Chapter Text
Till has never been the one to be desperate. He has never been the one to do everything he could to save himself or someone else – his life never contained such people. People entered his life, then they left. He never really understood those who burn their skin and soul for others.
But now, when life decided to hurt him, he gets it. And now, he wishes for things to turn back to how they were – that is all what he can think about while being behind the counter, chatting with guests and taking their orders, just as he usually did. He finished serving and noticed there were no new customers. What did that mean? His thoughts began to drift. No, no—he couldn’t let that happen now. He couldn’t cry in front of so many people… right? He needed to distract himself. Again. His gaze began to wander, taking in the faces of the people in the bakery.
He wasn’t good at remembering things—especially faces—so he didn’t recognize anyone… or did he? His eyes swept over the room once more.
A girl sat alone, sipping her latte; she looked lonely. Or was she? Maybe she was completely fine. Was Till just overthinking again?
At the next table sat a group of five boys with desserts and hot chocolate. They seemed to be having fun, laughing and talking about past exciting events. They looked happy. Good for them, he thought. Next table: a couple. Okay, skip. The next table had a mother with her son… The sight shoved Till’s thoughts back into that dark pit he tried to escape every single time he was in public.
He felt miserable—but no, he couldn’t look miserable in front of this many people; he needed to look fine. I’m fine, he told himself. No, he wasn’t. A tear almost slipped out, but he was yanked out of his thoughts by a voice.
“Sorry—Till?” a familiar voice asked.
Till snapped back instantly, looking up and clearing his throat. Finally, he remembered a face. This boy came into the bakery often—at least three or four times a week. Maybe it’s his favourite place, Till thought.
“How do you know my name?” Till asked, confused, furrowing his brows. He didn’t know the boy’s name… or did he? Had he forgotten something?
“Your nameplate,” the boy said with a smile, meeting Till’s eyes.
Oh, right—the fricking plate on the right side of his chest. He’d forgotten about it, as always.
The mysterious boy made Till curious—did he want to know his name? No, he didn’t. He couldn’t play around, especially not in times like these. But those black locks… those mesmerizing, almost-black eyes… No. Pull yourself together, Till. What was he even thinking? He wasn’t here to daydream; he needed this job. He couldn’t get fired.
“Are you even on this planet?” the boy asked, interrupting the silver-haired man’s thoughts once again.
Till flushed with embarrassment—he had never lost focus this many times in front of a customer.
“Sorry, can you repeat that?” he asked shyly.
“I’ll have the usual—you know, the strawberry cheesecake with coconut-flavoured coffee,” the black-haired one said in a sweet tone. He didn’t seem to mind repeating his order. But why? Was he not going to complain about Till’s clumsiness? Would that be too nice for this world? Could a miracle like that even exist?
“Yes, of course—gladly,” Till said, and began preparing the dessert and drink before his mind could drift back into those miserable thoughts again.
He carefully completed the order, focusing on it so as not to ruin a simple task. He might have been dancing on thin ice—the boy looked calm and nice… but what if his next mistake sparked anger in him? What if the black-haired one asked for his boss? What if his boss fired him? He needed this job so much; he couldn’t lose it. Focus, Till. Focus.
He even brought the silver plate with a wide, cheerful smile. Was the smile fake? Of course. Was it believable? He hoped so.
“Enjoy it,” he said, and the other returned the wide smile. Did it work? Maybe.
He walked back behind the counter, busying himself with cleaning it, then washing the dishes. He organized the three remaining desserts behind the glass.
He got a notification. He pulled out his mobile phone in one smooth movement, already preparing for the worst-case scenario in his head. Was someone calling him from the hospital…? Or worse?! No, he was overthinking again. It was Spotify. The application had taken the payment for this month. Stupid thing, he thought. He should have cancelled it; it was a waste of money. It didn’t seem worth the cost. He needed that money for something else. He wasn’t even supposed to buy it, and he barely used it.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost closing time and the end of his shift. He had just finished another twelve-hour shift. People slowly started gathering their things and leaving—until the familiar face was the last to remain in the bakery.
Exactly at 6:59 PM—one minute before closing—the boy walked up with the empty silver plate.
“Thank you, it was delicious, as always. The price hasn’t gone up, right?” he asked with an innocent smile.
“The same,” Till answered.
The other one held out a 50,000 won bill, and Till’s eyes widened in shock.
“Oh, huh… your order is just 5000 won… or do you want me to change it?”
