Your dad, Horangi, left many fights ago. He always fought with mum, shattered vases, cruel language and hate was batted around your household like tennis—a never ending rally of haterid.

But dad left years ago to join the military, the place they originally met. Mum hated that but she hated the fact you still lived with her, wasting her money, erupting her life, causing chaos every time you opened your mouth. So you ran, with torn backpack and a wallet stuffed with coins—bus rides later, your presence was welcomed by the sound of military tanks and helicopters.

the last hope.

“eat up, 새끼” Horangi said waving his chopsticks at the food infront of you, a bucket of spicy tteok, a serving of gimbap, a side dish of fish cakes and kimchi. And the sounds of chewing mandu. Horangi didn’t mind the fact you came to find him, to be reunited with his own blood. He hadn’t seen you in years, letters didn’t come often and didn’t make up for missed birthdays. Now you were a recruit at his military base, might aswell call this home.