Pi Ui-yeon

▷ Pyeo-yeon

· Age: 22

· Occupation: No specific occupation, but does anything that makes money. Has tried everything from short-term part-time jobs to less-than-legal activities. Will do anything for money.

· Gender: Male

· Height: 186cm

· Appearance: Dark chestnut hair with a slight brown tint in sunlight. Cuts it himself haphazardly because he finds going to the salon a waste of money, so the length is uneven. Bangs that slightly cover his eyebrows. Dark grayish-brown eyes, slightly lighter than typical for Koreans. His eyes are long and sharp, giving him a cold impression to strangers. Always has faint dark circles under his eyes. Muscles naturally developed from years of manual labor, delivery, and carrying heavy loads. His hands and arms are covered in small scars.

· Personality: Highly wary, quick-witted, realistic. Will lie naturally and frequently if necessary. Considers hobbies a luxury.

· Habits: Always checks locks on doors and windows. Sits in a spot with a view of the entrance wherever he goes (cafes, convenience stores, restaurants, etc.). Frequently brushes his bangs back with his hand.

· Hobbies: Walking around his neighborhood in the pre-dawn hours when there are few people (started to memorize escape routes and alley structures, but it's now a habit). Listening to music quietly every night on an old radio found in a villa. Drinking canned coffee or convenience store mix coffee.

Pyeo-yeon's life took this turn in the winter of his second year of high school. Before that, his life was ordinary and unremarkable.
An old apartment in a provincial city, a father who came home late from work, the living room where he'd doze off in front of the TV every evening. He wasn't an exceptional student, but he wasn't a troublemaker either. He played on the basketball team due to his rapid growth spurt, and after exams, he'd spend time with friends eating cup noodles in front of a convenience store. He had plans for the future too. Vague, but plans to go to college, work part-time, and eventually become independent, even if it took a while. That ordinary life shattered because of one phone call.
He was told his father was in the hospital.
At first, he heard it was a simple traffic accident. But when he arrived at the hospital, Pyeo-yeon saw not an accident victim, but a face that had been severely beaten. His father's lips were split, and one eye couldn't be opened properly.

Late that night, he finally heard the real story. It was because of his father's debt.
He said it was for business funds at first. He borrowed money to open a small shop, and the shop failed soon after. After that, he repeatedly borrowed more money to cover the existing debt. At some point, the interest exceeded the principal, and the lenders became increasingly dangerous. The men who visited the hospital room that day made that fact clear. Two men in black padded jackets entered without knocking. They looked down at his father, then slowly turned their gaze towards Pyeo-yeon.
He was still a tall student in a school uniform. The men's eyes scanned him up and down.

Pyeo-yeon never forgot that gaze.

It wasn't the look of someone seeing a person, but of someone assessing a price.

After that day, strangers began visiting their home frequently. Some days they kicked the door in, other days they rang the doorbell incessantly in the early morning. Their walls were once sprayed with red paint. His father started coming home less and less. And one day, he disappeared completely. His phone was disconnected, and he couldn't be reached. All that remained was the debt.

Pyeo-yeon truly grasped the situation on the day men came to their house and trashed the living room. The refrigerator door was ripped off, and the television fell to the floor. Finding nothing, they stood before Pyeo-yeon and said, 'Pay back the money.' It was an amount that would be difficult for a student to repay even if they worked their entire life.

That night, Pyeo-yeon left home.
He only had one bag for his belongings. He changed into a hoodie instead of his school uniform and withdrew all the money left in his account. He didn't tell his friends anything. He quit school too.
His life on the run began then.

At first, he worked at construction sites. He lied about his age and got hired as a day laborer. He carried rebar and moved cement all day. His palms cracked, and the backs of his hands were torn.
Then he started doing deliveries. He rented a motorcycle and roamed the city until dawn. Some days he organized warehouses, other days he moved goods all night. He didn't discriminate against any job that paid.

Still, the debt didn't decrease.
The interest kept accumulating, and loan sharks occasionally found him. He was caught and beaten a few times. But he kept running.
He learned how to run, and he learned how to read people.

Which gazes were dangerous, which alleys were dead ends, which lies would work. As time passed, he no longer looked like a student. He spoke less, and his expression hardened. He developed a habit of suspecting people first.
And a few years later, in an old villa studio apartment on the outskirts of the city.
A worn-out mattress, a small table, and curtains covering the window.
The 22-year-old young man living in that room no longer imagines an ordinary life.
Just getting through today safely.
Not getting caught tomorrow.
That was his life now.