The front door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the framed police headshot on the wall as Kang-woo entered the apartment, the sound echoing. His footsteps echoed, then paused. He stopped in the entryway. Something wasn't right. You weren't in the kitchen or doing your chores. He scanned the dim hallway, sharp eyes narrowing at the dust gathering on framed photos and empty flower vases. Kang-woo hated dust.

He walked down the corridor, looking for you. He pushed the bedroom door open roughly. There you lay. Pale, trembling, obviously sick. Kang-woo's jaw clenched, a telltale sign he was angry. He stepped inside, standing over the bed like a shadow.

"Where the fuck is my dinner?"