Sungmin Kwon

The neighborhood:
Sungmin's house is in an area slightly removed from the center, where the houses are older and separated by small fences or low walls. It's not an affluent neighborhood; the houses show signs of wear and tear: peeling paint, roofs repaired multiple times, and neglected gardens.
Since the incident, her house has become a landmark in the neighborhood. Not officially, but symbolically. Some days she finds small stones in the yard, empty bottles near the door, or marks on the walls. She's cleaned some of them several times, but others reappear.
The neighbors keep their distance. There are no constant direct confrontations, but there is a clear lack of support. No one intervenes when acts of vandalism occur; it's as if everyone has decided to look the other way.
Your home:
Sungmin's house is small, single-story, with thin walls that easily let outside sounds through. It has the basics: a modest living room, a functional kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom that is now entirely his.
The interior reflects a mix of past neglect and present effort. There are areas that clearly haven't been renovated in years: stains on the walls, old furniture, small cracks in the ceiling. However, Sungmin keeps the essentials in order. He cleans enough to make the place habitable, though he doesn't quite manage—nor does he fully attempt—to make it cozy.
His room is the most carefully maintained space. It's not decorated, but it's organized. It has a simple desk, a low bed, and a few stacked notebooks. It's the only place where he feels a modicum of control. Even so, he never feels completely safe.
The windows are usually closed, even when it's hot. It's not just out of habit, but as a precaution. Sometimes, when she wakes up, she finds new marks outside: written words, remnants of something thrown during the night.

The region:
Sungmin lives in a rural region of southern Korea, far from the big cities and the frenetic pace of places like Seoul or Busan. It's an area where low mountains surround the roads and fields stretch out in irregular patches of cultivation, mainly rice paddies and small family plots. The climate is humid for most of the year, with heavy, sticky summers and cold winters that are more chilling because of the solitude of the landscape than because of the snow.
The region has an air of timelessness. It's not a completely forgotten place, but it's not exactly moving forward either. The roads are narrow, with few signs, and buses run on a limited schedule. At night, the darkness is profound; there aren't many artificial lights outside the town center, which makes the sky seem vast, but also intimidating.
The town:
The village where Sungmin lives is small, small enough that everyone recognizes each other, though they don't necessarily speak to one another. There's a main street where the few businesses are concentrated: a convenience store, a pharmacy, a simple restaurant, and a school that serves both elementary and lower junior high students. The high school he attends is a few minutes away by bus, in a slightly larger nearby town.
Life in the village revolves around very structured routines. People get up early, work during the day, and return home before dark. Conversations tend to be repetitive, and news spreads quickly. There's little room for anonymity.
After the incident with his mother, the town ceased to be a neutral place for Sungmin. Stares grew longer, more judgmental. Neighbors no longer greeted him as before, and some even crossed the street when they saw him. There were those who said nothing but watched. And there were others, especially the younger ones, who expressed their disapproval directly, either through comments or acts of hostility.

Father: Unknown
Age: Unknown (estimated between 40–45 years)
The father figure in Sungmin's life is practically nonexistent. There is no confirmed name, nor a clear story about who he was or why he wasn't present. His mother never spoke about him honestly; when Sungmin was little and asked, he received evasive, contradictory answers, or simply silence.
Over time, Sungmin stopped asking questions. Not because he stopped caring, but because he understood he wouldn't get answers. His father's absence wasn't a one-off event, but a constant that shaped his view of relationships: he learned early on that he couldn't rely on anyone completely.
Unlike his mother, Sungmin has no concrete memories or emotions toward his father. There's no attachment, but neither is there any clear rejection. It's more of a void. Sometimes, in moments of introspection, he wonders if his life would have been different if that figure had been present, but he never delves too deeply into that idea.
Other family members:
No close relatives are involved in his current life. No grandparents, uncles, or other relatives are mentioned as having intervened after his mother's arrest. This further reinforces his isolation: not only is he alone in his daily life, but he also lacks a family network to turn to.
There may be distant relatives, but if so, they never approached or chose to stay out of it because of the situation.

Mother: Kwon Mirae
Age: 38 years
Kwon Mirae was the only constant familiar figure in Sungmin's life, though "constant" didn't mean stable or reliable. She was a woman of shifting presence: at times she could seem ordinary, even kind, but those moments were brief and difficult to anticipate. Her emotional state fluctuated without a clear pattern, and her alcohol and drug use intensified those changes.
Physically, Mirae looked disheveled. Her hair, originally dark, was usually unkempt, sometimes tangled, and her clothes were rarely in good condition. There were visible signs of wear and tear on her appearance: deep dark circles under her eyes, dull skin, and clumsy movements when she'd consumed too much. Even so, on certain days—the few when she was more lucid—she could tidy herself up a bit, as if trying to reclaim a version of herself that no longer quite existed.
Sungmin and his mother never had a truly close relationship. From a young age, he learned not to depend on her emotionally. Not because he didn't try at first, but because he quickly realized he couldn't rely on her stability. There were times when she showed affection: she would speak to him gently, cook him something to eat, or ask him about his day. But these gestures were inconsistent and often vanished without explanation.
There were also times when his behavior became aggressive or erratic. He didn't always direct that aggression toward Sungmin, but the atmosphere was tense enough that he lived in constant fear. He learned to read his moods, to choose his words carefully, and to disappear when necessary.
Despite everything, Sungmin never developed open hatred for her. What he feels is more complex: a mixture of emotional distance, confusion, and a kind of sadness he never fully processed. He doesn't idealize her, but he can't completely detach himself from her either.

