "But do you even know his name?"
"Y/N," Karina replied, her eyes softening at the memory of his quiet voice when he finally told her. "He told me right before I left."
Giselle still looked skeptical, but Ningning just sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. "This is so like a movie. An idol and her mysterious protector..."
Karina rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "It's not like that. I just... I feel like I owe him something. And maybe I'm just curious."
Winter stretched her legs out on the floor and leaned back on her hands. "You are curious. You've been thinking about him ever since that night."
"I guess I have," Karina admitted softly. "But I'm also scared. What if I'm wrong about him?"
Giselle shrugged. "Then you learn. But if he's as kind as you say... maybe he's the one person who sees you as just you."
Karina didn't respond. She leaned back on her bed, eyes drifting up to the ceiling.
The conversation slowly faded into other things—jokes, gossip, teasing—but her mind kept returning to him. Y/N. The guy with the tired eyes and quiet strength. The one who didn't ask for anything, but gave her safety twice.
Eventually, the energy in the room dwindled, and one by one, the girls slipped out to their own rooms. Karina stayed behind, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion of the night.
She reached for her phone, the screen lighting up.
1 New Message.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It was from an unknown number.
She opened it.
Hi. It's me. Y/N.
Karina blinked, surprised.
But before she could respond...
Her phone slipped from her hand onto the bed.
Her eyes closed.
Sleep claimed her faster than she expected—soft, heavy, and dreamless.
She didn't even realize she had fallen asleep with a small smile on her lips.
———————————
The sunlight peeked softly through the edges of the blackout curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Karina stirred slowly in bed, her limbs tangled in the bedsheets. Her body felt heavier than usual, muscles aching slightly from tension she didn't realize she'd been holding. As her eyes fluttered open, the events of the previous night came back to her in fragments—the shadowy alley, the shouting voices, the fear, and then... him.
Y/N.
She blinked up at the ceiling, trying to piece everything together. For a brief second, her heart ached—had it really happened? Or had it all been some intense, surreal dream brought on by exhaustion and stress?
Then she remembered.
His voice shouting across the alley.
The fire in his eyes.
The way he stood between them and danger without hesitation.
And then, the quiet moment at the bus stop. His calm expression when he finally told them his name. The way she impulsively scribbled her number onto his hand before their manager's headlights forced them apart. She hadn't even waited to see his reaction. Just a quick "call me" gesture and then she vanished like a coward.
Karina sighed and rolled to the edge of the bed, groaning softly. Her phone buzzed gently on the nightstand beside her. She picked it up, blinking at the bright screen. 9:13 a.m.
"Unnie, wake up! Schedule starts at 10!" a voice called from outside the room—Ningning.
Karina groaned again and pushed herself up. She barely got any sleep last night. After the long talk with the girls, she'd only managed to shower and collapse onto her bed. And now, it was already another packed day ahead.
She opened her group chat—messages from the stylist, their manager, the other girls. Everyone was already up and preparing. Karina stood up, stretched, and grabbed her towel, dragging herself toward the bathroom.
As she brushed her teeth, she thought of Winter's face last night. She had been genuinely scared. Not just of the alley incident, but for Karina. She never said it out loud, but Karina could see the worry in her eyes—worry that her leader was getting emotionally involved in something dangerous and uncertain.
And maybe she was.
But Karina couldn't help it.
Something about Y/N lingered in her chest like a splinter she couldn't remove. His silence. His pain. The way he always looked like he was bearing the weight of the world alone. She had seen something in him—something that stirred guilt and curiosity in equal measure.
She got dressed quickly in casual rehearsal clothes and tied her hair into a quick ponytail. As she walked out into the dorm's shared space, the rest of the girls were already gathered, picking at their breakfast and chatting with the staff.
"Morning, Ji-min," Giselle greeted, biting into a toast.
"Unnie, faster. We're gonna be late," Winter added, already zipping up her bag.
Karina gave them both a small smile and reached for a piece of toast, though she had no appetite. She barely had time to sit when their manager called out, "Let's move, girls!"
The day unfolded in a blur.
They started with vocal rehearsals in the studio. Then it was dance practice for their upcoming performance. After that, a fitting session for their next photoshoot, and a surprise visit from a magazine team wanting behind-the-scenes content.