“No, it’s my tip for you,” he said, pushing the bill on the counter closer to Till’s hands.
“No, I can’t tak—” he tried to protest.
“I won’t argue. It’s all yours. Keep it. You’re my favourite here,” the man winked at him, and with that, started to walk toward the entrance and disappeared.
What the hell is going on? Till thought. Was it a dream? How did he deserve this? He kept standing there dumbfounded until his boss came out. He didn’t hesitate any longer. He grabbed the bill, tucked it into his vest pocket, and took out the store keys he used almost every day after cleaning the place.
As soon as he realized he could earn extra money for staying late, he brought out the mop and got to work.
The middle-aged man smiled at his hardworking employee. He was his best worker—kind, maximalist, honest, and respectful, everything what someone would need at this job. But Till never fully realized it, because he feared that one small mistake would get him fired. Was he paranoid? Maybe a little…
He looked cheerful, full of life, this was the kind bakery owner’s favourite thing about Till—little did he know how much this young man suffered a lot in the inside.
“Till, dear,” the man said, trying to catch the younger’s attention.
“Yes, sir?”
“You can choose a dessert. Take one home,” he offered.
“I can’t accept it, sir,” Till protested again.
“It’s my treat. Please, take one home,” the man insisted.
“Thank you,” Till said, bowing respectfully, showing his gratitude.
Till’s boss sat down at a clean table with the day’s paperwork and daily earnings, furrowing his brows as he calculated. When he finally removed his glasses with a weary sigh, it was not a good sign.
Till finished his own work, everything perfectly clean, as expected. He was about to leave for the day when his boss called him over.
“Look, I need to tell you something,” the man began, avoiding Till’s gaze. “I think we should close the store Monday to Wednesday. We have barely any sales, everyone’s busy at work, and too many products are left over each day. It’s the practical choice. I’m really sorry, Till, but because of this, I’ll have to lower your payment.”
“But… what if you order fewer pastries?” Till tried to reason.
“It’s not worth it for you to come in, I’m sorry. My decision is final,” the man said, his heart aching.
“Sir… you know my mother’s condition,” Till pleaded, his voice trembling. “I need to pay the bills, her treatment… I need money.” He looked at his boss with watery eyes.
“I’m sorry, dear,” the man whispered, unable to say more.
“Then… good night, sir,” Till said, overwhelmed, storming off before his boss could finish.
“But Till… the dessert—” the elder started, but it didn’t matter. Till didn’t hear him.
Every step was a battle against his tears, but he failed. His payment wasn’t enough, and the cost of his mother’s treatment kept rising. What if he lost her? He would end up alone in this big, cruel world—no family, no friends, no lover, no one. Not even a pet, because he couldn’t afford one.
He returned to his miserable reality, knowing life would punish him again. For what? He hadn’t done anything wrong… right? Then why did bad things keep happening to him? That generous tip… it had been too beautiful to just happen.
He needed a solution, fast. A part-time job from Monday to Wednesday—anything to make sure he didn’t fall into debt at the end of the month.
It was late October. He didn’t have heating at home anymore; he couldn’t afford it. He would rather freeze than give up on caring for his precious mother.
He washed up, put on warm clothes, and climbed into his cold bed, alone with his thoughts. At least he still had those, even if they were toxic, slowly killing him from the inside. After a few hours of tossing and turning, he finally fell asleep. At least this time, without tears staining his face. Or was that a bad thing? Had he stopped crying altogether?
The morning came quickly again—another day, but with even less motivation. It was Monday morning, and he almost started getting ready to head off to work when he remembered his boss had told him he didn’t need to work from Monday to Wednesday because the bakery wouldn’t be open. Reality hit hard and merciless again.
He couldn’t just sit at home and wait for the lotto prize, so he had a plan. He would visit his mother to surprise her and hope her condition was better, and after finishing at the hospital, he would go and look for a new job for those three days. Who knew—maybe he’d even get better pay, right? Hope dies last, or whatever they say, he thought.
Everything went well that morning—a rare thing. He walked through the streets peacefully, heading toward the hospital. He really wanted to see his mother getting better, living together again, playing card games like when he was little. Stop, Till. Don’t do that. You don’t want to cry in public, remember.
He made his way into the building, stepping into the familiar white room, and sat down on the chair beside the bed where his mother lay. She was still asleep, so he gently held her hand, watching her peaceful face—like there was nothing wrong, like she wasn’t sick, like everything would be alright. But that wasn’t reality. Till wished it was. Maybe one day… right?
