He had been lying on the floor motionless for 120 minutes. 

Min Yoongi had been staring at his popcorn-like ceiling for the past two hours, his eyes tracing over the seemingly endless alabaster ridges and valleys. The heat of his enclosed apartment appeared to have culminated in his tiny living room, the stale air making it slightly difficult to breathe in. He could sense the plains of the cedarwood floor beneath his back even though he was wearing a thin black t-shirt. The shocking cold temperature of it was a nice contrast to his steaming flesh. Just then, a rivulet of sweat slid past his temple, but that couldn't prompt him into action. Inaudible noise from the plasma screen mounted on his wall reached his ears, but the words seemed to drift right over him.

Normally, Yoongi would have slept for the entire day, especially after staying up all night writing lyrics to his new songs. However, he couldn't conjure up anything to go with the sick beat he had recently created on his computer. He paced around his entire apartment, from his cozy bedroom to the quaint bathroom, kitchen, and living room. It was only when the sun rose at 8:06 AM that he finally admitted to having song writer's block, which was very rare in his case. He couldn't afford to delay the next release of his mixtape since more and more amateur rappers were venturing into the scene. He had to solidfy the small fanbase that he had now and continue expanding. He was ready for the public to be exposed to his world of music. 

It was now a few minutes past nine in the morning, and he still had no lyrics.

Yoongi's eyes drifted to the TV. Instead of the usual anchorwoman and anchorman chatting with each other over the rising heat pattern plaguing Seoul these days, colorful neon banners were displayed. Beige table after beige table glided across the screen before filming the long lines of ecstatic participants ranging of different ages. They all screamed as the cameraman passed by them, heightening the atmosphere of excitement for the annual Seoul Summer Kogi Chowdown. 

The contest featured an endless amount of various meats being stacked on styrofoam paper plates and handed to volunteers who would then set them up at designated spots along the tables. 

With perked ears, Yoongi willed himself up off the floor as he sat straight up and devoted his undivided attention at the television. His mouth already started watering at the images presented in high definition to him. He could almost smell the barbeque wafting up his nostrils and taste the gaminess of the barbeque rolling across his tongue. If there was one thing other than music he was grateful for, it was the essence of meat. If he didn't have protein present in each of his meals, he wouldn't be alive.

"So, what's it like over there, Moonbyul?" Anchorwoman Amy Lee addressed the on-scene reporter. 

"Mouth watering temptation!" She pursed her lips as a plate of freshly grilled ribs passed right in front of her. "I can understand why there are so many people lined up already. For one, admission is free, so I definitely encourage everyone to come, especially you, college students. First place prize is $10,000! And, if you don't finish, the remaining plates will be donated to the local homeless shelters. So, it's a win-win situation for everyone!"

"What a great cause this competition is for!" Amy remarked.

"Indeed." Anchorman Yoo Jaesuk echoed. "So, where and when does this event start?"

"Right on the dot at noon in downtown Seoul. You can't miss it, folks! Just let your nose lead the way." Moonbyul stated.

"While you're there, Moonbyul, would you mind signing me up?" Jaesuk chuckled.

"Sorry Jaesuk, but I don't think you can outeat me." 

Laughter rang throughout the studio.

Yoongi jammed the power button on his silver remote, turning the tv off within seconds. He didn't live far off from the location since it was less than ten miles away. Definitely manageable if he took the bus and powerwalked, Yoongi thought. He could make it within the three hour timespan.

He leaned back on his haunches, daydreaming about the possibility of being a winner. If he did attain the $10,000, he could use that money to purchase a whole new keyboard, headphones, recorder, programs, and so much more! Plus, since everything would be filmed live, his face would get featured on every screen in the homes of families across the nation. This would be a great way to get free publicity for himself! Once the citizens became familiar with his face, selling his mixtapes would be a piece of cake. Now, if only he could get rid of this song writer's block...

He dashed to his room, almost stumbling on his feet, and mentally cursed himself at the sight of his dirty clothes scattered everywhere on the carpet. He had "forgotten" to do his laundry. Again. Or rather put it off until the last minute until he needed some new underwear. Each article of summer clothing that he picked up off the ground stank to the high heavens of either sweat or the restaurant that he frequented that night. Nothing could be salvaged from this mess.

Yoongi glanced down at himself, debating whether to wear the black tee and basketball shorts, until he got a glimpse of the weather outside his window. The forecast called for airy clothing in bright colors, not something as dark as hell that would slowly cook him to death.

