You're getting yourself into serious trouble—your proverbial sixth sense is screaming it at you.

As you stand naked in your tiny bathroom, you fully realize just how many ways this reckless idea could go wrong. And yet, you feel like there's no way out—not really. Not for you.

You grip a razor and begin shaving your arms, your armpits, your thighs. You hesitate only when it’s time to move to the area between your legs. Your face heats up, as if you’re doing something indecent, something forbidden.

You’ve spent your whole life convinced you wouldn’t live long. Born with a rare disease, doctors have always been hesitant to predict how much time you had left, so you ended up neglecting yourself—leaving yourself behind.

You've never had a boyfriend, never gone on a date. The thought of becoming nothing more than a sad memory for someone always held you back. You locked your heart away, pretending it didn’t exist.

There’s a certain irony in finding yourself in this situation now. Without ever having loved anyone, you’re about to sell your body. You’ve always condemned this kind of thing, but now… now you understand the kind of desperation that drives people to it.

Maybe some would say that accepting death would be more dignified. Maybe you’d think so too—if only your little brother’s future weren’t resting in your hands.

He’s grown so much, and you’ve taken care of him ever since that terrible car accident stole your parents away. Even as a child, he always had a brilliant mind—so intelligent, so full of promise.

When it was time for you to go to university, you didn’t even hesitate to give up your chance. You made arrangements with your grandparents to put that money into a fund for him instead, so he could study abroad. And you worked yourself to the bone to reach the amount he needed.

Bars, mini-markets, restaurants… There were times when you worked three jobs at once, running on four hours of sleep a night. But in the end, what a satisfaction it was to watch him leave for one of the most prestigious medical schools in the world.

When you called Jungkook and heard the confusion in his voice, a wave of doubt washed over you. Maybe that Reddit post had just been a cruel joke. But then—something changed. He seemed to understand exactly what you meant. His tone shifted, turning almost… taunting.

You wonder what kind of man he is. You wonder what he’ll do to you.

Will you suffer? Will you be humiliated?

Whatever happens, you tell yourself—it’ll still be better than ending up in the ground.

You watch as tufts of hair fall to the ground, swirling down the drain. Along with them, a part of you disappears too—the innocent, pure part. The carefree, joyful part.

You wonder why, out of all people, fate had to choose you for this kind of life.

Then you decide—thinking about it won’t change a damn thing.

You finish washing up and step out of the bathroom, leaving the door open to let the steam escape. Crossing the room, you dig into a few moving boxes stacked against the wall. It’s been a year since you moved into this place, yet you never bothered buying a wardrobe—too expensive—so most of your clothes stayed packed away.

You pull out a gray T-shirt and a pair of black pants.

Your clothes are loose, worn-out. You bought them years ago, online, from an old man looking to get rid of them. He was selling an entire lot at a bargain price.

You never cared much about your appearance, even though you’re a pretty girl. You’re slim, delicate—but you’ve never exercised, never built any curves. These oversized clothes make you look even thinner, even more fragile than you actually are.

You sigh.

You're definitely not what Jeon Jungkook is expecting, but you still hope he'll give you a chance.

You promise yourself that if you get the job, you’ll go shopping—buy something cute, make yourself look a little more presentable.

You don’t own any makeup, nor do you know how to style your hair. After some hesitation, you decide to tie it back into a low ponytail. At the very least, it makes you look neat.

Glancing at your phone, you double-check the navigation app. If you leave now, you should arrive five minutes early.

You and Jungkook live an hour and a half apart by subway—he’s in the heart of the city, while you’re stuck in the outskirts.

You slip on the old coat your grandfather gave you and step outside, locking the door behind you. The keys disappear into your pocket as you step into the narrow, dimly lit alley.

There’s more trash than usual today. You wonder when the city workers will finally come to clean it up.

Quickening your pace, you try to escape the stench before it clings to your clothes.

That tiny studio apartment is the cheapest thing you could find outside of the really bad neighborhoods. It’s cramped, noisy, damp, and moldy.

Your condition should require a healthier environment, but you don’t have the luxury of being picky.

That place is all you can afford.

You walk toward the subway station, grateful that you remembered to bring your umbrella this time. The rain starts falling just as you pull it out of your bag and open it, continuing your way through the streets of Seoul.

