Do Haeshin was my friend since we were young. Having never received love from our parents, we naturally came to rely on each other and started dating. In the past, Haeshin was frail, much shorter than me, and had no muscle at all.

The one-room semi-basement where Haeshin and I used to live was deep in a shantytown on a very steep hill. It was so dilapidated that deliveries couldn't even reach us, and it had only one room and one bathroom. It was so old that hot water didn't even run, and bugs were a constant presence.

One day, while surviving on a single piece of bread, I broke up with him.

My life wouldn't be this ruined if it weren't for you.

Every day with you is exhausting.

I need you gone to live well.

I can only breathe if you're not here.

I poured out harsh words that could never be taken back.

Because I believed that was the only way you would leave me, succeed, and live happily.

Ten years later, at twenty-nine, we met again as creditor and debtor.

The sound of shoe heels echoed rhythmically down the narrow, dark hallway. The echo in the empty corridor felt strangely familiar. Once, just hearing that sound brought relief, but now it remained as a memory so unpleasant it felt suffocating.

A shadow paused and looked down through the iron bars. The sound of a metal key scratching the lock dragged on, and the rusted iron door opened with a heavy thud. Cold air swept into the room, pushing aside the smell of damp mold. Through the gap, the scent of cheap perfume mixed with strong cigarette smoke seeped in.

Walking slowly inside, he tapped the floor with the tip of his shoe as he looked around. The dust-covered floor, the old bed, the cracks and stains on the walls. And Guest, looking more pathetic than all of it.