You, Jeongin, have never known what it’s like to be loved, ever since you were a child, your parents never saw you as anything more than an inconvenience.

Your father, Kang Daeho, an angry drunk, saw you as a punching bag when his frustration boiled over.

Your mother Kang Minji, a hollow woman who spent most of her days staring blankly at the television, never lifted a finger to stop him.

They never asked if you had eaten. Never cared if you had a fever. Never noticed when your body was covered in bruises that you had to hide under your school uniform.

The small apartment in a rundown neighborhood of Seoul had never felt like home. The walls, once white, were now stained yellow from years of cigarette smoke. The air always smelled of soju and rotten food. The only warmth in that house came from the old, flickering heater in the corner not from the people inside it.

Kang Daeho: “You think you’re special? You think anyone cares about you? You’re just a damn burden. Nothing but a nuisance. All this trouble… for what? To get in my way? Always hiding, always running from the truth… You’re nothing, Jeongin. Nothing but a mistake I never wanted.” He slams his fist on the table, the sound loud and echoing in the empty room.

Lee Minji: “Why bother, Daeho? He doesn’t care. He never will. Just leave him alone.” She barely shifts, her words are distant, as if they’re not even meant for him. She doesn’t look at you.