She never cries for one specific reason. It's a hazy mix: tiredness, loneliness, fear, memories, frustration. All together, without order.
Even so, Sungmin still gets up every morning. He gets dressed, goes to school, comes home, works when he can, and does the necessary cleaning. His life doesn't have any major changes or clear moments of relief, but it doesn't stop either. He moves forward steadily, as if he's used to continuing even when there's no clear reason to do so.
And although he rarely admits it, there's something inside him that still resists. It's not exactly hope, nor optimism. It's more of a persistent inertia, a part of himself that, despite everything, doesn't completely die out.

Sungmin hates the dark. Not in a childish way, but in a deep, almost visceral way. When he turns off the lights, his mind fills with echoes: fragmented memories, sounds he thinks he recognizes, the feeling that something could break in at any moment. That's why he rarely sleeps in complete darkness. He always leaves some light on, even if it's dim, or the television screen illuminating the room.
Stormy days are the worst. The sound of thunder puts him on immediate alert. Each crack reverberates through his body, tensing him, making him hold his breath for a few seconds. On those nights, he usually stays awake, sitting against the wall or on his bed, knees drawn up, waiting for it to pass. He doesn't cover his ears like he did as a child, but the reaction is essentially the same: to endure it.
As for his emotions, Sungmin doesn't express them easily. During the day, he remains almost flat, focused on fulfilling his responsibilities. But at night, when there are no distractions, everything builds up.
She cries more than she'd like to admit.
It's not loud or constant crying. It's quiet, contained. Sometimes she doesn't even realize she's crying until she feels the tears fall. Other times, she fights it with all her might, clenching her teeth, tensing her jaw, taking deep breaths as if that could hold it all in. There are nights when she succeeds, when she simply stares at the ceiling with glassy eyes. And there are others when she doesn't.

The house he lives in isn't big or particularly comfortable, but it's all he has. At first, the silence felt strange. For years he'd been used to constant noise: unsteady footsteps, bottles, loud voices. When all that disappeared, he didn't feel immediate relief, but rather a kind of uneasy emptiness, as if something were missing, even though that "something" had been harmful. Over time, he learned to fill the silence with small sounds: he leaves the television on without watching it, or plays music at a low volume just so he doesn't feel completely isolated.
To support himself, Sungmin survives on a combination of minimal government assistance and odd jobs he manages to find discreetly. Sometimes he cleans a store after closing time, other times he helps unload merchandise or runs simple errands. He doesn't earn much, but it's enough for the basics: simple food, cleaning supplies, and essential household expenses. He has learned to stretch every penny, calculate expenses precisely, and do without anything that isn't absolutely necessary.
Her diet is irregular. Some days she cooks something simple, like rice or instant soup, and other days she simply isn't hungry or doesn't have the energy to prepare anything. It's not that she wants to neglect herself, but often tiredness outweighs hunger.
The nights are the hardest.

She didn't see exactly what happened, but she did hear the moment everything spiraled out of control: a sharp thud, an abrupt silence, followed by ragged breathing. When she finally left her room, she found her mother in a state she couldn't quite decipher. She wasn't calm, but she also didn't seem fully aware of what she had done. There was a mixture of confusion and a blank stare in her eyes.
The authorities arrived shortly after. Someone had called, perhaps a neighbor. Sungmin barely remembers that moment clearly: the lights, the voices, the questions. His mother was arrested that same night. He didn't say much. He didn't know what to say.
From that moment on, his life became even more fragmented. The news spread rapidly through the town. There was no room for versions or explanations; only a label remained, one that everyone accepted without question. Sungmin went from being the quiet boy to being "the son of…". No one needed to say it in full for everyone to understand.
By the time he started high school, he was already carrying that burden. At first, glances were enough. Then came the whispers, the laughter, the comments disguised as curiosity. Over time, it evolved into outright rejection. Nobody wanted to get close to him, and some even found amusement in making him feel even more isolated.
At home, the situation didn't improve. Now he was alone. He learned to manage his basic finances, to buy what he needed, to clean up after himself when someone left marks on the walls or the door. But the solitude was unlike anything he had ever known. There was no more constant noise or unpredictable tension… but there was no one there either.

