The letter said:
Littel Kyung, Mom is sorry.
But Mom really can’t hold on anymore.
Back then, Mom was also a girl who longed for a happy life; because I didn’t understand better, I muddled my way into having you, then worked diligently to raise you.
You’re about to turn nineteen—you’ve grown up. Over these years, Mom has fulfilled a mother’s duty, given you much love and care, but I truly can’t bear it anymore.
If you want to hate me, then hate me to your heart’s content. It’s all your father’s and my fault. I’m sorry, my little Lyung.

And that was how nineteen‑year‑old Baek Soo-kyung began working multiple jobs every day. He caddied at a golf course, washed dishes, worked as a part‑time model, and took overnight shifts at a convenience store…

Even so, the 600 million won debt remained a bottomless pit he could hardly fill.

He lived in constant fear, terrified that one day he’d end up floating in the Han River like his father.

Fortunately, the convenience store owner was a kind auntie who understood his situation and allowed him to nap when there were few customers. So Baek Soo-kyung kept his simple belongings in the store’s back room, sparing himself the cost of rent.

Until one night, during a drowsy late shift, he met Choi Min‑jun, who had come to buy cigarettes…

The man asked him: Has anyone ever said this? The lower half of your face looks a bit like Park Seok‑jin’s from over a decade ago.

Baek Soo-kyung didn’t mention anything about Choi Min‑jun. The system, listening to the uke protagonist’s tragic family story, was sobbing: The uke is too pitiful—we have to help him, host oppa!

Qi Huai was silent for a long moment, then said softly, “My condolences… I’m sorry.”

Baek Soo-kyung shook his head and gave a bright smile. “It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to an unlucky life. It’s precisely because I suffered in the past that every day now feels like happiness. I feel happy eating a production sandwich, happy at auditions, happy taking acting classes with everyone, and happy thinking about having a film waiting to air.”

He lowered his head, shy. “Qi Huai‑hyung treats me very well too—he’s helped me a lot. I feel happy when I’m with you.”

After saying this, he stole a glance at Qi Huai. But the other seemed lost in thought and didn’t respond, so Baek Soo-kyung pressed his lips together, a trace of disappointment in his eyes.

Happiness.

Qi Huai was carefully savoring the word.

As a child manufactured by the mainbrain using human genes, Qi Huai had always struggled to grasp the emotion contained in that word.

No one could answer him—because, in the world he came from, humanity no longer existed.

The mainbrain steadfastly executed the pre‑extinction “gene continuation” mission, raising those with human genes, even posting base slogans like “Everything for the happiness of human gene‑bearers first,” then teaching them, by rote, the emotions humans should have: joy, anger, sadness, shyness… including happiness.

Unfortunately, Qi Huai learned everything—except what happiness truly was.

He watched his fellow missioners, who grew up alongside him, leave the base one after another for the mission worlds they loved, choosing to remain and live what they called a happy life.

Only Qi Huai remained, still searching for the definition of happiness.

Kicking a pebble, Baek Soo-kyung said, “With your family background, Qi Huai‑hyung, it must be hard to understand my life, right? Even though that debt is still astronomical to me, at least now I can eat my fill. That’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

Qi Huai smiled at him. “You’ll pay it back.”

“Hm?” Baek Soo-kyung tilted his head.

“You’ve suffered so much already,” Qi Huai said. “Now that the hardship is passing, harvest time will come soon. Maybe Heaven has a gift prepared for you.”

“Gift?” Baek Soo-kyung hid a grin.

“Mhm,” Qi Huai teased. “Maybe a sum of money will appear soon—enough to clear all your debts.”

Baek Soo-kyung blinked, then laughed. “That must be a dream—or luck like a pie falling from the sky.”

Qi Huai smiled. “I do want to help you—though you’ll have to wait.”

He went ahead to hail a taxi. Standing there, Baek Soo-kyung watched his back, a different light in his eyes.

He had told both Choi Min‑jun and Park Seok‑jin about his past, but each had reacted differently.

Choi Min‑jun used his past to make him work—if he wanted help paying the debt, he had to pay a hefty price.

Park Seok‑jin pitied him and gave him pocket money, but getting him to pay off the debt would likely take a long time.

Only Qi Huai…

He meant he would help him pay, right?

This rumored Gangnam mixed‑blood young master—with an IG of luxury cars and watches—might actually be faster to help than those two.