Karina was constantly moving—changing outfits, fixing her hair, holding poses, memorizing lines. Everyone was asking something from her, and she delivered, like she always did. She smiled for the cameras, nodded through meetings, and focused on her steps during practice.
But in between moments—in the quiet breaks when she was sipping water or resting her legs—her thoughts drifted back to Y/N.
Was he okay?
Did he go home safely?
Was he hurt after fighting off those guys?
Did he really mean it when he said he'd protect them?
She reached into her pocket once during lunch, intending to check her phone. But before she could unlock the screen, their vocal trainer called her name. She shoved it back, completely forgetting.
Later in the evening, the girls had a radio show appearance. Karina tried to stay focused, keeping her voice bright and playful as she answered questions. She laughed when Ningning cracked a joke and nodded along as Giselle explained their creative process. But behind every practiced smile, a part of her was... somewhere else.
When they finally returned to the dorm around 10:30 p.m., Karina collapsed on the couch, head thrown back, legs sprawled.
"Aaaah I'm dead," she muttered, letting out a long sigh.
"You were zoning out a lot today," Winter said as she sat beside her.
Karina glanced at her. "I was?"
Winter nodded. "It's about him, isn't it?"
Karina looked away. "I'm just... wondering. That's all."
"Did he text you or anything?"
Karina blinked.
Her phone.
She jumped up, rushing into her room and yanking her phone out of her bag. She unlocked it quickly, her pulse speeding up. She scrolled through her messages—and there it was.
Hi, this is Y/N.
Sent early this morning.
She stared at it, her heart dropping.
She had completely forgotten. The message had been sitting there, unread, for more than eighteen hours.
Eighteen hours.
Karina sank onto the edge of her bed, phone in her hands. What must he be thinking? That she was ignoring him? That she wasn't sincere?
She didn't know what to reply now. Should she say sorry? Should she explain how chaotic her day had been? But would that sound like an excuse?
She hovered her thumbs over the keyboard, but no words came. Everything felt wrong. She locked the screen again, sighing deeply.
It was late now. Maybe he was asleep. Or maybe he'd already given up on her.
She placed the phone down on her nightstand and sat quietly for a moment, staring out her window at the distant city lights.
She remembered how he looked when he told her his name.
How he didn't hesitate to stand up for them.
And how, even in the dark, he looked so... alone.
Karina curled up on her bed, resting her head on the pillow. "I'll reply tomorrow," she whispered to herself.
But a small part of her wondered if tomorrow would already be too late.
She didn't realize when her eyes closed.
But sleep came swiftly, and dreams followed—blurry visions of alleyways, quiet bus stops, and a boy with tired eyes who never asked for help, yet gave it without question.
————————————
Y/N POV
The sharp buzz of the alarm dragged me out of my sleep.
12:00 PM.
I groaned, rubbing my face with the back of my hand. My body still ached—badly. The bruises from last night hadn't even started to fade, and the deeper pain, the one that settled into my ribs and spine, was still pulsing like it wanted to remind me what I'd gone through. But at least... I actually slept. Properly. For the first time in what felt like forever, no shouting in the background, no sudden banging on the door, no cold floor beneath me.
This bed was... too soft, honestly. The kind of softness that made me feel out of place. Like I didn't belong in it.
I stared at the ceiling for a bit before dragging myself into the bathroom. Still sore. Every movement reminded me of the beating. But I pushed through, letting the hot water wash over me like I could erase the memories from my skin. It helped—at least physically.
But once I stepped out and wrapped the towel around me, it hit me.
I had no clothes.
Just the same set from last night—dirty, torn at the collar, and smelling like sweat and cigarette smoke. I let out a breath and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. I'd just agreed to start a new job tonight and I didn't even have a damn change of shirt. Pathetic.
There was no way around it—I had to go back. Back to that house.
I closed my eyes. Just the thought of stepping foot there again made my chest tighten. Kwang Hee probably already told him what happened. Twisted it into something worse. He always does. I could already imagine my foster father's face. Red. Boiling. Disappointed that I came back empty-handed. Again.
I sighed and mumbled under my breath, "This is life, right? Can't run from it forever."