His mother stirred as time went on, her eyes weary—almost soulless, almost not there at all. How painful it was to see. Till gave her a soft smile before speaking.
“Good morning, Mom. How did you sleep? Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Good morning… I’m okay, I think so,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
She probably wasn’t okay. In truth, she was likely feeling worse and worse each day, but she didn’t want to disappoint her only son—the one who cared for her so deeply.
They spoke about ordinary things, both trying to act like everything was fine. It seemed to be a family specialty—pretending everything was okay when, in reality, it was a complete mess.
Till didn’t want to leave, but the nurses came in, saying they needed to do their daily check-up, and he knew it was time to go. Oh God, it had been perfect—a warm room, with his mother by his side. That was everything he had.
He drew in a deep breath, fighting back the tears once again. This time, he succeeded. He would have felt terrible if his mother knew her son had cried because of her. He gave her a tight hug that meant everything, and after a quiet goodbye, Till left the room—then the building.
It was time for the second task of the day: finding a job—not to have more free time, but to earn more money, so he could save both his mother and himself from freezing to death. One day, maybe, he could even have a friend… perhaps a golden retriever? His name would be Max, without a doubt.
Oh, Till—you’re so good at daydreaming, aren’t you?
He wandered through the streets, scanning the shop windows for job advertisements. He found a few and took a photo of each poster with his old, cracked phone, planning to call them later from home to ask for an interview. There was a flower boutique, a hair salon, and even a pet store looking for a new employee.
Now he was full of hope—surely, at least one of these three would really need Till’s help… right?
He was on his way home, planning to eat lunch, clean his small apartment, and think about his life—when someone stopped him. A tall man, with black hair and a grey suit, stood in his path. He wore a wide smile and carried a suitcase in one hand.
Till had no idea why this rich-looking man had stopped him of all people at the subway station. Were his intentions bad? Will he beat up Till or rob him—he thought immediately.
“Today we have such a nice day, don’t we?” the man asked in a cheerful tone, stepping closer to Till. “But as I see, you’re not that happy, are you?” he continued.
Till froze for a second. He didn’t know what to do — run away? Who was this man, and what did he want from him?
“I have an offer to make,” the man said once again after waiting long enough without any comment from the silver-haired one. “We will play ddakji.”
Till’s eyes instantly lit up — it was his favourite childhood game. But why, so suddenly, with a stranger? There had to be a catch.
“Why?” Till asked simply.
“If you win, I’ll give you money. If you lose, you owe me money,” the man replied.
That was enough for Till to cut him off. “Sorry, no,” he said, turning to leave. He couldn’t risk getting into debt.
“Wait!” the suited man called after him. “We can play it a different way.”
Till stopped, curiosity getting the better of him, and turned back with a questioning look.
“If you win, you still get the money,” the man continued quickly, “but if you lose… I slap you.”
Till frowned. Why would that be a good deal for this man?
“What’s the catch?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
“Really. So, will you play or not?” The man held up two folded paper tiles — one red, one blue.
Till hesitated. The man said there was no catch… should he believe him? He didn’t seem dangerous. And what if he could actually make some money? He needed it badly — he had already lost nearly half of his earnings.
What could he possibly lose?
“Fine. I’ll play,” Till said at last, stepping closer and taking the red paper from the man’s hand.
Till and the man in the suit started to play ddakji — but it was far tougher than Till had imagined. Without exaggerating, he was good at it; it had been his favourite childhood game, and he knew exactly how to flip the paper tile with the right angle and force.
Even so… he kept losing.
The man was simply too good, winning every single round. And where did that leave Till? His pale face was already tomato-red from the constant, stinging slaps that landed one after another.
Panic started to creep in. This was supposed to be easy money — money he could use to help his sick mother. So why couldn’t he win just once? Come on, Till. Pull yourself together. Now.
Another round. Another sharp, ringing slap. The life was literally being beaten out of him. It wasn’t just his pride that ached anymore — every inch of his body throbbed.
His hope drained away with every failed attempt. Sweat dampened his forehead, his breathing grew heavy, and his strength faltered. Even lifting the folded paper to throw felt like a struggle now. The tile barely left his hand before flopping uselessly to the ground.
It was just another wasted round. Just like all the others.
Till straightened his back once more, forcing himself to meet the salesman’s gaze with tired, glassy eyes. The man showed no sign of caring about his struggle — another sharp, echoing slap cracked against his cheek.
