Seoul in winter was cold, sharp, and indifferent. The kind of cold that slipped under coats, that clung to fingers, that made everything just a little harder. Streetlights cast long pale glows over icy sidewalks, and the occasional gust of wind scraped through alleys like invisible knives.
Han Seong-jin walked alone.
The air stung his face, but he barely noticed. The buzz of traffic in the distance, the glow of convenience store signs, the occasional rush of a car passing by—all of it washed over him like background noise. He moved like someone used to silence.
He was nineteen. Fresh out of high school, but with nothing waiting for him. No college. No job. No future. Just another name lost in the system.
His shoes were worn through at the soles. His coat, secondhand and too thin for the season, flapped behind him in the wind. The last time he ate was yesterday afternoon. Two triangle kimbaps and a bottle of water. It hadn't lasted long.
But he wasn't thinking about food.
The real emptiness sat deeper.
His parents had died in a car crash when he was eight. The kind of story that makes the evening news for a day before vanishing into statistics. A drunk truck driver ran a red light. That was all it took. One mistake, and everything he had vanished.
Foster homes followed. So did bruises. And silence. Teachers noticed, sometimes. They never asked. Or maybe they didn't care. Either way, no one came.
He stopped talking to people when he was twelve.
Stopped hoping by thirteen.
By sixteen, he figured life would end early. He just didn't know when.
That night, the shelter was louder than usual.
A mix of coughing, half-muttered arguments, and the smell of unwashed bodies. The heat didn't work. Neither did the door lock. Twenty-five men slept on thin mats, some high, some just angry.
Seong-jin had been lying on his side, eyes closed, when he heard the familiar voice.
"Ey, you looking at me?"
It was Gi-tae. Always loud. Always wired like he hadn't slept in days.
"No," came a weak voice—one of the younger guys, maybe seventeen.
Gi-tae's footsteps scuffed across the floor.
"You callin' me a liar now?" The click of a folding knife broke the tension like a slap.
"Don't," someone muttered. "Not again."
Gi-tae ignored them. He shoved the younger boy with his foot. "I asked you a question."
Seong-jin sat up slowly.
"Gi-tae," he said quietly.
The man turned, grinning.
"Oh, look who decided to talk for once. Mr. Ghost. What, you finally grown a pair?"
Seong-jin didn't respond. Just stared at him.
Gi-tae chuckled, waving the knife lazily. "You think I'm scared of you? Huh? You think that cold stare means something? You ain't shit."
Someone coughed behind them. Another guy shifted, pulling his blanket over his head.
"Go to sleep," Seong-jin said flatly.
The words didn't come from anger. They were almost too calm.
Gi-tae didn't like that.
He stepped forward, blade still out. "You think you can order me around, freak?"
But Seong-jin was already standing, slipping on his coat.
"Where you going, huh? You scared?"
He didn't answer.
As he passed by, Gi-tae raised his voice again. "That's right, walk away. One day someone's gonna carve your face open and no one'll even blink."
Outside, the cold hit harder. No shelter now. Just the streets.
Streetlights hummed above, casting a pale yellow wash across the empty road. A few cars passed, tires hissing on the wet asphalt. Seong-jin kept walking, hands in his pockets, breath fogging in front of him.
His feet carried him forward without direction.
He wasn't sure why he left the shelter. Maybe to get away. Maybe because something in him had finally given out.
He turned a corner. Crossed a small bridge. Reached the next intersection.
No cars. No pedestrians. Just the buzz of a flickering light overhead.
He stopped at the curb.
Looked up.
The sky was overcast. Blank.
"I don't belong here," he whispered.
Not with resentment.
Not with anger.
Just certainty.
He stepped into the road.
A soft crunch of snow beneath his foot.
Then—
Light.
Not the kind from a streetlamp.
Something fast.
Blinding.
A horn blared too late.
Metal screamed.
A truck, too close. No time to react. No time to move.
Everything collapsed into white.
Then darkness.
To be continued…