With an exasperated sigh, Yoongi resumed searching for a decent attire in his nearly nonexistent closet. The little gems he had discovered were buried all the way in the back, scrunched underneath a transparent drawer. He held up an obviously, three-sizes too small, acid-washed gray skinny jeans and an extra large blue t-shirt with an indecipherable graffiti in the shade of sunset situated across his abdomen. 

Squeezing himself into the said trousers posed a challenge in itself, and it caused him to sweat profusely from the extra exertion.

"I think I may have just gotten my exercise done for the year." He uttered to no one in particular.

He observed his silhoutte in the mirror, approving of the way the skin tight jeans framed his toned legs quite nicely. Yoongi had always believed that his legs could rival those of Girl's Generation, and this bottom proved his point yet again.

After asserting himself that he could still move in a semi-comfortable manner by squatting and jumping around his room, Yoongi slipped on the tee. The material fell to the middle of his thighs, dwarfing his lithe figure in a sea of azure. Disliking what he saw in the full length mirror hanging behind his door, he shoved the top past his waistline and into his jeans. The effort alone almost keeled him over, but he looked ten times better now than before.

Nobody ever said fashion was painless.

To pull the look together, Yoongi unhooked a brown leather belt off the wall and looped it around his waist. He also added a tan corduroy hat to shield himself from the blazing Korean sun as well as to tame his muted blush locks. He finally deemed his outfit of the day complete after throwing on a thin, silver chain around his neck.

"Hello, Suga Daddy."

Yoongi cringed. Yeah. Even that sounded cheesy in his head. It was a good thing that he currently lived alone. Yoongi was about to go search for his wallet and keys until he realized that he was completely barefoot. A quick rifling under a pile of wifebeaters produced a pair of white socks that were still usable and certainly not as odorous as a certain other pair he had sniffed before. He wasn't the type to have foot odor, but, if his nose did shrivel off later on, he'd have a reason why.

A glance at his cell phone displayed that it was almost 11, which meant that he only had an hour left to make it downtown on time if he wanted to catch the bus too! Yoongi's eyes hastily scanned his surroundings for some form of footwear, but all he saw were discarded garments lying in a heap. However, a splash of red out of his peripherals alerted him to probe underneath his bed. Lo and behold, Yoongi had a pair of red converse shoes in his hands. Although they were slightly (very) dusty from not having seen daylight in months, it was the only footwear he had at the moment.

And there was a reason why these shoes were extremely dusty, Yoongi thought after blowing the particles off and sneezing an uproar. It literally pained him as the sneakers encased his feet, and he had to hold back the tears that were choking his throat as he laced them up. He suddenly felt woozy. Yoongi was committing a sin, but he had no choice. Meat trumped everything.

I'm sorry, my Air Jordans.

He surveyed his noisy surroundings, surprised that he actually got here with half an hour left to spare. Plus, registering at the event tent didn't take as long as he had presumed since he was one of the few last minute entries there. Yoongi exhaled a sigh of relief once a volunteer had pinned a plaque card to his chest and back, which showcased the number 68. Rather than Min Yoongi, he was now known as one of the numerous and eager members ready to sink their carnivorous teeth into some delicious kogi.

That would all change very soon. Yoongi was sure of it because nobody else could eat meat like him. Once he won, people would not only recognize him for his ability to stuff beef down his throat, but they would know him as his underground rapper name, Suga, the man who rocked the hip hop music industry to its core.

 One of the volunteers personally directed him to the few remaining available seats, and Yoongi almost yelped in joy at his fortuitous circumstance. The spot left open was at the table located on the stage, which was elevated about ten feet above everyone else.

That's it. This is a sign from the lord foreshadowing my win.

He made sure to enthusiastically thank the volunteer, who heartily returned a "You're welcome!" before exiting the stage. Once he sat down, Yoongi wiggled his bottom to get a feel of the plastic chair and considered himself comfortable despite the numbing sensation spreading throughout his lower body. No pain, no gain.

Yoongi took a gander at his opponents sitting on either side of him. On his left was an eight year old kid who wouldn't stop bouncing in his chair as he waved to his mother in the distance. He scoffed at the boy since Yoongi was absolutely certain that he wouldn't last past the first plate. On his right was a teenager of a similar build to him but with a subtle tan to his skin. His brunette locks fluttered slightly in the breeze, but Yoongi's attention was drawn to the hideous mustard sweater underneath his number card.

He scrunched his brows. Who would wear a thick sweater in this heat? Then again, he was the one dawning skinny jeans, but he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for it.

The said boy turned around and greet Yoongi with a square-shaped grin.

"Hi! Oh my god! Are you excited? Me too! Whe