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The subway doors slid open with a chime, and Yeon-Jin stepped onto the platform, the stale underground air brushing against her face. The late-night train was nearly empty, save for a few office workers dozing off in their seats and a lone college student hunched over his phone. She tightened her grip on her worn leather handbag and began the familiar climb to street level.

Above ground, the air was colder, carrying the faint metallic scent of winter. The neon lights of Seoul's labyrinthine streets reflected off puddles on the pavement. Miari was alive in its usual way, a mix of muted chaos and secrecy. Men in suits lingered at corners, their eyes darting toward the glowing storefronts offering services unspoken but understood.

With a sigh Yeon-jin navigated her way through Miari's endless streets until she reached a familiar alley. She spotted Ha-Eun and Min-Kyung leaning against the wall of a convenience store. The light from the store's fluorescent sign cast a pale glow over their faces. Ha-Eun was smoking, the ember of her cigarette flaring briefly as she exhaled. Min-Kyung clutched a hot drink, cradling it in both hands like it might warm more than just her fingers.

"Late again," Ha-Eun said, flicking ash onto the ground. "You'd think you were coming from Gangnam, not Gwangjin."

"Miss me that much?" Yeon-Jin shot back, managing a small smirk.

"Sure," Ha-Eun deadpanned. "Couldn't start the night without our lucky charm."

Min-Kyung smiled faintly but didn't say anything. She looked tired, her usual softness dulled by dark circles and the weight of worry.

"You okay?" Yeon-Jin asked her.

"Just tired," Min-Kyung replied. "Doo-Sik called again."

Yeon-Jin's chest tightened at the mention of his name.

"What does he want now?"

"The same thing he always wants—money I don't have." Min-Kyung's voice was barely above a whisper. "He says he's 'being patient,' but we all know what that means."

The three of them fell silent, the weight of Min-Kyung's words lingering in the cold night air. Yeon-Jin knew what it meant all too well. Ha-Eun still owed her former pimp for a "bonus" he'd insisted she take, and Min-Kyung's debt was growing with every fabricated fee. Even now, free from their control, the debts hung over them like invisible chains.

Yeon-Jin didn't have that kind of debt, but hers was no less suffocating. She thought about the notification she'd seen earlier—a reminder that her next payment to the garbage who called themselves mobsters was due in three days. The amount in her bank account wouldn't cover even a fraction of it.

She felt a familiar knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She'd made her choices. She'd walked this path with her eyes open, knowing what it would cost her. But sometimes, late at night, she wondered if she'd made a mistake in leaving her hometown, in running away from one nightmare only to step into another.

"I have a feeling it's going to be a slow night..." Min-Kyung muttered, her voice barely audible. She shifted uncomfortably, glancing down the street, where the neon signs of the nearby establishments glowed brightly. "Maybe we should go back to Doo-Sik—"

"No." Ha-Eun interrupted sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're not going back, okay? Not after what happened to Ji-Soo. We'll just pay off our debts, and then we'll all start over. Together." Her voice wavered slightly at the end, but the resolve in her eyes was steady.

Min-Kyung opened her mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she looked down at the ground, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her unspoken fears. After a moment, she nodded.

"We'll get through this," Yeon-Jin said, forcing a smile as she tried to inject a note of optimism. Her voice was soft but steady.

"Come on," Ha-Eun said, flicking her cigarette away. "We better head deeper into Miari if we want to make any money."

The night was bone-chilling, and Yeon-Jin's thin, revealing outfit offered no protection against the cold. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to suppress a shiver.

"It is slower than usual," Min-Kyung said, her eyes darting nervously toward the storefronts. The bright lights and polished facades of the nearby businesses only emphasized their own precarious situation. Customers naturally gravitated toward the establishments, where the promise of privacy and quality was guaranteed. Freelancers like them, standing out in the open, were seen as unpredictable, even desperate—and that perception kept clients away.

Just then, a man approached. His steps were hesitant but deliberate, his rumpled suit and loosened tie hinting at a long night of drinking. His eyes flicked between the three of them, lingering on Ha-Eun for a moment too long before darting away again.

"How much?" he asked, his voice slurred and rough around the edges.

"Depends on what you want," Ha-Eun replied smoothly, straightening her posture and flicking her cigarette to the ground.

The man hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward one of the glowing storefronts. His indecision was written all over his face.

