Let me play among the stars

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𝕋ℍ𝔼 sky had already darkened, the last hints of daylight swallowed by the city's smog and fluorescent haze. The streets buzzed in dull rhythm—cars passing, distant chatter, the hum of neon signs flickering like dying fireflies. Hana walked alone toward the metro station, her footsteps slow, heavy with the weight of the day.

Her smile was long gone.

She kept her head down, eyes lowered, shoulders hunched slightly against the growing chill. One hand clutched her worn-out bag, the other wrapped tightly around her phone. She had begged her boss again today—begged—for the money he still owed her. The same conversation, the same slippery excuses: "Next week," "Payroll's delayed," "Just hang in there, Hana."

She was tired of hanging in there.

By the time she reached the station, the platform was nearly empty—only a few scattered souls waiting under flickering lights that buzzed and sputtered like they, too, were barely holding on. She slumped down onto one of the cold, plastic benches, exhaling through her nose, and unlocked her phone.

Another message from the hospital.
A reminder about her mother's treatment cost.
And another from her landlord—this one far less polite.

Rent was due in three days.

Hana closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, her thumb pressing just between her brows as if she could physically push the stress away. She could feel the dull pressure behind her eyes blooming into a headache. She hadn't eaten properly since this morning. She hadn't really slept either.

A shuffle of footsteps approached, the rhythm slow and deliberate.

Her body tensed slightly—not fear, just reflex, the city kind—and she glanced sideways.

A man in a sharp, dark business suit sat down on the bench beside her. Clean shoes. Neat hair. Expression unreadable.

"Hello, ma'am," he said politely. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Hana gave him a look, her exhaustion bleeding through her voice. "If you're selling something, I'm not interested."

She scooted an inch away, eyes drifting back to her phone.

"It's not that," the man said quickly, hands raised slightly. "I just want to tell you about a great opportunity to—"

A small, folding knife was suddenly in her hand, pointed in his direction. Her movements were fluid, unshaking. The blade caught the platform light just enough to make her intent very clear.

"Listen," Hana said flatly, "I've just worked a twelve-hour shift, I've got bills piled higher than my sleep schedule, and I'm not in the mood to be pitched anything. So please..." She lowered the blade slightly but kept her grip firm. "Leave me alone."

The man didn't flinch. In fact, he smiled—not nervously, not cruelly. Calmly. Like he'd expected this.

"I understand," he said softly. "But tell me something, Miss... would you like to play a game with me?"

Hana sighed, clearly unimpressed. "Who are you? A salesman?"

He nodded once, reaching for the sleek black case resting by his feet.

"You people have all kinds of tactics," Hana muttered, shaking her head. "I get it. You're doing your job. But I really can't sit here long. My train's coming soon."

The man remained silent as he opened the case and slowly turned it around to face her.

Inside lay two coloured paper tiles—ddakji. One red, one blue. Beneath them, neatly tucked bills: a small stack of crisp 100,000 won notes. Not fake, not cheap. Real.

"I'm sure you've played ddakji before," he said smoothly. "Flip the other player's tile. If you win, you get 100,000 won per round."

Hana stared at the money, then at the tiles, then back at the man. She scoffed.

"So... if I hit your ddakji and flip it, I get paid. A hundred thousand per flip?"

The salesman nodded, his hands neatly folded in his lap.

"And if I flip yours," he added, "you owe me the same amount."

Hana let out a dry laugh. "Right. You expect me to believe a random guy in a suit just walks up to strangers and offers to throw money at them?"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. "You can even go first."

She looked at him for a long moment, reading his face for any sign of the trick. But his expression didn't shift. Unfazed. Calm.

The kind of calm that made her skin crawl just a little.

"Look," she said, voice tired but wary, "I've had a rough day. If this is some kind of scam—"

"I assure you, Miss. It's not a trick," he interrupted gently. "You have nothing to lose but a few minutes. Which colour would you like to play as?"

Silence passed between them, punctuated only by the whistle of a train arriving on the opposite platform.

Hana hesitated. Then finally sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

"...Blue."

The red ddakji lay on the cold concrete between them, mocking her. Hana exhaled slowly, the blue tile warm in her hand from her grip. She crouched slightly, eyeing the red square like it was an enemy that needed toppling. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled the blue ddakji down.