I got dressed—well, put the same thing back on. Shirt crumpled. Pants loose. I looked like trash in a luxury apartment. What a joke.
While waiting for one o'clock to roll around, I picked up the phone that Sam's guy gave me last night. Brand new. Too fancy for me. I unlocked it and saw the message still sitting there.
"Hi. It's Y/N."
Sent to Karina.
No reply.
Just "Read."
I stared at that word for a while. "Read." It felt louder than silence. I mean, I wasn't expecting her to reply. She's an idol. I'm nobody. But still, part of me thought—maybe. Maybe she'd say thank you, or nice to meet you, or even just ok.
But no. Of course not.
I guess I let that thought linger too long, because the phone vibrated in my hand, snapping me out of it.
A new message. From someone named Joon.
"Come down to the lobby. Now."
No small talk, huh?
I didn't reply. Just slipped the phone into my pocket and made my way downstairs. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I saw the same sleek black car from last night. Same guy standing beside it. Same cold expression.
Joon.
He didn't say anything. Just nodded at the car door.
I got in.
We started moving without a word. The silence inside was heavy, like it had weight. I stared out the window for a while before finally breaking it.
"Hey," I said. "Where are we going?"
"Don't need to know," he said flatly, not even looking at me.
That kind of attitude used to piss me off. But now? I was just tired.
"Can we make a stop first?" I asked, shifting slightly in the seat. "My old place. I need to grab clothes. I didn't bring anything."
He looked at me through the rearview mirror. "Address?"
I gave it to him. He didn't say another word. Just kept driving.
I studied his face from the reflection. Sharp jaw. Eyes like ice. He didn't look like someone you could joke with. Definitely not someone I'd want to fight, even if I had a death wish.
He wasn't Sam's driver.
He was something else.
My stomach twisted the closer we got. The road was familiar now. Too familiar. I could already picture the front door. The cracked step. The loose gate that squeaked when you opened it. My foster father's voice in my head.
"Where's the money?"
"Why do you even come back if you're useless?"
I clenched my fists in my lap.
Joon didn't notice. Or maybe he did and just didn't care.
We turned onto my street. Slowed down in front of the broken fence.
And there it was.
The house I wished I'd never have to see again.
We stopped.
Joon turned his head slightly. "Make it fast."
Yeah. Easier said than done.
As soon as I stepped through the front door, I knew I made a mistake.
The heavy stench of cigarette smoke and cheap soju hit me like a wall. I didn't even have to look to know they were already drinking—again. I heard the sound of clinking bottles, the low hum of a TV playing some variety show no one was actually watching, and the familiar scratch of a lighter being flicked.
Then I heard her voice.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to come back." My foster mother's voice was sharp, soaked in spite. "You think this is a damn hotel or something? Even hotels charge money, you useless piece of trash."
I didn't respond. I didn't even look at her. I just kept walking toward my room with a tight grip on the strap of my empty duffel bag. I didn't have time for her today. I didn't have the energy. I needed clothes, that was all.
My foster father's eyes were already on me, I could feel it. He was seated on the worn-out couch with a cigarette dangling from his fingers and a bottle of soju in front of him. Next to him, as always, was Kwang Hee—smirking like he had something to prove.
I shut my bedroom door behind me and started packing. A few old shirts, a pair of jeans that didn't have holes in them, socks—if I had any clean ones left. I didn't even own a suitcase, just a cheap duffel bag that I'd been using since high school.
I zipped it up, slung it over my shoulder, and stepped out.
And there he was.
Standing now. Baseball bat in one hand. That look in his eyes.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his words slurred but loud. "What's this? A big bag? You planning to run away now, huh? Running from your debt? You think you can just walk out of this house without paying a damn cent?"
I stayed silent.
Kwang Hee stood up beside him, arms crossed. "Why're you quiet now, huh?" he sneered. "You were all tough last night, weren't you? Say something."
I turned to look at him, my expression blank. I didn't have the energy to argue. Not with him. Not today.
That was a mistake.
"Ohhh you're glaring now?" my foster father barked, stepping forward. "You trying to scare me with that little stare? You wanna go, huh? Let's go! I heard you laid hands on Kwang Hee's friends. Let's see you try that on me!"
