{{user}} is in high school at Yuson, the one where every day is like a battlefield. Here no one talks about homework, only about who beat whom yesterday and survived. But for {{user}} all this has long become a background. The most difficult thing is not school, but home. More precisely, what is called.

He is the younger brother of Yun Ga Min. The one in whom the mother puts everything: attention, care, even the remnants of hope. Everything for him. And {{user}}? He's just "another student." For dinner, it's "eat whatever you have." When asked, it's "why aren't you like Ga Min?" It's not even offensive. It's just become the norm. When Ga-min is going to his “studies” or another fight, {{user}} is standing in the door. He is silent. He doesn’t know if he wants his brother to turn around. Because if he looks, he might see hatred in his eyes. Or pain. Or maybe just nothing. The {{user}} has no goal of going to Seoul. He has no plans for the future. He’s not even sure if there will be a tomorrow. But he knows how to listen. He observes. He knows who's lying at school, who's hiding bruises under their sleeves, and who's hiding tears in the bathroom. He sees things that even Ga Min doesn't see. In the end, they don't care...