After a long moment, he muttered something about coming back later and shuffled off into the night.

"See?" Min-Kyung said bitterly, her voice thick with frustration. "They look at us like we're desperate, like we'll take anything. Then they run back to the bars."

"They're not wrong," Ha-Eun muttered under her breath, though her tone held no malice—just tired resignation.

Yeon-Jin rubbed her hands together, hoping to generate some warmth as they lingered in the cold. The sting of rejection clung to her, sharp and relentless. Every lost opportunity felt like another step closer to disaster.

"Let's keep moving," she said, her voice firm despite the heaviness in her chest. "We'll have better luck near the busier corners."

The three of them walked on, their heels clicking against the pavement in unison. They passed other women—some freelancers like themselves, others from the establishments—who eyed them with a mix of irritation and pity.

Eventually, a younger man approached Min-Kyung. After a brief exchange, she left with him, her figure disappearing into the shadows as Ha-Eun and Yeon-Jin moved toward the edge of a dimly lit street.

For a while, they stood silently under a flickering streetlamp, the buzzing hum of the bulb the only sound between them.

"You ever think about what you'd be doing if you weren't here?" Ha-Eun asked suddenly, her voice softer than usual.

"All the time," Yeon-Jin admitted, exhaling slowly. Her breath clouded in the cold air. "But thinking doesn't change anything."

Ha-Eun nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn't respond, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

Moments later, a man approached Yeon-Jin, his steps purposeful. After a few curt words, they reached an agreement, and the two walked off together, leaving Ha-Eun alone by the corner, the flickering light casting long shadows against the cracked pavement.

The man walked quickly, and Yeon-Jin followed a few steps behind, her heels clicking softly against the uneven pavement. She scanned him as discreetly as she could—the way his hand fidgeted with his coat pocket, the faint smell of soju wafting off him.

"Do you have a place?" he asked abruptly, not turning to look at her.

"No." Her voice was flat. It was better that way. Detached.

He nodded, leading her to a motel a few blocks away. The glowing vacancy sign buzzed faintly in the quiet. Inside, the smell of bleach and stale cigarettes hit her like a wave. The clerk didn't even look up from his phone as the man slid cash across the counter. Moments later, they were climbing the narrow staircase to a room on the second floor.

Yeon-Jin kept her expression neutral, her face a practiced mask of disinterest. She hated this part—the silent walk, the weight of his gaze as he fumbled with the key, the way the fluorescent light inside the room made everything look washed out and sad.

The man closed the door behind them, his movements jittery. He tossed his coat onto a chair and glanced at her. For a second, it seemed like he wanted to say something. Apologize, maybe. But the moment passed, and he gestured awkwardly toward the bed.

"Let's just get this over with," she said unzipping her dress.

And when it was over, Yeon-Jin slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the cracked mirror. She stared at her reflection, her skin pale and damp with sweat. Her hands shook as she turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face.

In the other room, she heard the man rustling around—pulling on his clothes, zipping up his bag. Moments later, the door opened and closed with a soft click. She waited a full minute before emerging, her stomach twisting as she saw the money he'd left on the nightstand.

It wasn't enough.

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"That last guy was a piece of shit!" Ha-Eun exclaimed as the girls made their way out of Miari, the neon lights fading behind them.

"I told you he was a creep," Min-Kyung muttered, adjusting her coat against the night's chill.

"All men are," Ha-Eun said with a scoff. "He asked me what I'd do for a hundred won. A hundred! Fucking asshole. Can't even buy gum with that, and he thinks it's funny to waste my time? You know I've got bills to pay, alright? I'm not out here for charity."

Min-Kyung rubbed her eyes, her exhaustion evident in every movement. "I need a drink."

"Let's head to the bar, then," Ha-Eun said, lighting another cigarette. "I want to forget all of this."

"I can't," Yeon-Jin said, glancing at her phone. The train schedule stared back at her, a stark reminder of her limited options. "The train's leaving soon. You guys know I can't afford a cab."

"Fuck..." Ha-Eun sighed, flicking ash onto the pavement. "I guess we'll see you tomorrow night, then."

"Take care of yourself," Min-Kyung said, pulling Yeon-Jin into a brief but tight hug.

Yeon-Jin chuckled softly at the gesture, despite the weariness settling in her bones. "You too. Both of you, stay safe."

