Ha-young finds herself in a dire situation and in need of money. When a strange man asks her to compete in games, she accepts, hoping to get some relief.
Seo-jun is a thief, making an income from the hard work of others. Suffering from the loss of h...
The first time Ha-young ever saw a dead body, she was five years old.
Her father lay unnaturally still in the hospital bed, his chest no longer rising, while her mother’s sobs shook the sterile walls. The doctors whispered something about a tumor, but Ha-young didn’t understand, she only knew that her father wasn’t coming back.
Her older brother turned her away and wrapped his thin arms around her. His voice trembled, but he whispered anyway, “Don’t worry. Daddy’s just taking a nap.”
And the heartbreaking thing was that they both believed it. In their childlike faith, he was only sleeping. He would wake up. He would get better.
But the months dragged on. Their father never returned. Ha-young could see it in her brother’s eyes. The way hope dimmed a little more each day.
Then, a month after his death, Ha-young walked into her home after school and froze.
Her mother’s body swung from the ceiling, her head snapped in an uncomfortable way.
She didn’t understand the scene before her, didn’t understand why her brother screamed, why his hands shook as he dialed for an ambulance, why the paramedics’ faces were so grave. She only knew one thing: her mother was gone too.
By six and eleven, the siblings were orphans. Foster care swallowed them whole. The workers were kind enough, and other children smiled at her, but all Ha-young wanted was her mother’s arms around her again. Every night, her brother tucked her in, whispering the same fragile promise: “One day, we’ll all be together again. Me, you, Mom, and Dad. All together again.”
She never knew if he was saying it for her… or for himself.
At twenty, Ha-young still wondered.
The promise broke when a semi-wealthy family chose her, but not her brother. Adoption separated them. She never saw him again.
Her heart shattered in ways a child’s heart shouldn’t. The only person she trusted, the only piece of her real family she had left, was ripped away.
She cried every night until her voice was hoarse, until sleep dragged her into dreams where her family was whole again. Dreams where she was four years old, scrunching her nose with her brother whenever their parents kissed, where laughter filled the dinner table of their small but warm home, where her father cracked jokes and her mother pretended to scold him before tucking her in.
And then morning would come, and fresh tears would stain her cheeks.
As the years passed, even those dreams faded. She forgot her parents’ faces, their voices, the warmth of their touch. The memories dulled into ghosts. She stopped crying. Not because it hurt less, but because she had no tears left. All that remained was a hollow ache she carried everywhere, like a scar carved into her chest.
Still, Ha-young forced herself to be kind. It’s what Mom and Dad would’ve wanted, she told herself, even if she could no longer remember exactly who they were.
At seventeen, she ran away. A terrible choice.
Debt piled high. Survival became a daily struggle. Her boyfriend, a drunk who drained what little she had, abandoned her too, leaving her with nothing but exhaustion and empty pockets.
That was how she ended up at the subway station, too tired to cry, staring at the tracks when a man in a black suit sat beside her.
She nodded politely. He smiled, too pleasant, too polished.
“Excuse me, miss. Would you be interested in playing a game with me?”
Ha-young blinked, startled. “Sorry… not right now.”
His smile widened. “I’ll pay you.”
Her heart stuttered. Money. Real money. “What kind of game?”
“Ddakji,” he said smoothly, opening his briefcase to reveal two colored tiles and neat stacks of cash.
Blue for her. Red for him.
She slammed her tile down with all her might, and the first flip came easy. Then another. And another. Each win earned her 100,000 won, and the hope that maybe, for once, luck was finally on her side.
But in the last round, her tile didn’t flip. His did.
He held out his hand expectantly.
Ha-young’s voice cracked, desperate. “Please… I really need this money. Isn’t there another way I can pay you?”
He nodded, eyes glinting. “With your body.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
The man only smirked before his hand lashed out. The slap rang in her ears, left her cheek burning.
When her dazed eyes lifted again, he pressed a card into her hand.
“If you want to play more games,” he said coolly, “call this number.” Then he adjusted his tie and walked away, leaving her with nothing but a sting on her face, some cash, and a white card marked with three shapes: a circle, a triangle, a square.
That night, she sat alone in her room, staring at the card until her hands shook. A scam? Probably. Dangerous? Definitely. But what choice did she have?
Her fingers dialed the number.
“Hello,” a robotic voice answered. “Are you interested in playing?”
“Uh… yeah,” Ha-young whispered.
“Please state your name and birthday.”
“Shin Ha-young. December 31st, 2004.”
“Wait at the bridge down the road at midnight. The password is red light, green light.”
The line clicked dead before Ha-young could ask how they even knew where she lived.
Every instinct screamed against it. But desperation is louder than fear.
At midnight, she stood at the bridge.
At 00:01, a black van rolled to a stop. A figure in a pink jumpsuit and circle mask leaned out the window.
“Password?”
Ha-young swallowed hard. “Red light, green light.”
The van doors opened. She climbed inside.
Her gaze darted around—rows of slumped figures, already unconscious. Then came the hiss of gas, sharp and suffocating.
Her vision blurred, and before she could even regret her decision, everything went black.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
Shin Ha-young☆ portrayed by C
hoi Yi-hyun☆
☆PLAYLIST FOR SHIN HA-YOUNG☆
☆ Promise - Laufey ☆ anything - Adrianne Lenker ☆ Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey ☆ Fog as a Bullet - The Marías ☆ Nobody - Mitski ☆ From the Start - Laufey ☆ not a lot, just forever - Adrianne Lenker
