The way back home was silent. No one said a word. Byeoto, sitting in the back seat, stared out the fogged-up window. Outside, the world went on. Inside, the air was so heavy it felt like it could choke him.
He knew something was coming. It always happened this way. His mother didn't look at him. His father kept a frown, jaw clenched. No one spoke… until they got home.
When they got out of the car, the silence became crueler. They entered the living room. His mother slammed the door shut. Byeoto opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, a slap struck his cheek.
"Why are you like this?" she shouted, trembling with anger. "Why?! We've given you everything, education, clothes, food, a roof, support… what do you lack? Nothing!"
Her broken voice turned to fury. "And this is how you repay us? With shame. With your bad grades, your problems, and now this! Hitting your classmates!"
Byeoto lowered his head. His eyes burned, full of held-back tears. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat wouldn't let him.
His mother continued. "I don't know how I could've given birth to someone like you." She pointed at him, shaking. "Why can't you be like your brother? Look at him! Responsible, respected… not a disaster like you!"
Byeoto stayed still. The air grew dense, as if the world had closed in on him. His chest burned, his eyes stung, and his throat tightened so much he couldn't speak. Everything felt suspended in that moment, heavy, impossible to ignore.
His father, who had been silent until then, finally spoke in a grave, tired tone.
"That's enough." He crossed his arms, his gaze cold. "Go to your room, Byeoto. Don't cause more problems."
"But I…" he tried to say in a faint voice.
"I said go upstairs!" his father roared, furious.
Byeoto froze. His mother looked at him with disgust. His brother, standing behind, avoided his eyes.
He took a step. Then another. Slowly climbed the stairs, hearing his own footsteps like drumbeats. When he closed the door to his room, he collapsed.
The crying came without warning, mixed with a rage he didn't know how to contain. He hit the pillow, the floor, the desk. He cried until his throat hurt, until his eyes were red. He didn't understand why everything was against him. He didn't even have anyone who believed in him.
He wondered, "Why…?" he whispered. "Why does everyone hate me so much?"
The silence in his room was thick, as if the whole house held its breath. Outside, the moon barely filtered through the curtains, lighting up his swollen face. Byeoto sat on the floor, back against the bed, eyes empty.
Everything hurt. Not just the cheek his mother had slapped, but every word they had said. "Ungrateful." "Failure." "A disgrace." They repeated in his head, one after another, until they became an unbearable buzz.
He thought about his life. Nothing ever went right. Nothing. School, his family. It was as if the whole world had turned against him. Just because he was weak. Because he was ugly. Because he couldn't fit in.
"Maybe the problem isn't me…" he whispered, voice breaking. "Maybe this world is rotten."
He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. "The powerful always crush the weak… just because they can. And those who don't fit in… disappear."
A knot of anger and sadness tightened in his throat. He looked in the mirror: his face swollen and tear-streaked. "Just because I'm not handsome? Because I wasn't born perfect like them?" he murmured. "I'll become someone too…"
He wiped his tears with his sleeve. "I'll become strong so I can live how I want and so no one can mess with me."
His words floated in the darkness. Then, silence returned.
Byeoto stood up slowly. He looked around his room the old posters, the dusty desk, the messy bed. None of it really belonged to him. There was nothing tying him to that place.
He opened the closet carefully and took his backpack. Packed a few changes of clothes, a couple of packs of cookies.
The clock read 1:43 a.m. The house was silent. Everyone was probably asleep.
He walked to the door of his room but stopped. If he went down the stairs, the wooden floor would creak. His mother would wake up. His brother too. But then he thought that even if they did, they wouldn't care.
He went down. Opened the door.
The cold night air hit his face. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it.
He started walking. He didn't know where to go. He just knew he didn't want to go back. Every step hurt, but it also made him feel free free from pressure and expectations.
For the first time in his life, Byeoto had no one. And yet… for the first time, he also felt like he had something real a purpose.
...
Now he was walking aimlessly. The night was cold, and the wind cut his skin, but he didn't stop. The streets stretched dark and empty, barely lit by flickering streetlights. His backpack slung over his shoulder, eyes swollen from crying. Each step echoed on the pavement like a sad rhythm.
He didn't know where to go. He just knew he couldn't go back. His home… wasn't a home anymore or maybe, it never had been.
He crossed an empty street, shoes soaked with dirty rainwater. The city slept, but danger didn't. From a corner, voices rose amid rough laughter.
"Hey, what do we have here?" one of the guys said, stepping out of the shadows.
There were three of them, wearing black jackets and lit cigarettes.
"Look at him, he looks lost."
Another one laughed. "Hey, fatty, got any money?"
Byeoto took a step back, nervous. "N-no… I don't have anything."
One of the thugs shoved him with his shoulder. "Nothing? Don't lie. Everyone's got something."
Before he could answer, he felt a brutal hit on his back. A bat. The hollow sound of metal against flesh and bone knocked the air out of him.
"Idiot! You hit him too hard," one said, alarmed.
"Check if he's got money," another ordered.
Quick hands searched him. Empty pockets. Nothing useful.
"This bastard's got nothing," the first one growled.
"What a waste."
"Whatever. Let's go."
Their laughter faded as they disappeared into the alleys.
Byeoto fell to his knees, vision blurry. Blood trickled down his neck, warm and sticky. The world spun slowly, hazy. His breathing grew weak.
Damn it, even at the end I'm nothing but a waste. I'm going to die because of a childish whim leaving home just because I was angry that no one ever stood by my side.
His thoughts turned chaotic. Everything mixed into a whirlwind of guilt and exhaustion.
My life was a failure… he thought faintly, barely conscious. Maybe I caused it all… or maybe this world was always unfair to me.
But he quickly denied it in silence.
No… the real problem was always me. If only I had tried harder before… if only I'd done something different… maybe none of this would've happened.
A tear rolled down his cheek. In the end, I was just another failure. In this moment, as I remember everything, I can see clearly that I was just a fucking loser. Maybe it all happened because I was different? No, I can't fool anyone. This all happened because of my choices. Maybe I wasn't even a good person.
His thoughts slowed, fading. I was just an idealistic loser… believing happy endings come with a little effort. What stupidity.
The air felt heavy in his chest. And the worst part of all… is that even at the end, I'm alone. Completely alone. With the same empty feeling as always. And, as always, despised, humiliated. And it's a fact these are my final thoughts, because even if I deny it, I don't have the strength to move anymore. What a humiliating end, to die at the hands of third-rate thugs, after being shamed at school and at home.
His body faded along with his thoughts. He fell to the ground with a faint smile not one of relief, but of pain and sorrow.
Silence wrapped around him. And then… nothing.