Summer arrived, dividing the hearts of many—some were glad, others were not. A faint breeze drifted through the air, but rain rarely fell to refresh the city of Seoul.
Far from the bustle of the city center, we step into the narrow urban alleys. The night felt as if it were boiling, and there stood a man waiting for his meal: tteokbokki, sold at a small street stall.
The man waiting was Ahn Han-min, a 35-year-old known as a hard worker who was always on time.
At the restaurant where he worked, people knew him for his diligence and discipline—but outside of work, he looked like a man crushed by a thousand problems. Even while waiting for his food, his mind was flooded with lingering, dark thoughts.
"Here is your tteokbokki, kid," a woman said, handing him his order.
The faint smile that had begun to form on his face immediately turned into a mix of annoyance and awkwardness. "Noona, did you forget? I'm in my thirties now," he replied with a slightly playful tone.
"Oh my, I forgot! Even you are older than me now!" the woman laughed heartily.
Han-min did feel a little better because of that funny misunderstanding. But he couldn't hide the truth—he was a single dad living with a three-year-old son.
Sometimes, he couldn't help but ask himself: 'Why am I even in this world?' As far back as he could remember, his life had always felt broken and full of challenges.
Since childhood, Han-min had never known the warmth of a parent's love. They had died long before their time—a cruel twist of fate that left him alone to face life's trials.
He never went to college, never tasted luxury, and never had a true friendship.
Sometimes he thought being wealthy would be wonderful. But his greatest regret was the time he spent working in a club, lured by the high wages. From that period, his son, Ahn Chan-hoo was born—a consequence that left him perpetually burdened by guilt.
Now, he lived a difficult life in a dilapidated rental house—dimly lit and in poor condition, but luckily cheap. He gripped the bag of tteokbokki tightly, realizing this was his dinner with his son, Chan-hoo.
"Dada!!" Chan-hoo screamed with pure joy. He immediately abandoned the sketchbook he was scribbling on to run and hug his father's legs tightly.
"I'm sorry Dad took so long," Han-min said, hugging him back. "Look, I brought tteokbokki—we're having tteokbokki today."
"Is it yumm-y?" the boy asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.
"Specially for Chan-hoo. It's delicious and not spicy," Han-min answered with a smile—a real smile, the kind that rarely appeared lately.
Sometimes, he thought he was so cruel—leaving his small child alone at home while he had to go to work. He had considered every risk: every sharp object was carefully hidden.
He often asked for permission during his breaks just to run home for a moment to feed Chan-hoo. His legs were well-acquainted with the frantic sprint between work and home.
Friends? He had none.
Asking someone to watch Chan-hoo felt like a burden. Family? There was no one left—only Keon-ho was his everything.
Life rolled on with the daily routine of work. On his days off, he always made time to take Chan-hoo for walks, even to the playground—though Chan-hoo didn't like it much because he always clung tightly to his father. But that night, everything was different.
Han-min felt a whispering voice constantly haunting him inside the house. Sometimes, black shadows appeared on the ceiling and walls. It made him incredibly stressed.
"Dad... Sing! Dance, keep dancing!" Chan-hoo said excitedly, running to his room.
"Not now, Chan-hoo. Dad doesn't feel well," he replied.
Chan-hoo pouted, continuing to whine and forcing Han-min to play with him. Unable to take the gnawing stress anymore, Han-min almost raised his hand to hit his son.
However, he quickly realized what he was doing, and his body trembled as he tried to calm himself down.
The little boy seemed stunned. He didn't understand what was happening to his father, but the pain surrounding his father seemed to vibrate within him too. Even as a three-year-old toddler, he seemed to realize that this was not the right time to play.
"Dad... Popo (Diaper)," Chan-hoo whined, holding his full diaper.
Han-min immediately realized what was happening. He scooped Keon-ho up to change him in the bathroom. He should have noticed the smell earlier, but his chaotic thoughts had made him completely oblivious.
The next day arrived with a scorching heat. Han-min went to the pharmacy to look for mild sleeping pills, leaving Chan-hoo behind because the boy was sleeping soundly during the day.
At that moment, he caught a news report about earthquakes hitting several Asian countries with magnitudes between 3.9 and 4.5. However, the news couldn't hold his attention for long—because a man he once knew suddenly called his name.
"Han-min, how are you? I've been looking for you—did you change your number?" the man asked with a smile.
They decided to talk outside the pharmacy. Han-min's gaze was cold; honestly, he didn't want to see the sparkling eyes of the person in front of him again.
"What is it? Why are you here?" Han-min asked curtly.
"I'm just confused. You moved four years ago. Didn't you say you wanted to go to college? You left without telling me anything," the man replied—it was Kim He-joon.
A friend Han-min had never taken seriously since school, yet one who was always there, even now, willing to search for him.
"I have my own life now, He-joon! Stop bothering me. Even if you're a friend, I've never considered you one at all—damn it!" Han-min said, his emotions boiling over. "Why are you so stubborn?"
"But, but Han-min!"
Before He-joon could finish his sentence, Han-min had walked away. His pace was so fast that he quickly vanished from He-joon's sight.
He walked slowly back toward the house, his gaze softening again. In his hand, he still held the medicine he had bought. As he reached the front door, a loud cry struck his ears. Panicked, he burst the door open to find Chan-hoo sobbing, clutching his doll tightly.
"Oh my god, Chan-hoo! I'm sorry, dad only went out for a moment," he said with worry, immediately running to hug his son.
Chan-hoo's crying didn't stop. "Scared... Dada don't go..." His grip tightened.
"It's okay now, Chan-hoo. Dad is here," he replied softly, trying to soothe him.
"Chan-hoo can wait for dad to come home... but there was a monster at the window... so scared," Chan-hoo answered, tears still wetting his flushed cheeks.
The next day, Han-min returned to work, serving food to customers. However, once again, the news on television made him realize that the world was not in good shape.
The reports stated that earthquakes in several countries had reached magnitudes of 5.1-6.9—quite powerful.
"I've been seeing that news everywhere," a female customer remarked to her friend. "The earthquake was pretty strong; luckily it was mild last night so it wasn't felt."
"But why is the government staying silent? Isn't this a serious emergency? Several countries have been hit. Did you know? in another country, there was even a tsunami yesterday," her friend replied with a worried face.
Amidst the chatter, the sound of emergency broadcasts from televisions and phones assaulted them. Han-min, who had been silent, grew increasingly panicked. Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang—as did the phones of everyone around him.
Soon after, a magnitude 5.4 earthquake shook the city of Seoul. Items fell to the floor; the shaking threw everyone into chaos, and they scrambled out of the restaurant.
A feeling of anxiety and fear once again enveloped Han-min. He immediately ran out, wanting to get home as quickly as possible because his son was there.