The rhythmic patter of rain against the clear glass window was the only soundtrack echoing inside the 24-square-meter studio apartment. It was a small white rental room furnished with only a few pieces of cheap wooden furniture. This was the private, independent space Yurin had dreamed of having his entire life.
For the past month, Yurin's life had been simple and ordinary, just like any other young adult. Waking up early to squeeze onto crowded public transport, tying an apron to make coffee at a café, greeting customers with a smile, finishing his shift, taking a shower, and collapsing into bed.
No men in black suits trailing behind him as bodyguards. No Michelin-star chef preparing his meals. And no one scolding him to finish everything on his plate. This was the freedom he had demanded. The independence he had fought so hard to prove, he could handle.
So why, tonight, did the freedom he had so desperately craved feel this freezing and desolate?