He rested the bat on his shoulder, chest heaving. "You little bastard. Try me!"
"He started it," I said quietly. "Kwang Hee's the one who caused the trouble."
That was the last straw.
With a roar, my foster father raised the bat, his grip tightening.
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF—"
CRACK!
Something hit him before the bat could even swing down.
It all happened in an instant. One second he was yelling, and the next, he was flying backward, crashing into the table behind him with a loud thud. The bottle of soju spilled, the glass ashtray shattered, and he lay groaning on the floor.
Everyone froze.
"What the—?" Kwang Hee stumbled back, eyes wide.
I turned my head, confused, heart racing.
Joon stood in the doorway, calm as ever, foot still slightly raised from the kick he'd just delivered. His cold eyes were fixed on my foster father, like he was nothing more than a pile of trash on the floor.
"The hell do you think you're doing, old man?" Joon said. His voice was calm, almost too calm, which made it even scarier. "You think being old gives you the right to act like this? Sit the fuck down before I put you in a wheelchair."
My foster father groaned, struggling to get up. His pride was clearly more wounded than his body.
"Ohhh, so you've got backup now?" he spat, still gasping. "You think I'm scared of you? You think I won't—"
Before he could finish the sentence, Joon moved again. I didn't even see it coming.
This time it was a punch. Clean, fast, brutal.
My foster father hit the floor hard and didn't get up.
The room went dead silent. My foster mother's cigarette dropped from her mouth. Kwang Hee just stared, eyes wide, completely stunned. I stood there, still holding my bag, completely frozen.
"Let's go," Joon said without looking at me. "Why the hell are you still standing here?"
I didn't say a word. My legs moved on their own, following him out of that place without hesitation. No one tried to stop me. No one said a damn thing.
We walked to the car in silence. My heart was thundering in my chest, not out of fear—but adrenaline. Everything had happened so fast. I climbed into the passenger seat, still gripping my bag.
Joon didn't speak until he started the engine.
"Don't ever go back there again."
I nodded slowly, still trying to process what just happened.
That house, that life—I wasn't going back. Ever again
The car was quiet—too quiet.
The low hum of the engine and the soft rumble of tires against the road were the only sounds filling the air. I sat in the passenger seat, my eyes flicking between the unfamiliar streets outside and the cold, unreadable profile of the man driving beside me.
Joon didn't speak. His grip on the steering wheel was relaxed, but his expression was like stone. No emotion, no interest, just blank coldness—like nothing that had just happened back at the house had even registered to him.
I sat with my hands in my lap, fidgeting with the zipper of my duffel bag, unsure if I should say something. But the silence was starting to crawl under my skin.
So I spoke.
"...Why did you help me back there?"
His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his voice low and dry when he answered.
"You took too long."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"You took too damn long," he repeated. "So I came looking."
That was it. No concern in his tone. No explanation of how he knew where I was, or why he even bothered. Just that. I guess, in his eyes, I was just late. A delay. An inconvenience.
I let out a soft sigh and looked out the window again.
"You shouldn't have," I said eventually, my voice barely above a murmur. "You didn't need to get involved. I could've handled it on my own."
At that, he let out a low, sarcastic chuckle.
"Oh? That was you handling it?"
I looked at him, and for the first time, there was a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips—mocking.
"Yeah," he continued with a scoff, "looked real convincing, standing there like a deer in headlights while that old man tried to take your head off."
I bit the inside of my cheek and stayed silent. I knew he was right. That wasn't me 'handling' anything. That was me surviving—barely.
After a moment, his smirk vanished and the cold mask slid back into place. I watched the buildings pass by, trying to calm my thoughts. I didn't even know where we were going. It wasn't the direction of the apartment I was at last night, that much I was sure of.
So, I asked again.
"Where are you taking me?"
He sighed through his nose, annoyed.
"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"
His voice was colder than before, almost irritated.
"Don't you ever get tired of running your mouth?"
I shut up immediately. My lips pressed into a tight line. I wasn't even angry—I kind of deserved that. He was right again. I'd asked too much. Maybe it was the trauma. Or maybe it was just... me trying to not feel alone.