A few newcomers at the subway station turned their heads toward the sound, horror flickering in their eyes. Even Till couldn’t explain why he allowed himself to be humiliated like this.
Oh… but he could.
It was for his mother. If she could get better, if the treatments worked, maybe their life could finally be happy again. Right?
One last time, Till hurled the red tile — with force, with anger, with every shard of pain he’d gathered in his short lifetime. All of it went into that throw.
And suddenly… he won.
He hadn’t expected it. After so many losses, he couldn’t have imagined the tile would actually flip. But it did.
A wide, almost disbelieving smile crept across Till’s face. For a moment, he thought he’d gone mad.
“I won!” he shouted, grabbing the tall man by the shoulders and shaking him. Maybe he had gone mad… “I won! Finally!” he repeated, his voice trembling with disbelief.
“Congratulations,” the man said, wearing the wide smile he always had. He tucked his hand into his suit pocket and pulled out a small brown business card, sliding it into Till’s hand.
The man turned and began to walk away. Till didn’t understand why he hadn’t received the promised money. He stood there, dumbfounded. Before he could even realize his own actions, he shouted after the salesman, surprising even himself.
“Where is my money?!” he cried, panic written across his face.
The man glanced back over his shoulder, said nothing, gave one last wide smile, and disappeared from Till’s sight.
What had just happened? All those painful slaps for nothing? Really? The young boy stood there, feeling as if he might start crying soon if he didn’t distract himself.
He looked closer at the brown business card he had received: on the front were a circle, a triangle, and a square—lined neatly. What is this? He flipped it between his fingers. On the back was a mobile phone number: 8650 4006. Does this mean he’ll get the money if he calls? Or… what?
Fed up and refusing to cry from anger, he stepped onto the metro, which had just arrived, heading home while trying to think about a future second job besides the bakery one.
Till thought it through during his metro ride—what should he say, why was he the best for the job? Why should he be a florist? He loved flowers and was good at taking care of them. He could tell them that, right? Of course, it wasn’t entirely true, but he could at least pretend; he could learn later, watching tutorials. And the hair salon? What could he say there? He had absolutely no experience with hair, except cutting his own. Maybe he could offer to cut the guests’ hair and clean up at the end of the day. That was something, right?
And the pet shop? He loved animals and would genuinely enjoy taking care of them and playing with them. That much was true.
When he realized his stop was next, he got up, moved toward the door, stepped off the metro, and quickened his pace, hurrying home to call the potential jobs. He arrived faster than usual and dialed the shops one by one. He was too late. They had already found someone else. They told him he sounded like a lovely and kind boy, but they didn’t need him anymore. What was the point at this stage?
He sank onto his bed, eyes fixed on the old wooden floor. That stupid ddakji—if he hadn’t wasted so much time at the subway station, he could’ve had the second job. But no, he had decided to play that stupid game, just for slaps, which would definitely leave a purple mark on his face by tomorrow. How could he be so stupid?
If he couldn’t pay for his mother’s treatment, it would be all his fault. It wasn’t life this time—it was him. He was the one who ruined everything. Maybe he was the one who ruined everything every time. What a shame—he thought.
His hand sank into his pocket to grab a tissue, to stop the tears that were about to fall, but his fingers didn’t find one. Instead, they brushed against something else—the small piece of paper he had gotten from the tall man. The business card, with the number on it, and those strange mathematical shapes.
He got an idea. Was it another stupid one? Maybe. Still, he thought he could try calling the number. Who knew—maybe he’d get his prize, or at least something he could turn into money. Trying to be spontaneous, he decided not to hesitate any longer. What could go wrong? he thought. He had nothing left to lose. He’d already lost his last shred of sanity, so it hardly mattered anymore.
He pulled his old, battered phone from his back pocket. His fingers hovered for a moment, hesitation creeping in, but he pushed the doubt away. Slowly, he typed in the numbers: 8650 4006—and pressed the call button.
It started to ring, and Till waited for someone to pick up. His patience wore thin, and he was just about to hang up when the phone finally made the sound that meant someone had answered.
“Hello. Tell me your name and your birth date,” a monotone female voice said.
He didn’t know why, but he didn’t hesitate—he answered the questions easily.
“Till, 2004, June 21st,” he replied.
There was only the sound of typing in the background for about half a minute. What is this? What’s going on? And why did I even give out my personal information without thinking? Have I actually gone mad?—he thought.