The pair nodded, waving her off as they headed in a different direction. Yeon-Jin stood there for a moment, watching their silhouettes disappear into the night.

The train station was almost deserted by the time she arrived. She swiped her card at the turnstile and descended the stairs to the platform. The air underground was colder than she expected, carrying a faint metallic scent.

When the train arrived, its doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a nearly empty carriage. Yeon-Jin stepped in, taking a seat near the corner where she could rest her head against the window. Across from her, an elderly man dozed off, his head nodding forward with the rhythm of the train. A few rows down, a woman in a suit scrolled through her phone, her tired eyes illuminated by its glow.

Yeon-Jin stared at her reflection in the glass. The dark circles under her eyes seemed deeper tonight, her skin pale and sallow under the harsh fluorescent lights. She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and noticed how much her hands were trembling.

Her stop came too quickly. She stepped off the train, the cold night air hitting her like a slap as she climbed back to street level.

Her neighborhood was quiet—too quiet. It was a part of Gwangjin-gu that people didn't linger in unless they had no other choice. The apartment buildings were old and crumbling, the walls covered in graffiti and stained from years of neglect.

As she approached her building, the fluorescent light above the entrance flickered weakly, buzzing in the silence. She climbed the narrow staircase to her unit on the third floor, each step creaking under her weight.

Her apartment was tiny and barely heated. The air inside was stale, carrying the faint scent of mildew that never quite went away no matter how many times she cleaned. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag onto the small, cluttered table in the corner.

Pouring herself a drink from a half-empty bottle of soju, she sat down on the floor. Her earnings for the night spilled out onto the table, and she began counting.

Fifty thousand. A hundred. One hundred fifty.

It wasn't enough.

She grabbed her phone and opened the calculator app, punching in numbers as quickly as she could, but no matter how she tried to stretch the figures, they didn't add up. Every attempt felt like a slap in the face—her earnings from tonight, the measly amount she had saved up, none of it was enough to make the payment she owed.

Yeon-Jin's fingers faltered on the screen as she stared at the final number. 150,000 won. It wasn't even close. She felt a lump form in her throat, but she refused to let the tears come. There was no time for tears, not tonight. Not after everything she'd been through.

With a harsh exhale, she pushed her phone aside and ran a hand through her tangled hair, the weight of it all sinking into her bones. She stood up abruptly, the rush of frustration making her feel even more unmoored.

The bathroom light flickered as she entered, the mirror fogging up as she turned on the shower. Steam began to rise slowly, curling around her like the suffocating weight of her debts. She let the hot water run over her skin, trying to wash away the feeling of failure, the sense of helplessness that clung to her, but it didn't work. It never worked.

Her mind flickered to the man from earlier, his hands all over her, his breath uncomfortably hot against her neck. The way he'd barely even looked at her afterward, just tossing the money on the table like she was disposable. She swallowed hard, trying to force the memory out of her mind.

She hadn't even noticed when the shower turned cold. Her skin was numb, her thoughts drifting.

When she finally stepped out, the cold air hit her like a slap in the face. She wrapped herself in a towel, her mind still spinning with the calculations, the debts, the failures. But instead of dealing with any of it, she grabbed the bottle of soju from the counter.

The cork popped off with a sharp snap, and she poured herself a glass, watching the liquid swirl inside.

The familiar burn in her throat as she drank felt almost comforting, like it was erasing the weight of the world, even if just for a few seconds.

She collapsed onto the couch, the dim glow of the TV screen lighting up her tired face. A stupid dating show was on—some melodramatic nonsense where girls argued and hated one another all for the likes of an average looking guy.

It was mind-numbing, but that was exactly what she needed—something that didn't require any thought. Something that wouldn't remind her of how far she'd fallen.

She drank. One glass, then another. Then another. Each one made the world a little hazier, a little further away. It was easier this way, easier to forget everything that felt too heavy.

By the time the show ended, Yeon-Jin was barely conscious. The TV buzzed on, the voices blurring together into an incoherent hum. She lay back on the couch, her eyes fluttering closed as the alcohol took over, pulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

And for a brief moment, she forgot about everything. The debts. The pimps. The men who saw her as nothing more than an object to be used and discarded.

But it was just a moment. And when she woke up, the reality would still be there, waiting.