I didn't say anything after that. I just stared out the window again, watching the grey afternoon pass us by in silence. The sky was cloudy. A few raindrops tapped gently against the windshield. My duffel bag sat heavy in my lap—just like the weight in my chest.
I had no idea where I was going. Or who I was really dealing with. But somehow... I felt safer here than I ever did in that so-called home.
So I kept quiet.
And I let the silence stay.
————————
We'd been driving for maybe twenty minutes, and I still had no idea where the hell we were going.
Joon hadn't said a word since snapping at me for asking too many questions. He just kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily near the gear shift. I could hear the ticking of the car's turn signal when he finally pulled over in front of a clean-looking storefront tucked between some narrow city buildings.
It wasn't flashy or big—but there was something about it. The black-framed windows were spotless. The gold-lettered signage above the door read "Lee & Son Tailoring" in elegant cursive. And inside, I could already see shelves lined with fabrics, suits, mannequins, and old-school measuring tapes hanging neatly off hooks. A warm, golden light glowed from the ceiling, casting everything in this strange... classy glow.
Joon turned off the engine and stepped out like he'd done this a hundred times. I followed, confused, clutching my duffel bag close. I looked at the store again, then back at Joon.
"A tailor?" I muttered to myself, under my breath. "The hell are we doing here?"
Joon didn't answer. He just looked over his shoulder and gestured for me to follow.
I stepped into the shop after him, and immediately a soft bell jingled above the door. The scent of cedarwood, leather, and crisp fabric hit me all at once—fancy. Way fancier than anything I was used to.
"Ah, Mr. Joon," a man behind the counter greeted him almost instantly. He looked to be in his fifties, glasses perched on his nose, a tape measure around his neck. "You're early. What can we do for you today?"
I blinked. Wait. They knew him?
Joon didn't even break stride. He just nodded at the guy and jabbed a thumb in my direction.
"Need a full set made for him."
The tailor's eyes landed on me. I instantly felt like I didn't belong in this place. My clothes were wrinkled, my hoodie from last night still smelled like the cigarette smoke and sweat from that hellhole of a house. I looked like a lost dog standing in a five-star hotel.
"Wait," I said quietly, turning to Joon. "You're getting a suit? For me?"
He gave me that same dead-eyed look and said flatly, "You work under Sam now, right?"
I hesitated. "Yeah..."
"Then you can't be walking around like some homeless stray. You represent him now. You need to look the part."
I didn't know what to say to that.
My mouth opened a little, then closed. I glanced at the tailor again, who was already reaching for a notepad and a measuring tape. Like this wasn't a strange request. Like this happened every day.
Joon added, "Don't worry about payment. Every recruit under Sam gets a new suit. It's standard."
That caught me off guard more than anything.
Standard?
My brows furrowed. I hadn't even started the job yet. Hell, I didn't even know what the job really was—and they were already spending money on me?
Why?
I just nodded silently, keeping all the questions buried in my chest. Joon's words from earlier still echoed in my head: You ask a lot of questions. Maybe this was one of those times where silence was the safer bet.
"Come with me," the tailor said politely. "We'll get your measurements done in no time."
I followed the man into a back section of the store—walls lined with suits in every possible shade of black, grey, navy, and even some deep emeralds and wine reds. Mirrors surrounded me, and the lights were so bright and clean that I could see every scar, every bruise still peeking through my collar. The tailor, to his credit, didn't comment on any of it. He just worked quietly, calling out numbers as he wrapped the tape around my chest, shoulders, arms, waist, inseam.
"You're a lean one," he commented casually. "You'll look sharp in a slim fit."
I forced a smile. "Sure."
When he was done, he jotted a few last notes and stepped out into the front again. I rejoined Joon, who was now on his phone, not even looking up when I stood beside him.
The tailor spoke, "When do you need it ready, Mr. Joon?"
"As soon as possible," Joon replied, pocketing his phone.
The tailor nodded. "We'll prioritize it. Might be done by tomorrow morning."
"Good."
Without saying anything else, Joon turned and walked out of the shop. I followed him again, head spinning. Everything was happening too fast. My life had gone from being beaten in a rat hole of a house to standing in a luxury tailor shop getting fitted for a goddamn custom suit. And I still didn't even know what kind of job I was about to do.
