My eyes followed the fluttering pages, trembling.

Then—

I heard a short, mocking laugh.

I snapped my attention back to him.

Only then did he light a cigarette, drawing in a deep breath until his cheeks hollowed out.

Thick clouds of smoke poured from his lips.

I broke into coughing.

He watched me, and when he seemed satisfied, he tossed the poetry book into the corner before leaning back against the sliding door.

With his eyes closed, the shadows on his face deepened.

“Are you not going to clean that up? Hurry up and clean it!”

“That knife—that’s the one I used to kill the pimp back at Mia.”

“….”

“Go on. Try it yourself. Pull it out, cut my throat, and if you can walk out of here—then do it.”

If I could, I would.

I would do exactly what he said.

But the knife was buried too deep in the floor.

It wouldn’t budge.

Like an insect pinned to a board, I remained there all night.

I couldn’t tell whether night had passed or morning had come.

With the window sealed shut, there was no way of knowing.

I didn’t even know how much time had passed.

But I didn’t give up.

There was nothing else I could do anyway, so what did it matter if I poured all my strength into it?

“Never seen anything like it. You really don’t know how to give up.”

He had been sleeping soundly beside me, but now he got up.

After going in and out of the bathroom and getting ready as if he had somewhere to be, he strode over.

I gripped the knife handle with both hands and glared at him.

He lightly tapped the back of my hands, as though swatting away a summer fly. Then he grasped the handle and pulled the knife free in one smooth motion.

Holding the knife, he glanced around the room, before walking out with it.

As the door opened and closed, I realized—A new day had begun.

I was alone again.

***

He didn’t come back for two whole days.

I had no choice but to cook something myself.

By the time I’d cooked the rice, cracked a few eggs, and put together a meal that at least resembled something, he finally returned.

He grabbed a handful of rice straight from the bowl and said:

“What, did you scoop this out of sand? You don’t even know how to cook rice?”

“Who said you could eat it?”

“My rice. My eggs. My bowl. And that’s my spoon, isn’t it?”

Petty. Disgusting.

If he hadn’t locked me up in a place like this to begin with, I wouldn’t have touched any of his things.

“How am I supposed to eat this? You call this rice?”

“….”

“Have you been starving your whole life? What’s wrong with your taste?”

I hadn’t told him to eat, yet he still served himself rice and eggs, and then had the nerve to complain.

If he wasn’t going to eat them, he shouldn’t have touched them.

Seeing him casually pick up the entire tray and carry it back into the kitchen made me want to smash him over the head.

You b*stard! I’m starving!

“Who told you to play house in someone else’s kitchen? Messing with things that aren’t yours.”

“I didn’t make it for you! I was hungry, so I cooked! I didn’t even mean to make that much.”

“I can tell. You were planning to eat it all before I got here, weren’t you? You can’t even get the water ratio right—what, you think you got the rice portion right?”

He had already started scooping out fresh rice and rinsing it in the container.

I glanced at him.

His movements were rough — almost clumsy — yet he did not waste a single motion.

Despite the cramped conditions, he moved around the space with ease, as if it belonged to him.

It was all done in no time.

Perfectly cooked rice.

Side dishes.

Even a pot of stew.

A proper meal was set down in front of me.

Two bowls of rice.

And even two fried eggs.

Perhaps he had a shred of conscience left after all — at least he wasn’t stingy with the food.

Then again, he had starved me for the first few days.

So no, not really.

He was just cooking because he was hungry.

It wasn’t as if he was doing it for me.

“From now on, don’t touch anything in here.”

“Then you’d better cook on time and serve it yourself.”

I shoved the warm rice into my mouth and answered through his nagging.

“Shut up. And don’t even wash the rice next time. It’s a waste.”

Was it really something to get scolded this much over?

“You threw out the rice water too, didn’t you?”

His lecturing dragged on so long it made me swear I’d never cook again, no matter what.

Who did this thug think he was, acting like he had the right to lecture me—when all he did was sell women?

“You’re part of a human trafficking ring, aren’t you?”

He glanced at me, took a big mouthful of rice—and said nothing.

“That’s why you’re feeding me like this, right? So you can fatten me up and sell me off later.”

“Eat properly.”

I didn’t want to be good, so I took the spoon straight out of my mouth.

It didn’t matter much, though — I’d already eaten a whole bowlful.

Still, anything he said made me want to do the opposite.

“If you don’t want it, throw it away. Down the drain.”

“….”

He pressed me again, daring me to go through with it.

When would I get another decent meal?

That b*stard could disappear for three or four days at a time without warning.

I had to eat while I could, so I did.

Not because I wanted to obey him – never that.

I finished a second bowl.

Only then did he pick up the tray and head back into the kitchen.

Just as he had done when he set it down, he cleared everything away in no time.

Quick. Efficient.

Like a wild animal.

“Don’t you even watch TV at home?”

He was the only person I could talk to.

And calling it a conversation was a stretch—he barked orders, I snapped back.

It was getting tiring.

“You think I kept you here to entertain you? So what if there’s no TV?”

“Then what—don’t you read? Books? Newspapers?”

“Do you even know how to read Chinese characters?”

“Like you do, right? You probably can’t either.”

“Then how do you read that poetry book?”

I hesitated.

He was right—I couldn’t read Chinese characters.

I had only memorized everything because the poet used to read it aloud to me over and over again.

But there was no reason to let him know that.

“Why are you taking your stupidity out on me? A thug like you, acting all high and mighty.”

“Looks like you’ve got it good. I feed you, keep you company, and now you think I’m easy? If you don’t want to get beaten, shut up and sleep.”

I couldn’t tell if night had fallen—but seeing him lie down, it must have been.

Why the h*ll did he lock me up here?

The fact that he even cooked for me… was he really planning to sell my organs?

‘Lee Chun-hee, think.’

You have to figure out a way out of here.

Even the slightest movement—tiptoeing in the dark—and he’d open his eyes like a ghost, staring straight at me.

“Lie down.”

No.

There was no way I was going to obey him quietly.

I couldn’t sleep anyway, and I wasn’t about to let him rest in peace.

So I started singing loudly.

At the top of my lungs.

I recited every single poem that I had memorized, too.

“Close your mouth.”

I didn’t stop.

He didn’t say another word.

Instead, he clamped his hand over my mouth.

His hand was so big that it covered my nose as well.

No matter how hard I twisted my head, I couldn’t break free — his palm held my face in place, as though I were being smothered.

I forced my mouth open through the narrow gap and snapped it shut.

My teeth sank into his flesh.

He pulled his hand away at once.

The metallic taste lingered.

I deliberately licked my blood-smeared lips.

In that moment, I was the predator — the one who had struck.

He clenched his bleeding hand into a fist and walked out.

The sharp click of the lock echoed behind him.

I stretched out on the floor.

“Idiot.”

A quiet, breathy laugh escaped him.

After a long time, he came back.

In his hand was something small, resembling a pocket-sized book.

I’d seen something like it before.

A radio.