The house was alive, not with noise but with a gentle rhythm that spoke of shared lives and daily routines. It wasn’t grand or spacious, but it was warm, a refuge from the world outside. Its walls, aged and worn, bore the faint marks of time—crayon doodles from when Ji-hoon and his siblings were younger, scuffs from hurried movements, and faint discoloration from sunlight streaming through the windows every morning. For Ji-hoon, this modest home was more than just a place to sleep; it was the anchor that kept him grounded.

  Lee Mi-sook moved with practiced ease in the small kitchen, the heart of the house. The aroma of her cooking was a comforting constant, a blend of garlic, sesame oil, and the tangy kick of fermented soybean paste. At 42, Mi-sook carried herself with a quiet grace. Her days were long, filled with chores and part-time work, yet she never let exhaustion dull her warmth. Every stir of the pot, every carefully prepared side dish, was her way of showing love to her family.

  As Ji-hoon stepped through the door, she turned to him, her expression softening instantly. “You’re home,” she said, her voice light but laced with the subtle concern of a mother who knew her son carried more than he let on. “How was school today?”

  “Good,” Ji-hoon replied, his voice low and weary. The word felt hollow, an automatic response that didn’t capture the relentless weight of his day.

  Mi-sook studied him for a moment, noticing the slight slump in his shoulders and the way his gaze lingered on the floor. She knew better than to press him for details. “Go wash up,” she said gently. “There’s fruit on the table if you’re hungry.”

  Ji-hoon nodded and shuffled toward the bathroom, leaving his school bag by the door. Inside, he splashed cold water on his face, letting the shock of it jolt him back into the present. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. The boy looking back at him was tired—dark circles under his eyes, his school uniform slightly rumpled—but there was also determination there, a flicker of resolve that refused to be extinguished.

  When he returned to the living room, his younger siblings, Ji-sung and Ji-yeon, were sprawled on the floor. Ji-sung, ten years old and brimming with energy, was in the middle of reenacting a scene from his favorite superhero cartoon. “And then,” he declared dramatically, leaping off the couch, “I’ll save the day!”

  Ji-yeon, seven and still clutching her ever-present stuffed bunny, giggled and clapped. “Oppa, you’re so cool!” she said, her wide eyes filled with admiration.

  Ji-hoon couldn’t help but smile at the sight. For a moment, the heavy weight of school and expectations eased, replaced by the simple joy of watching his siblings be children. “What are you two up to?” he asked, his voice light.

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  “Playing superheroes!” Ji-sung exclaimed. “Wanna join?”

  Ji-hoon shook his head, his smile tinged with regret. “Not today, Ji-sung. I have a lot to study.”

  The disappointment on Ji-sung’s face was fleeting. He nodded quickly, his respect for Ji-hoon shining through. “Okay, Hyung. Maybe next time.”

  Their mother appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Why don’t you two go play outside for a bit?” she suggested. “Let your brother study in peace.”

  Ji-sung and Ji-yeon hesitated for a moment, but Mi-sook’s tone left little room for argument. They grabbed their shoes and headed out to the small garden, their laughter fading into the evening air.

  As Ji-hoon made his way to his room, he passed his father, Kim Joon-seok, who was seated cross-legged on the floor with a newspaper in hand. Joon-seok was a man of few words, his presence steady and reassuring. His job at the office was grueling, but he bore it without complaint, his quiet strength a pillar for the family.

  “Keep at it,” Joon-seok said, glancing up briefly from his paper. His voice was low but carried a weight of belief that was impossible to miss. “You’re doing well.”

  Ji-hoon nodded, his throat tightening. His father didn’t often express his emotions openly, but these small moments of encouragement meant the world to him.

  His room was small but functional, a sanctuary where he could focus on his studies. The desk was cluttered with textbooks, notes, and printouts, each one a stepping stone toward his dream of attending a prestigious university. The single bed in the corner, with its neatly folded blanket, was a testament to his mother’s care. The window overlooked the garden, where Ji-sung and Ji-yeon were chasing each other, their laughter carrying into the room.

  Sitting at his desk, Ji-hoon opened his math workbook and stared at the page. The equations blurred together for a moment before he forced himself to focus. The ticking of the clock on the wall became a steady rhythm, a reminder that time was slipping away.

  As he worked through problem after problem, his mind wandered to the sacrifices his parents had made. His father’s long hours at the office, his mother’s relentless efforts to stretch every won, the way they both put their children’s needs above their own — it all weighed heavily on him. They had given him everything they could, and now it was his turn to give back.

  The hours stretched on, the only sounds in the house the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint clink of dishes being washed in the kitchen. The weight of expectation pressed down on Ji-hoon, but it also fueled him. He wasn’t just studying for himself; he was studying for them, for a future that could lift his family out of their modest circumstances.

  A soft knock at the door broke his concentration. “Come in,” he said, turning to see Ji-sung poking his head in.

  “Hyung,” Ji-sung whispered, his face serious. “Don’t work too hard, okay? You’re already the smartest person I know.”

  Ji-hoon smiled, his chest tightening with affection. “Thanks, Ji-sung. Now go to bed.”

  As Ji-sung closed the door quietly behind him, Ji-hoon turned back to his books. The night stretched ahead, filled with pages to read and problems to solve, but the quiet hum of the house around him reminded him of why he was doing this. Every late night, every sacrifice, every ounce of effort was for the people he loved most. And for them, he would keep going.

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