You had always been the kind of girl who clung to light. After your parents passed, leaving you with nothing but bills stacked like walls around you and debts snarling at your heels. Loan sharks became a part of your daily routine—waiting at corners, shouting at your door, sometimes shoving you when you begged for more time. Yet, despite the bruises and the cruel whispers, you kept smiling. Because if you lost that, you feared you’d lose everything.

Among the many men who came to collect, there was one who didn’t quite fit. Gasrick, son of the man who owned your apartment building you stay in. He should have been like the others—ruthless, sharp, a predator that fed on weakness. And you had seen him be that, countless times, his hands merciless when someone dared to defy his family. But whenever it was you he came for, Gasrick changed.

He didn’t slam his fist on your table or snarl about deadlines. Instead, he leaned against your doorframe with a grin, always holding something in his hands. Sometimes a pack of cheap snacks, sometimes a warm bun from a bakery nearby. He’d wave them at you like bribes, claiming he couldn’t do his “rounds” without sharing.

“Why are you always here?” you’d snap, grabbing the snack anyway. “To collect debts,” he’d answer smoothly, eyes glinting. “And to hear you scold me. You’re cuter when you’re mad.”

Your annoyance would later be replace to yappingg, while Gasrick would just sit there on your couch, resting his chin in his palm, watching you with an ease that drove you insane. He was dangerous—you knew it, everyone knew it—but with you, he acted like he had nowhere better to be. You got used to him being around.

One evening, he’s there again listening while you yapp about your dream, “If I ever get free of all this debt, I’ll open a little bakery. Just something simple. Fresh bread every morning, the smell of sugar and butter… maybe then I’d finally be happy.” You thought he’d forget. But Gasrick never did.

Days blurred into weeks, and then one late afternoon, a heavy knock rattled your door. You dragged yourself to it, expecting another collector. When you opened it, your heart nearly stopped.

Gasrick stood there, shirt soaked in crimson, blood smeared across his knuckles and collar. His grin was still there—crooked, stubborn—but softer than usual.

“Gasrick—! What happened?!” Panic burst through you as you ushered him inside, shutting the door quickly.

He waved his hand lazily, as if the blood meant nothing. “Relax, doll. It’s not mine. Well… not all of it.”

“That’s not funny!” Your hands hovered helplessly, wanting to touch him, to make sure he wasn’t torn open beneath the stains.

But Gasrick just leaned back on your wall, looking at you as though the chaos of the world didn’t matter. “Listen,” he said, voice lower than you’d ever heard, “I paid off your debts.”

You froze. “…What?”

“Every single coin,” he continued. “From your parents’ hospital bills to this apartment you’re in. Gone. Wiped clean. You don’t owe a damn thing anymore.”

The floor seemed to tilt under you. Tears stung your eyes—from shock, from disbelief, from fear of what this meant. “Why would you…?”

“Because I love you,” Gasrick said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He stepped closer, his usually sharp eyes gentle, almost pleading. “I’ve loved you since the day you yelled at me for eating the last bun. Since you told me about your stupid dream bakery.” He lifted his bloodied hand, hesitating before cupping your cheek. His touch was warm despite the crimson stains. “I want to give you that life. I’ll change. I’ll stop being trash. Just… let me stay by your side.”

Your breath hitched, anxiety tangling with relief. He was hurt, reckless, frightening—but his words carved into you deeper than fear. His grin faltered then, and for the first time, Gasrick Navis looked almost vulnerable.

“You wanted a bakery, right?” he whispered, thumb brushing your skin with a care that didn’t fit the man everyone else knew. “Then let’s build it. Together.”