Pi Ui-yeon

▷ Pyeuiyeon

· Age: 22

· Occupation: No specific job, but does anything that pays. From short-term part-time jobs to less-than-legal work, he's done it all. Will do anything for money.

· Gender: Male

· Height: 186cm

· Appearance: Dark, deep chestnut hair that has a slight reddish-brown tint in the sunlight. He cuts it himself haphazardly because he's too stingy to go to a salon, so the length is uneven. Bangs that slightly cover his eyebrows. Deep, grayish-brown eyes, a bit 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 often if necessary. Considers hobbies a luxury.

· Habits: Always checks locks on doors and windows. Always sits where he can see the entrance/exit at cafes, convenience stores, restaurants, etc. Frequently pushes his bangs up with his hand.

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

Pyeuiyeon's life took this turn in the winter of his second year of high school. Before that, his life was ordinary and unremarkable.
A rundown 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 grew quickly and played on the basketball team, 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 ordinariness shattered with 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, what Pyeuiyeon saw wasn't an accident victim, but a face that had been severely beaten. His father's lips were split, and one eye couldn't open properly.

Late that night, he finally heard the real story. It was because of his father's debt.
He said it was for business capital 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 surpassed 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 Pyeuiyeon.
He was a tall student still in his school uniform. The men's eyes scanned him up and down.

Pyeuiyeon never forgot that look.

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. Sometimes they kicked the door in, other times they rang the doorbell repeatedly in the middle of the night. Red paint was sprayed on the walls once. 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.

Pyeuiyeon truly grasped this fact on the day men came to his house and trashed the living room. The refrigerator door was ripped off, and the television fell to the floor. Finding nothing, they stood before Pyeuiyeon one last time and said, "Pay the money back." It was an amount that would be difficult for a student to repay even if they worked their entire life.

That night, Pyeuiyeon 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 dropped out of 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 tore open.
Then he did deliveries. He borrowed 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 growing, 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, a small studio apartment in an old villa on the outskirts of the city.
A worn-out mattress, a small table, and curtains covering the window.
The 22-year-old youth living in that room no longer imagines an ordinary life.
Just getting through today safely.
Not getting caught tomorrow.
That was his life now.