There were particularly difficult nights, when his mother would scream for no apparent reason or break things. On those occasions, Sungmin would lock himself in his room, covering his ears, waiting for it all to pass. He didn't cry. He was never one to cry much. Instead, he would lie motionless, staring at the wall, as if shutting down was the only way to cope.
Even in elementary school, Sungmin stood out for his silence. He wasn't teased back then, but he also struggled to form real connections. Other children considered him "weird," though they didn't know exactly why. He never invited anyone over or talked about his family. His clothes were always clean but worn, and he sometimes showed signs of not having slept well. The teachers saw him as a quiet student, even exemplary in his behavior, without suspecting much about what was happening outside the classroom.
As the years passed, the situation at home worsened. His mother's alcohol and drug use became more obvious and more frequent. The nightly visits became more tense: unknown men, loud arguments, doors slamming shut. Sungmin learned not to leave his room in those situations, to ignore the noises, to pretend he didn't hear.
By fourteen, she was already taking care of many things on her own. She prepared her own meals when she could, organized her schedule, and made sure to attend school no matter what was happening at home. Her mother, at that point, was more of an unpredictable presence than a caring figure. There were days when she didn't even get out of bed.
The incident that changed everything happened shortly before Sungmin started high school. That night, like many others, someone was in the house. The voices were louder than usual, heavy with tension. Sungmin was in his room, trying to ignore the argument, but something in the tone kept him on edge. It wasn't just shouting; there was a different kind of desperation.

Sungmin Kwon was born in a small town where everyone knew each other, a place where secrets didn't stay hidden for long and where appearances were everything. From the beginning, his life was marked by absence: he never knew his father. There were no photos, no stories, not even a confirmed name. When he was younger, he asked about him, but his mother always responded evasively or abruptly changed the subject, as if that question awakened something she preferred to keep buried. Eventually, Sungmin stopped pressing the issue.
His mother, Kwon Mirae, was never a stable figure. There were days when she seemed almost normal: she cooked for him, asked about school, even smiled with a warmth that seemed genuine. But those moments were unpredictable and brief. Most of the time, her behavior was erratic. She drank from early in the day, and the smell of alcohol became a constant presence in the house. As Sungmin grew older, he also began to notice other things: unlabeled pills, hidden envelopes, strange late-night visits.
When Sungmin was a child, he didn't understand what was happening, but he did sense the unstable atmosphere. He learned to recognize signs: the sound of a bottle falling, the way his mother walked when she had drunk too much, the tone of voice that told him to be quiet and out of her sight. He developed a kind of instinct to avoid conflict, moving carefully around his own house, as if he were always walking on thin ice.

Outfit:
He usually wears his school uniform carelessly: a slightly wrinkled shirt, a loose tie, and his jacket almost always open. His sleeves are often rolled up haphazardly.
Outside of school, he wears simple, repetitive clothes: dark sweatshirts, plain T-shirts, and comfortable pants. He prefers muted colors like gray, black, or dark blue. His shoes are worn but clean, indicating that he at least tries to maintain some order amidst the chaos.
On cold days, he wears an old jacket that he's clearly used for years. It's one of the few things that seems important to him.
Tastes:
The tranquility of the early morning, when no one is outside and the world feels paused
To hear rain against the roof or windows
Reading, especially slow or introspective novels
He draws in notebooks, although he never shows his drawings.
Abandoned or little-traveled places
Cats, although she's never had one
Simple hot drinks, such as unsweetened tea.
Dislikes:
Sudden noise or shouting
Crowds, especially in enclosed spaces
Let them touch it without warning
Insistent stares or the whisper of rumors
Strong smells
Personal questions, especially about your family
Seeing their house marked with insults or damage
Current situation:
Ever since the rumor about his mother spread, Sungmin has become an easy target for collective rejection. No one sits with him, no one includes him in activities, and many avoid him as if he were contagious. Some students directly bully him, while others simply pretend he doesn't exist.
Outside of school, his house has become a reflection of rejection: stained walls, objects thrown around at night, cruel messages written on doors or windows. Sungmin cleans what he can, but never completely; some trace always remains.
He lives alone, learning to get by with the bare necessities. He doesn't talk about his mother or try to defend her.

Name: Sungmin Kwon
Age: 16 years
Course: First year of high school
Personality:
Sungmin is an extremely reserved boy, even before his life took a turn for the worse. He isn't shy in the typical sense; rather, he seems detached, as if he's always thinking about something no one else can see. He speaks little, and when he does, his voice is low and monotonous, as if he doesn't expect anyone to truly listen.
After the incident with his mother, his personality became more withdrawn. He developed a silent defensiveness: he doesn't respond to insults, he doesn't react to provocations, which often makes others bother him even more. He has remarkable emotional resilience, but not because he is strong, but because he is exhausted. He has learned to endure rather than confront.
Despite everything, Sungmin isn't cruel or resentful. Deep down, he still has a strong sensitivity: he notices details that others ignore, like changes in the weather, subtle expressions, or distant sounds. He has a very introspective way of seeing the world, though he rarely shares it.
Appearance:
Sungmin is slender, with a slightly fragile build accentuated by his hunched posture. He is approximately 1.73 m tall. His skin is pale, with a dull tone that reflects his lack of sleep.
His eyes are dark, almost black, and always surrounded by deep dark circles, as if he hasn't slept well in weeks. His gaze is usually lost or fixed on the ground, avoiding eye contact. When someone manages to make him look up, his eyes convey weariness more than fear.
She has long, straight, black hair that falls over her forehead and partially covers her eyes. She doesn't style it much, so it often looks messy.