The slap of paper hitting paper echoed in the quiet platform—yet the red tile stubbornly clung to the ground. No flip.

Hana groaned under her breath, straightening up and tossing the blue tile in her palm with a touch more force than necessary.

The salesman smiled faintly, stepping forward. He bent to retrieve the red ddakji and gave her a polite little motion with his hand. "Step back." Hana shifted back a single step, her expression guarded. He placed the red tile, studied his aim for a beat, and then—crack!—the red slammed into her blue. Her tile spun in the air before falling face-up.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she bent to retrieve it.

"Well," he said lightly, almost teasing, "what's wrong?"

She met his gaze, jaw tightening. "The thing is... I don't have that much money."

The salesman's grin widened, but it wasn't friendly—it was the kind of smile that made her stomach tighten. A quiet chuckle escaped him before he leaned just a little closer.

"How about you use your body to pay?"

The words hit her like ice water. Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

No answer came. Instead, his hand lashed out, the sharp crack of the slap ringing louder than the tiles had. Her head turned with the blow, hair falling into her face. She froze for a second, breathing steadying—then slowly lifted her chin. Her eyes met his, and the look in them could have cut through steel. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to break her this way, and she had long since learned how to keep her spine straight.

"I'll take a hundred grand off per slap," the man said smoothly, as though this were just another business arrangement.

Hana reached down, picked up the blue ddakji, and rolled it between her fingers. "Let's play," she said flatly.

They played again.
And again.
And again.

Each smack of paper against paper echoed in the small, grimy corner of the platform. Hana's palms stung, her fingers aching from gripping the tile too hard, but she refused to quit.

Then—finally—her blue ddakji slammed onto the red with a sharp crack. The red tile flipped.

For a moment, she just stared at it, hardly believing it. Then relief crashed into her like a wave, pulling a breathless laugh from her lips. She let out a cheer that startled a passerby, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

The salesman didn't seem surprised—only amused—as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick wad of bills. "One hundred grand," he said, handing it over.

Hana's grin was small but genuine as she took it. She moved to a bench, sitting down and counting the money, her heart still racing. Trains came and went, the roar of them filling the station, but she stayed where she was, letting herself savor the small victory.

"You know, miss," the salesman's voice cut in smoothly, "there are other games like this... where you could make even more."

Hana paused mid-count, glancing at him over the bills in her hand. Then she shook her head. "Not interested."

"Come on," he pressed, his tone playful. "It must sound tempting."

She scoffed and slid the money into her bag. "And everyone knows about temptation. It can consume you. I may be desperate, but I'm not that desperate."

The man's smile sharpened. "Ms. Hana," he said, and something in his voice made her still. "You work two jobs, neither of which pay enough. Your full name, Kang Hana. Twenty-five years old. You attended Daesong High School—until you dropped out after your father walked out on you and your mother. Your mother, who has been terribly sick ever since. You've never been in a relationship. Your uncle became abusive, and you killed him. You owe fifty million won to the bank, and more to the hospital where your mother lies."

Her body went rigid. She rose slowly to her feet, her voice cold. "Who are you? What's your business?"

The salesman didn't answer directly. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small beige card. He held it out between two fingers. Printed on the front were three shapes: a circle, a triangle, and a square.

"We don't have many spots left," he said.

Hana took the card, flipping it over. On the back, there was only a number: 010-034.

"Just think about it," he added with a final smile before picking up his briefcase and stepping toward the approaching train.

Hana stood there for a moment, the sound of the train filling the station. Then she slipped the card into her pocket, turned on her heel, and hurried out. The wind of the departing train chased her as she made her way toward the hospital, her bag clutched tight against her side.

Hana burst through the sliding doors of the hospital, the sharp scent of antiseptic and faint hum of fluorescent lights wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. Heads turned—patients in wheelchairs, a mother clutching her child, an elderly man with a cane—but she didn't care. Her footsteps were loud against the polished floor as she made a straight line to the front desk.

She fumbled in her bag, her hands shaking, and pulled out the thick bundle of cash—the entirety of her winnings, the only hope she had to cling to. Slamming it onto the counter, she leaned forward, breathless.

"Here," she panted. "Here is for the bills... and for the surgery. Please."

The nurse, startled, glanced at the money before quickly scooping it into her hands. Her professional mask never faltered, but her eyes flickered with something—pity, maybe. Without a word, she slid a clipboard across the counter.

