Dana:
I placed the birthday cake in front of my little brother, Deon, singing "Happy Birthday" as he beamed up at me. His smile was so contagious that I couldn't resist ruffling his hair.
"Happy birthday, dear Deon... happy birthday to you," I sang, watching him blow out the single candle shaped like the number nine. I clapped and cheered. "What'd you wish for?"
"Uhm..." He paused, thinking for a moment. Then he grinned wide. "I wished for you to never leave me."
His words made me smile, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. Sighing, I reached for the knife and cut him a generous slice of cake, knowing full well he'd devour it.
"Thanks, big sis!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms tightly around my neck. I patted his back affectionately.
"Of course," I replied, hugging him just as tightly.
That's when I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and a familiar unease settled over me. I knew it was my Korean grandmother.
A shiver ran down my spine. I'd never felt comfortable around her. She held resentment toward my father and me for not teaching Deon and me Korean fluently. I knew the language, but after living in the U.S. for so long, I'd grown used to speaking English.
My father had sent Deon and me to Korea to live with her, hoping we'd connect with half of our heritage. I didn't mind the idea of learning more about our culture, but living under her roof was another story entirely.
Deon and I were mixed—our mother was Black, and our father was Korean. They'd met when my dad attended college in the U.S., where my mom helped him with his English. But my grandmother, Noona, wasn't exactly thrilled about their union.
"Ah, my young boy," she said in Korean, crouching down to look at Deon. "Growing so fast. You'll be fluent by the time you're fourteen."
I stayed silent as she fawned over him. She barely acknowledged me, only glancing my way when Deon spoke up.
"Dana wants to help, too!" he said eagerly.
Her eyes met mine briefly, her expression dismissive. "Your sister... it doesn't matter. She'll never learn," she muttered.
I stared at the ground, swallowing the familiar sting of her words. I knew she didn't see me as worthy. No one did. I always felt like a burden.
The differences between Deon and me only made things worse. I was a little darker than him, and strangers often assumed I wasn't his biological sister. They'd whisper, stare, and sometimes even ask if I'd kidnapped him. Our shared parentage wasn't obvious to anyone but us.
Even my mother had her criticisms. I weighed 130 pounds, which to her was too much. My father, however, treated me like his little princess. He was the only constant in my life who made me feel valued.
But outside of my relationship with him, things were different.
I spent the rest of the day focused on Deon, making his birthday as special as possible. By the time he left with Grandma, I found myself on the balcony, letting the cool wind wash over me.
As I stood there, my hands shook. I reached into my pocket, pulling out the small knife I always kept on me. My breath was unsteady as I flicked the blade open.
With tears streaming down my face, I lifted the knife to my neck, the cold metal grazing my skin. My vision blurred as despair clouded my thoughts.
I was moments away from making a choice I couldn't take back when I heard footsteps. I turned, startled, to see a man in a black suit approaching. He carried a suitcase and wore an unsettling smile.
"Step back!" I shouted, turning the knife toward him.
He raised his hands calmly. "Don't. I'm just here to make you an offer."
I furrowed my brow, unsure of what he meant. "What are you talking about?"
He opened his suitcase, pulling out two folded papers. "I saw what you were about to do. You seem desperate—maybe in debt? Let's play a game. If you win, you'll get money. If you lose, you'll owe the same amount I'd give you."
I froze, my mind racing. I didn't know who this man was, but his words struck a chord. Deon's cancer treatment weighed heavily on me. Tears welled up again as I thought of my brother.
"Fine," I said, lowering the knife. "What's the game?"
"It's called Ddakji," he said, revealing two brightly colored cards. "You have to flip the other card over with a single throw."
I crossed my arms, skeptical but intrigued. "Alright."
"Would you like blue or red?" he asked, holding up the two cards.
"Blue," I said, pointing to it.
He handed me the blue card and set the red one on the ground. Stepping back, he bowed slightly. I took a deep breath and threw my card, but it didn't flip.
"What the—"
"My turn," he interrupted. Picking up the red card, he threw it down with precision, flipping mine effortlessly.
My heart sank. "I don't have that kind of money..."
"Then pay with your body," he said coldly.
Before I could respond, his hand lashed out, slapping me across the cheek. I gasped, clutching my face. "What the hell?!"
I grabbed the ddakji and slammed it down again, but it still wouldn't flip. He smiled, flipping my card with ease.
Each failure earned me another slap. Tears stung my eyes as I demanded another round. After what felt like an eternity, I finally succeeded, flipping his card.
"Congratulations," he said with a smirk, slipping money into my hand before walking away.
That night, I kissed Deon's forehead as he slept, his breathing steady and peaceful. I stared at the scrap of paper the man had left me, my fingers trembling as I dialed the number.
The line rang before a voice finally answered. "If you wish to participate in the games, state your name and age."
I glanced at Deon, his sleeping mask still in place. My voice was barely a whisper. "Lee Dana. Twenty-five."
