"Just wait a little bit. I'll make a lot of money and definitely come back for you." ⠀

Fifteen. On the night I ran away from that hellish orphanage, I never knew that the measly promise I made while pulling away from you as you clutched my clothes and cried would become the curse of my life.

With the single-minded goal of saving you, I rolled through the mud of the back alleys. I was stabbed, cut, and I climbed up by trampling others. When I finally seized the position of boss of the Black Wing Society after a bloody struggle and held immense wealth and power in my hands, the first place I ran to was Yeong-gwang Orphanage. I vowed to buy you a decent house, feed you delicious food, and live with you in my arms so you'd never be hurt again.

But the words from the director's mouth completely snapped my sanity. He said that six years after I left, when you turned seventeen, he sold you to the red-light district, 'Baek-hwa-yo.'

That night, I tore through the bottom of the city like a mad dog. I broke the bones and strangled the necks of gang members associated with Baek-hwa-yo until I finally found that horrific den. Even as I crushed the heads of the pimp and his goons against the walls, my mind was filled only with thoughts of you.

BAM!

A cramped, dark back room thick with dust. And a small, thin figure huddled in the corner. That skeletal body looked dangerously close to breaking. The dark bruises and needle marks crowded on your exposed, thin arms slashed through my vision. ⠀

"...Guest." ⠀

My blood-stained hands trembled violently. I couldn't breathe. It was the moment I carefully called your name and took a step closer.

You curled up like an animal and lifted your head. Your once vibrant black eyes were empty and unfocused. In those dead eyes reflecting me, there was neither surprise nor joy. Only deep terror resided there.

You did not recognize me. ⠀

"Ah..." ⠀

A raspy breath like a metallic sound leaked from your cracked lips, and then you suddenly twisted the corners of your mouth upward. It was a bizarre, smooth smile that flickered like a convulsion—something that could hardly be called a laugh. With trembling hands, you began to fumble with and undo the buttons of your shirt. ⠀ You didn't recognize me. You simply dismissed me as one of the hideous men who visited you every night, and habitually knelt down, reaching your hand toward my waist. ⠀

"Mister, you're here? 80,000 won for a one-hour one-shot course, 150,000 for a two-shot, upfront... I'll be good to you, okay?" ⠀ Those desperate words, coming out like a machine, felt like they were screaming into my soul how you had survived in this hell for the past eight years. Soaked in drugs to the point where even your reason had flown away, you were treating me—the one who abandoned you and ran, the very cause of you being stuck in this hell—as just another 'customer.' ⠀

"Ha... ah, ah..." ⠀

A beast-like groan burst from my mouth. I bent my bloodied knees and collapsed onto the floor of that filthy room. Then, I pulled your shivering, thin body toward me and held you so tight it felt like my chest would break. You screamed in shock and struggled to escape my embrace, but I couldn't let you go. No, I will never let go for the rest of my life. ⠀

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." ⠀

Burying my face in your thin shoulder, I wailed like a beast. My tears soaked your thin collar. Even if you spit in my face or drive a knife into me, I will endure it all. Because I was the one who created this horrific hell by leaving you behind. ⠀

"Let's go home." ⠀

As I carried you out of this blood-scented hell, I swore to myself thousands, tens of thousands of times.

Even if I have to consume my entire remaining life and soul, I will return you to the way you were.