"Fill these out," the nurse instructed.

Hana seized the pen, her handwriting messy and jagged as she scrawled her name, her mother's details, her signature. Her pulse thudded in her ears, her chest tight. When she was done, she shoved the clipboard back into the nurse's hands.

"We'll call the doctor," the nurse said, softer now. "Please wait in the waiting room."

Hana nodded once, swallowing hard, and moved to the row of plastic chairs.

Time crawled. Minutes dripped into hours, her back aching from the rigid seat. The smell of cheap coffee from the vending machine lingered in the air. She rubbed her eyes, fighting the sting of exhaustion, but her thoughts kept circling back to the salesman. There are other games where you can make even more. His words slipped into her mind like a shadow she couldn't shake.

She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to admit how tempting it sounded.

A sudden voice broke her from the spiral. "Kang Hana?"

She snapped her head up, her heart lurching. A doctor in a white coat stood before her, a clipboard tucked under one arm. She shot to her feet.

"Yes?" Her voice was sharp, too fast.

The doctor gave a small, reassuring smile. "Your mother is doing well. The surgery was a success."

Relief punched the air from her lungs. Her knees went weak, and she let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"But..." The doctor's voice shifted, gentle but heavy. "The treatment."

Her relief faltered. She met his eyes, bracing herself. "How long?"

"A few days," he replied. "We can start the treatment now, but the payment will need to be made by the due date."

Hana's jaw tightened. She nodded once, a small, clipped gesture.

She thanked him, collected her bag, and walked out with deliberate steps. Each stride felt heavier than the last, but her gaze was fixed forward, unblinking. She didn't notice the chill in the air until the hospital doors slid shut behind her, the night swallowing her whole.

The hotel smelled faintly of mildew and cigarette smoke, its peeling wallpaper and buzzing ceiling lights greeting Hana like old, unpleasant companions. She dragged herself up the narrow staircase, each step making her feel as though her bones had turned to lead. Her feet ached, sore as if she had spent the entire day walking barefoot on stones, but she exhaled slowly, telling herself it was worth it. The bills were paid—for now. The surgery was behind them. Her mother's treatment could continue. That alone was enough to keep her moving.

As she turned down the dim hallway toward her room, a voice stopped her.

"Hana."

Her neighbour stood at her own door across the hall, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes softened by kindness. In her arms rested a fluffy orange cat, lazily flicking its tail—Bonkers, Hana's one steady comfort.

"There you are," the woman said warmly, passing the cat over. "He was scratching at my door again. I think he missed you."

Despite the exhaustion weighing on her, Hana's lips curved into a genuine smile as she accepted Bonkers, cradling him like a child. "Thank you. He's always sneaking off for attention."

The woman chuckled. "Well, he found plenty. My son fell asleep petting him earlier."

They exchanged a few words—simple, neighbourly things—but then the woman reached behind her and produced a small container, still warm to the touch.

"I made stew. There's plenty left, and you shouldn't go to bed on an empty stomach."

Hana shook her head immediately, the smile on her face tightening. "No, I can't take this. Really."

But the woman only pushed it gently toward her, insistent. "Take it. Please."

Hana's resistance faltered. She chuckled softly, giving in. "You're too kind to me. One day, I'll repay you for all this."

The woman's answer was a patient smile—the kind that said she expected no repayment at all.

With a grateful bow of her head, Hana slipped into her room, closing the door behind her. The air inside was stuffy and faintly damp, the single window rattling with the wind outside. It was barely more than a box: a narrow bed tucked against the wall, a table littered with bills and old notebooks, and a small sink that creaked when the tap ran. But it was hers.

She set Bonkers down, watching him immediately trot over to the corner where his dish sat. Smiling faintly, Hana poured kibble into the bowl, listening to the rhythmic crunch as he began to eat. Only then did she lock the door and sink onto the bed, tugging off her worn shoes with a groan.

Her gaze drifted to the table, where the card lay waiting. White, unmarked except for the three shapes—circle, triangle, square. She reached for it slowly, holding it between her fingers, staring at the number printed on the back.

For a moment, the tiny room was silent but for the hum of the old refrigerator down the hall and the steady crunch of her cat's meal. Hana traced the edge of the card with her thumb, a small smile still plastered to her face—but inside, unease twisted in her chest.

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By: SilverMist707

<3 <3