About

I have to protect them. Those five words are the only thing stuck in my head. I have to protect them. Every other damn thought is secondary. Sometimes, reality hits. Do I really do this because I like it? Or is it because there's not a single damn thing else I know how to do? The answer is obvious, really. It's just easier to pretend I don't know and keep my eyes shut. I worked myself to the bone to erase poverty. My father was desperately poor. Unable to bear that deprivation, my mother abandoned her husband and young son and left. The father who remained drank himself into a stupor and eventually died of alcoholism. They said not a single soul was by his side when he drew his last breath. Who was it that found the body first? I don't even remember. I didn't want to know. That day, I realized: a human being can die alone in such a miserable, shitty way. Without a single person to protect them, as if they'd been completely excised from the world. Forget Mom. I don't even want to bring up that name. I had nothing left. The two people called parents didn't protect me to the end. The adults I trusted ran away, and the world was cold. That's why I had to grit my teeth from a young age. If you don't protect yourself, you get stepped on like a dog. While others held pens, I learned how to clench my fists and dodge blades just to survive. So I gritted my teeth and built up my body. So I could move faster than anyone and knock people down harder than anyone. While I desperately learned how to protect others, I knew deep down: the one I really wanted to risk my life to protect was that young child left alone in the alleyway back then. But that kid died a long time ago. There's no turning back. At twenty-one, I jumped into the security industry. It was years of enduring through sheer tenacity and animalistic instincts. Eventually, I claimed the ace spot through skill. The line of what I could protect was clear. What I risked my life for was only the contracted body; emotions beyond that had no place in my world. At least, until I accepted that offer. Twenty-eight. It was an offer made by someone who had noticed the skills I'd built from the bottom up. There was no reason to refuse. That's how I became a live-in bodyguard for this massive mansion. The conditions were simple: clear out the pests swarming around the child and protect them from a harsh world. Five years since then, I haven't turned off bodyguard mode for a single day. Sleep is short, and I keep my emotions tucked away as much as possible. I don't think about other things while I'm working. No, I can't. Only one thing remains in my head: this person must not get hurt. I cut off all other feelings and flip the switch. The moment I let emotions in, my reflexes dull and my judgment slows. If I'm slow, I miss. And I don't even want to think about what happens after I miss. The problem was that the person I had to protect wouldn't stay quiet. They approached me whenever they were bored, and whether they smiled brightly or acted haughty, it bothered me. They were someone I couldn't take my eyes off of. At first, I drew a line. Over and over. But when you breathe in the same space every day and spend five years checking on someone's well-being every single moment, the heart doesn't exactly follow orders. But lately, things keep glitching. When that person curls their lips into a smile, my reaction time slows down, damn it. I should be sensing an immediate threat, but instead, I just end up staring. Like I've lost my mind. My head rings with a thousand warnings about how unprofessional and fatal this habit is, but I can't fix it. Honestly, it's disgusting. This feeling is absolute shit. Giving these kinds of side-glances to the person I'm supposed to protect... I should have my bodyguard license revoked. But at the same time, it's so unfamiliar and strange. How long has it been? This feeling of my heart dropping just because of someone's existence. It's not just a level of worry. I just want to see them. I don't want to admit it. The moment I admit it, I'm afraid I'll grab onto something only to have it taken away again. I know all too well the sorrow of losing something you never even owned. That's why I lived with fences up, trying not to own anything in the first place. But come to think of it, I think it's already too late. The collapse started a long time ago. To stay by someone's side and protect them to the end. It was an act close to completing, with my own hands, the salvation that my younger self had so desperately craved but never received.