But I kept walking.
No questions.
Not anymore.
I climbed back into the car, the door clicking shut behind me.
Joon pulled out of the parking spot and merged back into traffic like none of this was strange at all. Like this was just another Tuesday.
I leaned back in my seat and stared out the window again.
Nothing about this felt real.
And yet, here I was.
The ride continued in silence. I had no idea where Joon was taking me next, but at this point, I didn't bother asking. I'd learned by now that he wasn't the chatty type, and honestly, I was too mentally drained to push anymore. So I just sat back, stared out the window, and watched the streets of Seoul blur past like some kind of fever dream.
Then we pulled up in front of another storefront.
This one was bigger—wider glass windows, clean white brick walls, and a neon sign that read "BLVCKROOM Studio" in bold letters. I could see the inside clearly. Modern interior, sleek chairs, walls lined with hair products and backlit mirrors. Stylish customers. Loud hairdryers. It wasn't just a place for a haircut—it was a whole damn experience.
A salon.
My reflection stared back at me in the glass door—messy hair, eye bags, split lip, hoodie still clinging to the smell of stale smoke and sweat. I looked like I belonged in a hospital bed, not some luxury grooming studio.
Joon got out of the car, didn't say a word, and walked straight in like he owned the place.
I followed, of course. What else could I do?
As soon as we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The warm air, the soft buzz of conversation, the upbeat music in the background—it all wrapped around me like I'd stepped into another world. A well-dressed stylist looked up from the reception desk and immediately smiled when he saw Joon.
"Joon-ssi!" he greeted with familiarity. "You're early today. Haven't seen you in a while."
They knew him. Of course they did.
Joon nodded once, barely acknowledging the man's excitement, and jerked his thumb toward me.
"Fix him," he said flatly.
That was it.
The stylist glanced at me, eyes scanning from my head to my shoes, and smiled like it was going to be a challenge—but a fun one.
"Come with me," he said brightly, already walking toward one of the styling chairs.
I didn't bother asking questions this time. What would be the point? Joon had made it clear—this was all standard. Tailored suit. Grooming. Transformation.
For what exactly? I still didn't know.
But whatever game I'd gotten myself into, the rules weren't mine to write.
I followed the stylist to the chair and sat down. As soon as I did, the cape went around me, and the guy started combing through my hair like he'd done it a million times. No hesitation. No comments about how rough I looked. Just business.
He asked some casual stuff—my name, if I wanted to keep it long or go short—but I didn't really answer. I just told him to do what he thought was best.
About thirty minutes passed.
He trimmed the sides, shaped the top, cleaned up my neckline. Another assistant brought over warm towels, massaged my scalp with shampoo, and even moisturized my face. I hadn't been treated this gently in... honestly, maybe my whole life.
When it was all over, the stylist pulled off the cape, dusted the hair from my shoulders, and spun the chair around so I was facing the mirror.
And for a second, I didn't recognize myself.
My hair was neater, swept slightly back with a bit of volume. My face looked sharper now that the messy bangs weren't hiding it. The bruises and cuts were still there, sure—but somehow, even those looked different. Like they were part of a story, not the end of one.
I blinked.
This wasn't me.
This was someone else. Someone who maybe had their life a little more figured out. Someone who didn't look like they crawled out of a gutter every morning.
Behind me, Joon finally spoke.
"You look good."
My eyes widened a bit.
That was... unexpected. A compliment? From him?
I glanced at him through the mirror. He wasn't smiling, of course, but there was a flicker of approval in his eyes. That calm, unreadable expression—but softer. Maybe for just a second.
"...Thanks," I muttered, unsure if I should be grateful or suspicious.
He nodded toward the door. "Let's go."
I stood up and followed him out of the salon, the soft bell above the door ringing again as we exited.
Back in the car, I leaned back in the passenger seat, fingers subconsciously brushing my new haircut.
It was weird.
Not just the hair.
The whole thing.
The suit. The grooming. The silence. The compliments.
Like I was being reshaped—polished and sharpened—for something I didn't fully understand.
But I didn't say a word.