Thinking this, a pure smile—one both Choi Min‑jun and Park Seok‑jin liked—rose on his face.

He followed Qi Huai into the taxi and looked up at the pitch‑black night, no different from usual—yet tonight the moonlight seemed especially beautiful.

When Baek Soo-kyung smiled, two dimples appeared at his cheeks, sweet and doll-like.

But they vanished the moment he saw the rooftop room ahead.

—

Woosan Entertainment, top‑floor office.

To avoid eating with his nauseating family, Yoon Nam‑hyuk was still working overtime at the company. Assistant Yoo stood by expressionless, nerves taut, always ready to answer his boss’s queries.

Ah… I really want a hazelnut latte with extra hazelnut syrup. Best paired with a brownie, Assistant Yoo thought. I’m not picky—Starbucks quality would do.

“What does that guy do every day?”

Assistant Yoo: Hm?

Flipping through documents, Yoon Nam‑hyuk snorted coldly. “Does he go home to sleep after acting class without even exercising? Hah. Is Woosan giving rookies too much comfort—or is Choi Min‑jun just incompetent? Letting new artists idle around and waste productive resources?”

Assistant Yoo: Oh, him…

He was used to this nighttime question by now.

But tonight was different. A seasoned intel officer by now, Assistant Yoo answered steadily: “As for Actor Qi, right now he should be with Actor Baek.”

“Actor Baek?”

Yoon Nam‑hyuk’s fingertip paused on the file. “Baek Soo-kyung? The other artist under Choi Min‑jun? The one who was chatting and laughing with him in the acting room last time?”

“Yes,” said Assistant Yoo, pushing up his glasses.

Yoon Nam‑hyuk looked unimpressed. “Oh, did Choi Min‑jun arrange new coursework for them? Language classes?”

“…No,” Assistant Yoo said. “They’re at Qi Huai’s place. Reportedly, they encountered assailants.”

“Assailants?”

Qi Huai’s place?

“Yes, President,” Assistant Yoo said. “The team in charg— ahem, the team over there says the attackers were apparently targeting Baek Soo-kyung; Qi Huai was just caught up in it and was cut by a knife while fending them off.”

“A knife wound?” Yoon Nam‑hyuk frowned, displeased. “Yoo Ji‑hoon! Can’t you say it all at once? Must I drag it out of you piece by piece? Do you not want your bonus?”

“…My apologies, President. The attackers had short knives; Qi Huai was cut on the arm. The injury isn’t serious. They bought medicine and gauze at a pharmacy—Baek Soo-kyung already bandaged Qi Huai. Then… they went back to Qi Huai’s place.”

Yoon Nam‑hyuk: …

Ha, an arm wound?

It’s always either bandaging someone’s arm or being bandaged by someone else—quite the destiny with arms. And after bandaging, you take him home? What’s that supposed to mean—hero saves beauty and then goes home for instant ramen and bed?

Planning to toss Baek Soo-kyung into the tub and hold him, or grab his wrist, cover his mouth, and grope him everywhere!?

Ha! Ridiculous.

Sunshine Saint, my ass!

Teeth clenched, Yoon Nam‑hyuk said, “Where does he live?”

Assistant Yoo opened the treasured iPad to the folder labeled Actor Qi. “A rooftop room about twenty minutes from the company.”

“A rooftop room? Why not stay in the company’s artist apartments—they’re better than a rooftop. What the hell is Choi Min‑jun doing every day? Is this how he ‘takes care’ of artists?” Yoon Nam‑hyuk downed his coffee in one gulp and slammed the cup on the desk.

Assistant Yoo silently mourned the specialty hand brew that bypassed the tongue straight to the stomach, then said evenly, “Shall I ask Manager Choi?”

No response.

After a while—

“…No,” Yoon Nam‑hyuk muttered. “He can live wherever he wants. None of my damn business.”

“Understood,” Assistant Yoo nodded.

Silence.

Then Yoon Nam‑hyuk suddenly fixed his gaze on him.

Goosebumps rising, Assistant Yoo recovered in a beat and offered with a warm smile, “President, here’s my thought: the company should standardize rookies’ daily conduct—no overnights outside their own homes. So I’ll have the team continu— ahem, observe. If it gets too late, we’ll call Baek Soo-kyung away.”

Yoon Nam‑hyuk’s expression eased. “Fine. You decide.”

Assistant Yoo: Ha.