June.

Hayoung adjusted the buckles of her combat boots and pulled at the straps tightly. The night was still young, but she’d already start feeling the decline of adrenaline in her veins. She straightened herself up and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, making a mental note to beat the out of Sejun the next time she would see him. Eight hour high, he’d promised when he handed her the little baggie of red-and-white pills in exchange for a whopping 50k won. Eight hour my , Hayoung clicked her tongue. Lim Sejun, I’m coming for you.

It was a warm early summer night, with the echoing of crickets nearby ringing in harmonious patterns. Hayoung had already decided that she didn’t want to go home yet, but she also didn’t have much money left to spend. There wasn’t much she could do. Going to the mall would equate spending more money that she didn’t have, and going to the cafe meant gaining calories she didn’t ask for. There was really only one place where she’d find solstice, however temporarily, from her reality. It was also where she could feel triumph in herself whenever she went there, a rare emotion for the otherwise sulky teenager. So she let her long legs take her to where she needed be, stopping at a glowing neon blue sign glaring right into her eyes.

Gowon Internet Cafe.

Behind the reception of the third-level gaming cafe was a familiar face, a man in his thirties with short ruffled hair with the same facial hair to match. He had lazy features, eyes that always looked like he was forever sleepy, and a messy moustache sat above his uncurling lips, his thin goatee reaching past his dark-skinned chin.

“Uncle Ildong,” Hayoung greeted with a small bow. He was one of the few people that Hayoung genuinely liked around.

“Oh,” Ildong looked up from his computer screen and gave a curt nod, but shifted his eyes quickly back to his monitor. “Hayoung, you came.”

“Yes,” the younger girl pulled out three blue bills from her tattered wallet. “The usual, please.”

The man gave a glance over the counter, and raised a hand to wave her away. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Your last tournament brought in lots of customers; someone let out that our ‘Hwagok-dong* Ophrodite' plays her tournaments here, and plenty of kids have been coming just to try to scout you out.”

Hayoung tucked the wallet back into her bag swiftly, surprised that her unexpected internet fame had come with perks. “You didn’t expose my identity, did you, uncle?”

“Of course not, kiddo, you’re my favourite, you know that.” He let out a dimpled grin. “The back row’s completely empty, I know that’s your favourite seat. Stay as long as you want, ring the service bell if you get hungry, I’ll get the new part-timer to bring you ramen if you want some.”

"Uncle, you’re the best, you know that?” Hayoung smiled widely, knowing that the older guy was one on the list of people that were completely vulnerable to her charms. “Love ya.”

The man’s eyes were once again glued to his computer, but a wide fatherly smile was already formed across his face. “Go do your thing, kid.”

Hayoung grabbed one of the seat cushions from the shelf and started making her way to the back of the gaming room. The internet cafe had a common layout, a large lounge with rows of computing desks and gaming chairs, dimly lit and the subtle scent of instant ramyun sifting through the air. There were only a few patrons on the uneventful Thursday night, past the hour of the student crowd, a chorus of fingers tapping on keyboards 

Hayoung pulled out the blue gaming chair, instinctively threw her black boots and bag underneath the desk, and seated herself comfortably in the large chair, folding her knees to cross her legs across the seat cushion. She couldn’t game at all if her seating position was any less than comfortable, and she used the amount of time it took for her feet to become numb as a time indicator for how long she’s played. In a way, it could be called a method of self discipline; at the same time, it was far from that.

She loosened the black tie around her collar, ed the top buttons on her school uniform, pulled her hair back with a scrunchie from her wrist and set her hands down: one on the keyboard, one on the mouse. She could stay in this position for hours, occasionally shifting her legs around to get rid of the numbing, but today she wanted to make use of whatever was remaining in her body that was still making her veins flow a little too fast. 

•

A small figure walked along the bustling streets of Seoul, weaving between crowds of workers and students of sorts, all whom were making their way home after a long day of stress. Amongst them, a small girl troddled along hurriedly, the heels from her shoes making soft clacks against the asphalt ground. In her hands were several plastic bags that were close to being torn by the amount of contents, a common sight for a victor that arose from the local supermarket's Thursday discount madness.

After a whole hour of the horror that is Seoul's rush hour traffic, Chorong finally reached her home, a humble apartment complex on the southwest end of Han River. Using her only free finger, she managed to punch in the door lock code and officially, successfully returned home. Upon walking through the door, she immediately tears off her shoes using her heels and drops the multiple bags of groceries on the tiled floor, quickly fumbling her way into her room so she could change out of her uncomfortable work clothes.

With the windows open for ventilation, Chorong stood in her small kitchen, freshly changed into an oversized sweater with her hair tied up, ready to tackle her next task: dinner. Organizing the massive grocery haul, she rearranged foods that were to be stored and the foods that she was going to use for dinner tonight. She let her hands do the work: washing, chopping, frying, cooking; while a soft melody hummed from her thin lips, her feet tapping to a steady rhythm. 

Forty minutes later, the humble dining table were laid full with dishes and bowls of sorts: side dishes, rice, and a large bubbly pot of stew in the centre. Two sets of eating utensils were set on either side of the table, but only one person was seated.

Staring at the set of chopsticks and spoon across from her, Chorong wondered how long she would have to wait for the absent Hayoung. Her younger sister would come home for dinner at times, but she doesn't return home until past midnight these days. Even when she was around, the two never spoke too much at the table; Chorong would try to initiate light conversation, Hayoung would respond with half-hearted or one-word answers, and the elder one just gave up eventually. Dinnertime was the majority of the little time that the sisters would spend together, but it often passed over them in silence.

It made perfect sense to Chorong. At age seventeen, Hayoung had grown into a tall, solemn teenager. She was extraordinary bright compared to same-age children ever since she was young, and had managed to score such high results in the nationwide high school entrance exams that she was offered scholarships from various notable institutions. She would then go to attend Yewon Art High School, one of the top performing high schools in the country, which was known for their students' exceptional results in non-academic fields on top of their high university-acceptance rates.

Chorong was always impressed by her sister's natural intellect. She never did bad in school herself, but she was never the excelling, top student, no matter how hard she worked. Knowing that Hayoung was among some of the most competitive students as peers, she could only assume that the seventeen-year-old would have to put in lots of effort to keep up. Regardless, it was still lonely for the elder as she didn’t have too many opportunities to spend time with her own sister.

With a heaving sigh, Chorong evened her chopsticks on the table and began to eat. It would be unwise