“If you want to play for the final prize, please come to the side of the Han River on Tuesday, 11 p.m. sharp. The game is voluntary, but if you join, compliance with the rules is a must,” the monotone voice continued. After the short monologue, she hung up.
What games? What final prize? What was this even about?
Till stared at the phone in his hand, the call already dead. The words echoed in his mind, strange and heavy, as if they carried more weight than he could yet understand.
The morning came again far too quickly. Till forced himself to gather some motivation, to keep fighting against the world. The flat was cold once more; he longed for warmth, but couldn’t afford it. First things first—he had to pay for his mother’s monthly treatment.
So his plan ran parallel to yesterday’s: visit the hospital, then search again for a new job, trying to recover what little he had lost. He got on the metro again, and while it rattled along, he tried to keep his mind busy by making up life stories for the other passengers. Anything to stop himself from losing that fragile bit of motivation he still held onto for his own path.
As he got off the public transport, he went straight to the nearest ATM to withdraw money for the expensive treatment. With trembling hands, he pulled his old, worn-out wallet from his backpack. Fear gnawed at him—what if there wasn’t enough, not even for the treatment? That fear had always been with him. He had avoided checking his bank account, terrified of facing even greater disappointment.
His mother’s treatment cost 2 million won per month, and when Till worked seven days a week, his salary usually landed somewhere between 2 and 2.5 million won— so he prayed, once again, that nothing had changed since last month. With trembling hands, he slid his card into the machine and entered his code. Every second felt like an eternity while the ATM processed his debit card. Finally, the screen lit up with the numbers.
Exactly 2,300,000 won was left on his card. If he paid for his mother’s treatment, he would be left with barely 300,000 won. Risky. But he couldn’t lose his mother. With trembling hands, he typed in the numbers and withdrew the money, sacrificing his own survival for her health.
He started his walk to the hospital once again. Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. With furrowed brows, he pulled it out to check the screen. Crap—he had forgotten to cancel his Spotify Premium. Just like that, his balance dropped, leaving him with only 290,000 won. Great.
At the hospital, he quickly searched for his mother’s nurse and found her at the reception, in her usual spot. He handed over the money as if his life depended on it—but in reality, it wasn’t his life at stake; it was his mother’s.
"Nurse," Till called out, catching the woman’s attention. "How is my mother? Is she feeling any better? Honestly," he added, looking her in the eye.
"She’s improving, but the doctor said she’ll need treatment for at least 4–5 months," the nurse replied.
"For 4–5 months?!" Till’s eyes widened, and the nurse gave a shy nod.
"I’m sorry, Till. I know this is hard for you," she began, but the boy cut her off.
"Thank you for your honesty. Have a nice day," he said, storming off before he could break down in front of anyone—again.
In the next few hours, he tried to find a new job, but none seemed promising. They wanted someone full-time, or on days when he was already committed to the bakery. He felt tears prick at his eyes again—he didn’t know what to do. He urgently needed more money to save his mother, and if he failed, neither of them would be safe.
He sank onto a nearby bench, trying to calm himself and gather his thoughts. This time he had to be logical—it wasn’t a joke anymore. Shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets, he shivered; the late hours had brought a bitter cold that cut through him.
Something familiar brushed against his fingers—the strange brown business card again. “If you want to play for the final prize, please come to the side of the Han River on Tuesday, 11 p.m. sharp,” he remembered the monotone woman’s voice.
Bingo. Maybe he could win some easy money with those games. He checked his phone: 10:45 p.m. Not much time, but it didn’t scare him—he was almost at the Han River. He stood up quickly and quickened his pace toward the river.
He got there in time and looked around, but there was nothing. Was it another scam? Was life making him suffer once again? Till felt pushed back into a deep, dark pit where his own thoughts waited for him.
But not for long. A big black car pulled up, and the driver rolled down the window. It was strange—the driver wore a pink dress and a mask with a large circle on it.
“Till?” a deep voice asked.
“Yes,” he answered simply.
Before he could say anything else, two others in pink uniforms grabbed him and shoved him into the backseat. He tried to protest, but he was too weak. What was happening? Was this it? Was this his ending? This?! he thought, heart pounding.
“Hey?! Where are you taking me? I didn’t do anything! I don’t even have money! Let me go!” he shouted, pounding on the seats and windows with all his strength, but it was useless—he got nothing in return.
Then, a strange scent filled the air, oddly soothing him. He didn’t understand what was happening, but slowly, his eyelids grew heavy. Before he knew it, he dozed off.