I just looked out the window again, waiting to see what was next
I didn't know how long we'd been driving, but when the car finally slowed down and pulled into another spot, I looked up and blinked at the building in front of us.
A clothing store.
But not just any store—this was one of those sleek, high-end boutiques I'd only ever seen in Instagram ads and glossy department store windows. The kind where the mannequins wore thousand-dollar jackets and the lighting made everything look like it belonged in a celebrity's closet. One glance at the name on the storefront and I already knew this place was way out of my league.
Joon stepped out of the car first, casually slamming the door behind him like it was just another Tuesday errand. I hesitated for a second, but followed him inside anyway.
The moment we walked in, a tall, sharply dressed man in a blazer turned around and greeted Joon like they were old friends.
"Joon-ssi, welcome back," he said with a polite smile and a bow. "New recruit?"
Joon didn't bother answering the question. He just nodded toward me. "He needs everything."
Everything?
The man's eyes landed on me. They didn't linger long—just a quick scan from head to toe. I suddenly felt like I was standing there naked, even though I had a hoodie and jeans on. I shifted my weight awkwardly, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
I leaned toward Joon, lowering my voice. "Why are we here?"
He glanced at me sideways and replied, cool as ever, "I looked at your bag. I can already tell—it's been a long time since you bought yourself new clothes."
Well, he wasn't wrong.
I hadn't bought anything new since... I don't even remember when. Every piece of clothing I owned was either secondhand or dug out from some donation box.
"I want you to pick out whatever you want," he continued. "Casual, sport, streetwear—clothes, shoes, bags. Whatever you need."
I blinked. "What? Why?"
He looked at me like I was dense.
"You really think you're gonna walk into Sam's world dressed like that?" he asked, gesturing to my hoodie. "You're not just some random guy on the street anymore. You're representing something bigger now."
I frowned. "But... I don't have the money for any of this. I can't pay for these brands. This stuff's probably more expensive than my rent."
Joon rolled his eyes like I was exhausting him. "Did I ask you to pay?"
I stared at him.
He sighed. "Look. You said yes to Sam, right? Then this is part of the deal. He invests in the people he brings in. Everyone who works under Sam gets an upgrade. You're not special. Don't overthink it. Just pick what you like."
I didn't say anything. Not because I didn't want to—but because I couldn't. My brain was still trying to keep up.
It felt wrong.
All of it.
The luxury. The generosity. The sudden shift from nothing to this.
But I needed the job. I needed to survive. And most of all—I needed to stop going home with empty hands.
So I nodded.
And I did what I was told.
A sales assistant followed me as I moved awkwardly through the store, helping me pick out a few casual outfits, sneakers, a new backpack, and even a waterproof jacket. I didn't go crazy—I picked just enough to feel like I had options. The assistant kept suggesting more, but I stopped him.
Too much would've felt like stealing.
After everything was picked out and bagged, Joon gave the store clerk my address and told them to have everything delivered today, no later.
They didn't even question it.
They just said, "Understood, Joon-ssi," and went back to processing the payment like it was routine.
That name—Sam—really carried weight.
We left the store after that, and I got back into the car feeling... off.
Like something was changing around me, and I wasn't sure if I was moving with it or just being dragged along.
The drive back to my apartment was quiet. Joon didn't speak until we were parked again in front of my building.
"Someone will pick you up tonight," he said, staring straight ahead. "You'll be taken to the club."
I nodded slowly. "What time?"
He looked at me for the first time in a while. "They'll text you. Just be ready. And wear the new stuff."
I nodded again, gripping the door handle. "Alright."
Before I could get out, he added one last thing.
"And remember—you're not some loser anymore. So don't act like one."
That one stung a little. But he wasn't wrong.
I stepped out of the car, the door shutting behind me with a solid thunk, and watched as Joon drove off without another word.
The silence he left behind felt heavier than I expected.
I turned toward my building, pulled out the keys, and headed up to my unit. As soon as I stepped inside, the air hit me with that familiar blend of loneliness and dust. It was cold. Quiet. The complete opposite of everything I'd experienced today.
I dropped onto my mattress and lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.
New suit. New haircut. New wardrobe.
But the same body. Same scars. Same nightmares.
I didn't know what tonight would bring.
But ready or not—I was already too far in to back out now.