The heavy iron door stood at the back of the dusty old study, its surface covered in strange carvings and patterns that seemed to mock him. Jin had tried pushing, pulling, even leaning his entire weight against it, but it didn't budge. The rusted handle was ice cold in his sweaty grip, and the silence of the house pressed on him like a weight.
"Hah… figures," Jin muttered, stepping back with a sigh. "I can't even open a stupid door."
His voice echoed in the empty room, bouncing off the walls like a reminder of his helplessness. For a moment, he thought he heard his grandmother's voice in his head, telling him to keep going, to enjoy life as much as he could. But the memory only made his chest ache.
So he turned away and went back to cleaning. Dust clung to his thick arms as he dragged a chair across the floor. His breath hitched after lifting a single box, and by the time he finally collapsed on his futon that night, his whole body ached. His round face shone with sweat, his shirt clung to his belly, and his lungs burned as though he had just run a marathon.
"Grandma… what would you say if you saw me now?" he whispered, staring at the cracked ceiling until sleep finally claimed him.
The next morning, Jin woke groggy, his stomach grumbling louder than his alarm clock. After scribbling down a list, he trudged to the market.
The streets bustled with vendors shouting prices, the air thick with the scent of frying food. Jin kept his head down, clutching the little money he had. He bought cheap vegetables, rice, and a few packs of instant noodles, carefully counting each coin before handing it over. Every step home made his legs feel heavier, but the weight of responsibility pressed harder than his groceries.
On his way back, a shop window caught his eye: crisp white school uniforms neatly folded in rows. He stepped inside hesitantly, his cheeks heating.
"I… I need one in the biggest size you have," he mumbled.
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, handing over a bulky set of clothes. Jin stroked the fabric, whispering to himself, "One month left before school starts. Maybe this time… things will be different."
But his reflection in the shop mirror told him otherwise: round cheeks, tired eyes, and a body that sagged beneath the weight of his insecurities.
As he walked home, he noticed an elderly lady standing at the corner of the street, looking around with panic in her eyes.
"Grandma, are you lost?" Jin asked softly, approaching with caution.
Her wrinkled face relaxed in relief. "Ah… yes, I can't seem to find my way home."
He carried her bag despite the sweat dripping down his face and guided her block by block until she recognized her door.
"You're a good boy," she said, patting his hand.
The warmth of her words lingered in his chest, fragile and fleeting, but enough to make him smile for the first time in weeks.
That night, fate tested him again.
While taking a shortcut through a dim alley, Jin froze. Two rough-looking men cornered a girl no older than him, her back pressed against the wall as she clutched her bag.
"Stop it!" Jin shouted, his voice cracking. His heart hammered, his palms clammy. "Leave her alone!"
The men turned, sneering.
"Look at this tubby hero," one laughed. "What's a pig like you gonna do, sit on us?"
Heat rushed to Jin's face. Shame and anger boiled together. His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his skin.
"I won't let you touch her!" he yelled, though his knees trembled.
One of the men lunged. Instinct took over, and Jin swung his fist wildly. It connected—but the dull thud hurt his knuckles more than it hurt the thug. The man shoved him, sending him stumbling into a pile of trash cans.
Still, Jin got up, chest heaving, eyes burning. He swung again, clumsy but desperate. Every blow he threw left him more winded, every step heavier. His stomach jiggled with each movement, sweat dripping into his eyes.
The men scoffed but eventually gave up, cursing as they walked away. "Not worth it. Let's go."
Jin collapsed to his knees, gasping. His whole body shook, his shirt soaked in sweat. The girl stared at him in awe, then stepped closer.
"Wait—please, I want to thank you—"
But Jin bolted, his heavy footsteps echoing against the walls. He didn't stop until he slammed the door of his old house behind him, sliding down against it.
Tears blurred his vision.
"Pathetic," he whispered. "I could barely fight them off. I'm still weak… fat… useless."
His reflection in the window mocked him.
The next four weeks turned into a blur of torture.
Every morning, Jin forced himself outside. He ran laps around the block until his legs cramped and his chest burned like fire. He tried push-ups but collapsed after barely three. Sit-ups left him dizzy. His neighbors sometimes glanced at the red-faced, sweating boy puffing along the road, some shaking their heads, others chuckling under their breath.
Jin clenched his teeth and pushed harder. He remembered the laughter of bullies, the look of disappointment in his grandmother's eyes when he failed, the girl's voice as she tried to thank him. He wanted to change—needed to change.
But no matter how hard he tried, nothing changed. His belly remained soft, his face round, his body heavy. He still looked the same in the mirror, maybe even worse.
One evening, after another grueling workout, Jin stormed into the study and glared at the unmoving iron door.
"You won't open, huh?!" he roared, his voice breaking. "Then take this!"
He punched it. Pain shot up his hand, but he punched again. And again. His knuckles split, smearing blood across the carvings.
Suddenly, the lines etched into the door began to glow, faint at first, then brighter and brighter. Symbols lit up like fire racing across dry leaves.
Jin stumbled back, his heart pounding in his ears. The entire room buzzed with energy, his skin prickling as though the air itself had come alive.
And then—
DING!
The sound echoed inside his skull, crisp and mechanical, unlike anything he had ever heard.
Jin froze, wide-eyed, blood dripping from his hand.
A blue window pop up in front of his eyes
He shocked and fall on floor what… was that?