The city is alive—crowds, music, voices. Neon signs from the shops reflect off the puddles, shimmering in vibrant colors.

When you reach the station, you descend the stairs and head straight to the ticket machine. A relieved sigh escapes your lips when you realize you have just enough coins for a round trip.

You purchase two tickets before passing through the turnstiles.

The ride is long, but not unpleasant. You’ve always liked the subway. You remember how, back when you worked as a waitress at that restaurant, the ride home felt almost therapeutic—giving you just enough time to recharge before heading into your night shift at the mini-market.

Despite the exhaustion, you miss those days.

Around you, people of all ages fill the train. You find it fascinating to observe them.

There are students returning from night classes, elderly passengers complaining about the relentless weather, businessmen flipping through the financial section of their newspapers with studious intensity.

You think it would be nice to have the ability to read people’s minds—to slip into their thoughts and discover who they are, what they do, what kind of lives they lead.

You let yourself drift in those thoughts the entire ride. Then, when you finally reach your stop, you take a deep breath and rise to your feet, stepping out of the subway car like a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows.

A weight presses against your chest. You know it’s nerves—fear of the unknown. You keep reminding yourself that this was your choice, that it’s the best decision you could make. It helps, a little. But your heart still pounds fast against your ribs.

Climbing the stairs, you emerge back onto the surface. Carefully, you check the address Jungkook sent you, then follow the short path your GPS lays out.

When you arrive, you’re left speechless.

A towering skyscraper stands before you, its glass facade reflecting the deep cobalt sky of the late sunset. It looks almost like a silver stalagmite rising toward the heavens. You stare at it, mouth slightly open, mesmerized. Then, shaking yourself out of your daze, you refocus.

It’s unbelievable that some people make enough money to live in places like this.

You approach the glass doors, which slide open the moment you step forward.

Inside, the doorman immediately takes notice of you. His eyes scan your plain appearance, and he stiffens, suddenly alert.

“Hey, girl. We don’t buy Bibles here,” he says, irritation lacing his tone.

You clear your throat. “No, I… I’m here to see Mr. Jeon Jungkook.”

The doorman raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, really? In that case, you won’t mind if I call to confirm.”

“Go ahead,” you murmur, lowering your gaze.

You think it’s obvious why he treated you that way. It always happens, with everyone. You just wish someone could see past the surface—past the rags you wear—but apparently, you live in a materialistic world.

The doorman asks for your name, and you answer. He picks up the phone, dialing a four-digit number before pressing the receiver to his ear. He waits a few seconds.

“Mr. Jeon? Sorry to bother you. There’s a young woman here who claims to have an appointment with you. She says she’s supposed to come up to your apartment….”

He says your name clearly, then his eyes widen in surprise. Jungkook must have confirmed he was expecting you and told him to let you through.

Slowly, the doorman lowers the receiver, staring at it as if someone had just told him Santa Claus was real and running for president. Then he looks back at you, this time giving you a long, scrutinizing glance from head to toe. He’s a stout man with watery, shrewd eyes.

“Well then… Take the second elevator. Top floor.”

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment. The idea that he might have thought you were a nobody makes you uneasy—and even more afraid of the judgment Jungkook himself will pass on you.

Even if he overlooks your shabby appearance, will he be able to overlook your complete inexperience in bed?

Maybe he’ll fire you the moment he realizes you’re a total failure… No, there’s no “maybe” about it. That’s exactly what will happen.

You step into the elevator and press the button for the top floor. Your heart pounds harder with each number that lights up.

You’re about to meet a man—a total stranger.

What if Jungkook is a psychopath? What if he hurts you?

Any girl would be worried by these thoughts.

But you already have a spot waiting for you at the cemetery, sooner or later.

So what difference does it make if you get there a little earlier or a little later?

Taking this risk could speed things up… or push them far, far away.

You might live long enough to see your brother graduate—to see him become a surgeon.

Your eyes grow misty with emotion.

You force yourself to smile as you decide—yes, that’s how it will be.

You’ll work for this man. You’ll do whatever he wants until your brother returns to Korea.

The elevator doors slide open, and, more certain of yourself than you’ve ever been, you step out.

It doesn’t matter how. It doesn’t matter what you’ll have to do.

You will get this job—at any cost.