One Applicant10:40 a.m., that morning.On the outskirts of Seoul, in a semi-basement studio apartment, the window sat below street level. Feet of passersby passed at eye height.
Kim Jung-woo, forty-one, stared at the Truck City application page on his phone.He scrolled down and back up three times."Is this real…?"No words came out, only his lips moved.
In the kitchen, his wife packed lunch for their child.The sizzle of eggs. Oil popping on the pan.Their son sat on the living room floor, assembling plastic blocks.
Jung-woo read the first line of the application:
Current residence: Semi-basement / Monthly rent / Deposit 10 million KRW, Rent 800,000 KRW
His finger paused.Those numbers were familiar. Written many times before—on contracts, in text messages, on moving quotes. He took a deep breath and typed again.
Occupation: Self-employed (closed) — the autocomplete even added the parentheses. He didn't delete it.
Final question: Why are you applying to Truck City?
Jung-woo didn't look at the screen for a while. He looked at his child. The blocks collapsed, and the child rebuilt them. Watching, he slowly typed:
"Not for the house itself, but to start moving again in a life that a house had stopped."
He checked the spelling twice. Submitted.The screen changed. Application complete.The letters were neat.
Jung-woo couldn't put down his phone. Behind him, his wife asked,"Done?"He nodded. "I don't know."After a moment, he added with a small smile,"But… for the first time, it feels okay even if I fail."
His wife silently closed the lunchbox.Sunlight came through the window, reaching the floor. Nothing had changed—address, bank account, job. Yet the air in the room felt slightly different.That day, for the first time, Jung-woo thought he might be able to move again.
A Young Man, Alone11:20 a.m., Sillim-dong, Seoul.A tiny room at the end of a gosiwon hallway. Open the door, and only a bed and desk filled the space.
Lee Junho, twenty-nine, opened the application on his phone instead of a laptop.The Wi-Fi was weak; the page froze once.He didn't rush—he didn't need to.
Current residence: Gosiwon / Monthly rent / Shared bathroomOccupation: Platform worker (delivery)
At the final question, he paused.
Why are you applying to Truck City?
Junho typed:"It's not that the room is too small. It's that there's no space to plan for tomorrow."
Submitted. He flipped his phone over and grabbed his helmet.No elevator; the stairs were narrow.Stepping outside, he muttered to himself:"Just… one more move."
Middle-aged, FamilyNoon. Outskirts of Gyeonggi Province, third floor of a villa.The door was closed, but sounds always came from inside.
Park Sun-young, forty-seven.Her son cried in the room; her daughter searched for the remote.Sun-young paused in filling the application to give her child some water.
Current residence: Villa / Monthly rent / Deposit 20 million KRWOccupation: Caregiver unavailable
Final question: Why are you applying to Truck City?
She couldn't write for a long time.Her child cried louder than her thoughts.After the child slept, she wrote:
"Not because I can't work without a place to leave my child, but because I can't leave my child because I can't work. I want to end this life."
Submitted. She placed her hand on her child's forehead and whispered,"Just… let's wait a little longer."
Grandmother and Grandchild1:10 p.m., northern Seoul, semi-basement of a rowhouse.Sunlight only came in the afternoon.
Kim Bok-soon, seventy-three, and her grandson Min-su, thirteen.Min-su sat at the desk; Bok-soon folded newspapers.Pencils underlined words on the paper—Min-su was the top student in school.
He read the application aloud."Grandma, it asks for your occupation here."Bok-soon thought a moment, then said,"Just… write that I collect scrap paper."
Min-su typed.
Why are you applying to Truck City?Bok-soon didn't answer. Min-su wrote for her:"I hope Grandma can live in a home where she doesn't have to go down the stairs so much."
Submitted. Bok-soon patted her grandson's head."Focus on your studies."Min-su whispered,"Grandma, rest a little too."
Yoo Sun-cheol2 p.m., Incheon, small warehouse converted into an office.Yoo Sun-cheol, thirty-six, sat with unpaid bills and folded blueprints on his desk.Occupation: Self-employed (winding down)
At the last question:
Why are you applying to Truck City?
He wrote one line:"Not a city to survive, but a city that can be redesigned is what I need."
Submitted. He closed the laptop, turned off the light, and lowered the warehouse door.He smiled to himself."The day I apply for a city… actually came."
At the same time, in the administrative office, the phones never stopped ringing:"I can't apply!""When do I submit the documents?""Is this… really possible?"Faxes ran, printers stopped.
The TF team leader wrote on a notepad:Youth / Middle-aged / Family / Elderly / Individual
Someone said,"This… isn't a housing application—"
After a pause, they continued:"It's an application to join a city."