Days passed like clockwork.
Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
Kang Tae-min had lost count of how many shifts he had done this week. Seven jobs, maybe eight. They all blurred together — cleaning tables, carrying boxes, running deliveries. The only thing that stayed the same was the ache in his shoulders and the quiet hum of fatigue behind his eyes.
By the time he clocked out of his last job, the sky was already black. Streetlights buzzed overhead, throwing long shadows across the pavement. He walked down the narrow road toward the convenience store he always stopped at before heading home.
Inside, the air-conditioner hummed softly. He went straight for the instant noodles — his usual supper — but something else caught his attention on the magazine rack.
A motorbike magazine.
He'd seen plenty of bikes while making deliveries, but this one… this one was different. The machine on the cover looked like it could tear through the night itself — all chrome and muscle, with an engine big enough to drown out thought. He picked it up without realizing it, thumbing through glossy pages filled with speed and freedom.
He didn't know why it hit him so hard. Maybe it was because it represented everything he didn't have — movement without burden, power without purpose.
He exhaled and set the magazine down, almost embarrassed. He grabbed his noodles, paid at the counter, and only then noticed the cashier.
She wasn't like the others who worked here. Black eyeliner, leather choker, silver rings. Her hair was dyed a deep purple that looked almost black under the fluorescent lights. A goth, maybe — or someone trying to be.
"You're here every night," she said, scanning the items. Her voice was low and smooth. "You ever get tired of the same noodles?"
Tae-min blinked, caught off guard. "They're cheap."
"That's not what I asked."
He looked at her, and for once, words didn't come easily. It wasn't like him to be nervous — he'd faced gangsters and cops without flinching — but now his throat felt dry.
"I guess I'm a creature of habit," he finally said.
She smiled faintly. "Then maybe next time, try something new."
He nodded awkwardly, took his bag, and walked out before she could say anything else.
The night air felt colder than before.
The road home was quiet. His footsteps echoed off the buildings, steady and rhythmic. He was halfway to his apartment when a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Hey! Kang Tae-min!"
He turned.
Ryu Sang-ho stood at the corner beneath a flickering streetlight, flanked by three of his men. The same ones from the fight — minus the tall foreigner who had thrown people around like ragdolls that night.
Sang-ho was dressed casually, in a dark coat and a half-buttoned shirt, cigarette glowing between his fingers. His grin hadn't changed.
"Didn't think I'd run into you here," he said, waving lazily. "Still doing deliveries?"
Tae-min sighed. "Still breathing."
"That's a good start." Sang-ho gestured toward the street. "Walk with me. I've been looking for you."
"I'm tired," Tae-min replied flatly. "It's been a long day."
"I'll make it worth your time."
The man's tone shifted — not pushy, but magnetic. The kind that slipped past defenses before you realized it. Tae-min didn't like it, but curiosity tugged at him anyway.
They walked toward the red-lit district on the edge of town. Most of the stores were closed, but the neon signs still glowed faintly, painting the pavement in shades of pink and violet.
Sang-ho stopped in front of a small coffee shop tucked between a bar and a karaoke lounge. Its lights were still on.
"How is this place open this late?" Tae-min asked.
Sang-ho smiled. "Because it's mine."
He held the door open. Inside, the shop smelled of roasted beans and faint smoke. The atmosphere was strangely calm — like a different world compared to the streets outside.
They sat down near the window. One of Sang-ho's men took a seat at another table, pretending not to listen.
"So," Tae-min said, resting his elbows on the table, "what do you want?"
Sang-ho leaned back, arms folded. "A job offer."
"I already have seven."
"Then this one makes eight — and it pays ten times better."
Tae-min raised an eyebrow but didn't speak.
Sang-ho tapped the table lightly. "Remember that big guy from the other night? The foreigner?"
"Yeah. Hard to forget."
"He got arrested this morning. Some debt collector went too far, cops traced it back. I need a new loan shark."
Tae-min blinked. "You're offering me that job?"
"Why not?"
"You have two guys outside who look the part."
Sang-ho laughed softly. "They can hit people. They can threaten people. But they can't think. You? You're smart. You keep calm in a fight. You don't panic when things get messy."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "That's what a loan shark needs. Brains first, muscle second."
Tae-min frowned. "So you want me to scare people into paying?"
"Not scare," Sang-ho corrected. "Persuade. There's a difference. The scary part only comes after persuasion fails."
The words rolled off his tongue like a practiced speech — smooth, confident, convincing.
Tae-min stayed quiet, letting the silence stretch.
Sang-ho took a sip of coffee and continued, softer this time. "I know what you're thinking. You don't want to be like us. But tell me something—how much do you make in a month?"
"Enough to live."
"Barely."
Sang-ho smiled, almost sympathetically. "You work seven jobs. You run from dawn till midnight. And for what? A rented room with a broken window? Instant noodles every night?"
Tae-min's jaw tightened.
"Work for me," Sang-ho said. "One job. Less hours. Ten times the money. And if you don't like it after a month, walk away. No strings."
The offer hung in the air like smoke.
Tae-min looked out the window. The neon lights reflected off the glass — red and blue streaks twisting together. He didn't know what he was looking for out there, maybe an excuse to say no.
But nothing came.
He thought of the endless shifts, the sleepless nights, the feeling of living just to keep living.
Sang-ho must've seen the flicker of hesitation, because he smiled wider. "You don't have to answer now. But I can tell, Tae-min — you're the kind of guy who doesn't run from opportunity. You run toward it."
He extended his hand again, same as that night on the rooftop.
This time, Tae-min didn't hesitate. He shook it.
"Fine," he said quietly. "I'll do it."
"Good man." Sang-ho stood up, satisfied. "You start tomorrow. I'll send someone to brief you."
As Tae-min rose to leave, Sang-ho added casually, "Oh, and Tae-min — welcome to the family."
The streets were empty when he stepped outside. The night had grown colder, the silence heavier.
He walked home slowly, plastic bag swinging in his hand. The noodles inside were probably cold by now, but he didn't care.
He wasn't happy.
He wasn't distressed.
Just calm — the same calm he always felt when life took a turn.
He looked up at the faint stars, barely visible through the city haze, and whispered the same words that had followed him since he left the orphanage.
"What's next?"