I was dragged backwards and thrown to the floor.

Before I could sit up, my ankle was seized and I was pulled in.

The man crouched in front of me, his face so close that it almost brushed mine.

Smoke drifted from his mouth and hit my face.

It all happened so quickly.

“Alright.”

…Alright?

What did he mean by ‘alright’?

I couldn’t speak.

I could barely breathe.

“I’ll give you one chance.”

He flicked his fingers.

I hesitated, then slowly pushed myself up from the floor.

Even lifting my body felt like dragging it through eternity.

Through the open door behind him, I could see it: Rows of identical houses lined the alley.

Snow drifted between them.

The cold was brutal.

“Go on. Step outside—if you want to die.”

“….”

“Once you walk out that door and die, it won’t be too late to regret it. But if you still want to try, go ahead.”

The only sound was the wind.

Snow drifted endlessly between us.

One step forward.

Then another.

I already knew.

This was pointless.

Either I’d be dragged back, or I’d step out and die, just as he said I would.

As I passed him, my legs trembled.

My whole body shook with a mixture of cold and fear.

“You think you survived because you’re tough, because you’re something special… don’t you?”

My head lifted on its own.

“That day at the temple. Back in that red-light district.”

The door rattled under the wind.

“You should be grateful you didn’t freeze to death.”

“…What kind of b*llshit is that?”

“That coat—I was the one who left it.”

That damned charity.

That was you?

The thing that kept me alive—was you?

“Let’s see how far your luck goes.”

His hand pressed against my back.

It was the only warmth I could feel.

“This time—twenty. I’ll count.”

He took his hand off my back and added.

“You run. I’ll walk.”

I burst out into the snowstorm.

Even if I ran into a lamppost and died out there, I had to keep running.

Despite the pain of my frozen feet scraping raw against the ground, I didn’t stop.

Tears spilled down my cheeks in heavy drops.

Crying was never my thing.

[Living is betrayal, every single day. I don’t know myself. I can’t trust myself. There’s nothing I can believe in. That’s what makes it so d*mn unbearable.]

The poet’s words echoed in my ears.

The snow that touched my face melted instantly, mingling with my tears.

I ran.

And then I ran again.

On the downhill path where the snow hadn’t piled up yet, my knees bent and straightened repeatedly, forcing me forward.

And then—

Just as they finally gave way, I pitched forward.

I knew it would happen.

The moment I closed my eyes, something grabbed my arm.

“Your luck’s insane. Isn’t it?”

I was hoisted up like laundry and thrown over his shoulder.

I struggled, even knowing it was useless.

“Hey, you b*stard! What the h*ll did I do wrong? Why did you drag me here?!”

It was unfair!

I swore and hit him, but he didn’t slow down. Not faster. Not slower.

The distance I had run with all my might felt endless, like a sea with no shore.

But for him, it was over in twenty steps.

The door slammed shut in front of my upside-down view.

***

“Don’t—don’t you dare, you son of a b*tch.”

I unleashed every curse I knew.

He ignored them all and forced his clothes onto me.

I fought back, clawing at him, but he still managed to get them on.

Was this some kind of dressing-up game?

Crazy b*stard.

If I gained anything from it, it was the thin line of blood I’d drawn across his face.

Perhaps it stung; he frowned as he wiped the blood from beneath his eye.

“Guess you’re acting like this because I haven’t hit you yet. You really think you can keep this up and not get beaten?”

“Why ask me when you’re the one who does the beating? If you’re going to hit me, just do it!”

I glared at him and clenched the loose, oversized shirt between my teeth.

I tore at it with all my might, biting into the tough fabric as though it were meat.

The fabric split along the grain, tearing into long strips.

I threw the first set of clothes he’d given me onto the bathroom floor and stomped on them until they were ruined.

I tore the second set into pieces.

He stared at me as though I were insane, then tossed the shredded fabric back at me.

“Sew it back together.”

I wasn’t scared anymore.

Let it all go to h*ll.

“I don’t know how.”

“Before I sell you off.”

He turned to leave, but then suddenly stopped.

I knew why.

Instinctively.

I had checked every corner of the kitchen, opened every gap I could find, and tried every door.

He knew.

That b*stard knew.

He pulled out a knife.

It had been hidden high up in the cabinet, out of reach.

F*ck! It was there.

Right there.

That’s why I couldn’t find it.

What he held wasn’t a small kitchen knife.

It was long. Sharp. Ugly.

He walked towards me slowly, holding the blade in his hand.

“So—you wanted to go out again.”

I widened my eyes and glared straight at him.

At this point, death was the only option.

Death.

When you imagine it, it feels like the most terrifying thing in the world.

But when it’s right in front of you it isn’t.

You learn this when you’ve been beaten to the brink of death, starved until you’re on the verge of dying, and left half-n*ked in a freezing cold that should have killed you.

For someone like me — someone who has never had anything worth taking, nothing that anyone would want —Death stops being something to fear.

“What are you even going to do with me if you kill me?”

“Good question. What would I do?”

“I’m no use to you. You’re not going to kill me anyway.”

“Big dreams.”

“If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it already. Am I wrong?”

The blade swung towards me in the blink of an eye.

It happened so quickly that I couldn’t even blink or scream.

Still clenching my fist, I lowered my head to look at my thigh.

The knife had pierced my trousers and was buried deep in the floor beneath me.

My leg was pinned to the floor.

I couldn’t move.

“What’s wrong? Not going to keep running your mouth? Go on—try.”

“….”

Like a predator that had caught its prey and was now playing with it, he toyed with me.

My life was at stake, but to him it was just entertainment.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the blade.

Even the slightest touch would slice through my flesh.

He crouched down in front of me, his massive frame closing in.

Grabbing my chin, he forced my head to turn, leaving me no choice but to look at him while my gaze skimmed the blade’s edge.

In his dark, beast-like eyes, I saw my reflection.

I was shaking all over, yet I still glared back at him.

It was pathetic.

The only thing I could do was scratch his face, leaving nothing more than a shallow mark behind.

I should have torn his skin off completely.

“You’re most afraid of this, aren’t you?”

He took something out of the pocket of the work uniform hanging on the wall.

A poetry book.

Before I could think, my hand shot out.

He dodged me easily.

Leaning back against the sliding door, he slipped a cigarette between his lips.

“For someone who doesn’t even fear death, a beating doesn’t do much good.”

He bit down on the unlit cigarette, chewing it lazily as he flipped through the pages.

“What the h*ll is this, anyway?”

You can look down on me all you want—but not that.

Someone like you has no right.

“It’s something far more important than a thug like you.”

“Did you write it?”

“I will. One day! What would you know about poetry, you ignorant b*stard?”

“What’s poetry, then? Do you even know?”

“I know more than you do!”

“Something about whether death has meaning or not. Or freedom, perhaps. Isn’t it all just nonsense? You talk as if you’re saying something profound that no one else understands — suddenly it’s art. I don’t know what delusion you’re caught up in, Lee Chun-hee, but you need to get a grip.”

Hearing my name come out of his mouth made my skin crawl.

It was filthy.

Coming from him, it felt like it dirtied me too.

“Hey! Don’t say my name! If you say it one more time, I’ll kill you!”

“A name has to be called to live.”

My words caught in my throat.

“It says so right here. Lee Chun-hee. If it’s never called, it dies.”

He held the poetry book open, letting it flutter in his hand, like a handkerchief waving to someone returning home.