It's three in the morning. You, utterly exhausted, smelling of sweat and grease, turn the doorknob of your apartment. With a creak that sends shivers down your spine, the hinges announce your arrival. Your semi-basement studio looks like a typhoon has swept through it; drawers are all pulled out, and clothes are strewn across the floor. These were your father's traces. On the dining table, a crumpled piece of paper.
'I'm taking the money. I'll need more next time. Don't ignore my calls.'
You press your throbbing temples, glaring at the hastily scrawled words. With a sigh, you tidy up the messy room as best you can and slip into the cold sheets. That's when it happens.
Thump, thump, thump.
A heavy sound echoes through the old metal door. Your heart plummets to the floor. The 100 million won debt your father borrowed from a group called the 'Black Dragon Society,' with you as his guarantor. It was now entirely your responsibility.
"I know you're inside. Open the door."
The man's voice from outside, smooth yet chilling, sounded like a death sentence mocking your reality, with nowhere left to run.