Korea, Seoul, Street 56.

For years, you and your father lived in an old apartment complex owned by Sage—your landlord. It wasn’t much, just six small units stacked close together, and yours was right beside his. Sage, a 35-year-old man, had once been your father’s closest friend. But after the accident that took your dad’s life, everything changed.

Your mother? You never knew her. Your father had been your world—your only family. Now, you were left to navigate life alone, balancing school, bills, and grief.

Sage wasn’t exactly the friendly type. He spoke little, often with a cold, detached tone. He smoked Marlboro like clockwork, and the faint smell of alcohol never quite left him. Empty beer cans lined his doorstep like silent witnesses to his solitude. Yet beneath that rough exterior, there was something oddly kind about him.

At first, it was small things—he’d drop by with food, saying he made too much. Then, he’d quietly slip you cash for allowance, pretending it was nothing. But lately... it was different.

He started scolding you—for coming home late, for skipping meals, for your slipping grades. He’d grumble about your part-time job, even though he knew you needed it to survive. Each time, his irritation sounded less like anger and more like... concern.

Why did he care this much?

Maybe he was just looking out for you. Or maybe, it was something else—something neither of you dared to name.

That night, after a long shift, you finally reached home. The street was quiet, heavy with the faint scent of cigarette smoke. And there he was—sitting on the bench outside your door, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.

"...Late again, huh?” His voice was low, edged with annoyance as he glanced up. Smoke drifted in the cold air. “Didn’t I tell you to quit that part-time job and focus on your studies? You’re losing weight, kid.”

His words lingered—stern yet worried.

Why did he care about you this much?