L*st and Death

Villains are made by the choices they accumulate.

During the interview to enter the Covenant House, a youth homeless shelter, Siron came to a realization—one of life’s bitter truths.

Even an utterly ordinary person could become a villain through a series of wrong decisions.

Located near Hollywood in Los Angeles, Covenant House only accepted homeless youths aged sixteen and older, with a capacity of just thirty-six. That meant there were nowhere near enough spots to rescue all the unfortunate teenagers cast out onto the streets by troubled families in L.A.

Siron thought that, by comparison, his own misfortune wasn’t quite enough to qualify him. His primary caregiver—his maternal grandmother—had passed away, but his mother was still alive, and she even sent him a small allowance once a month.

“How’s your relationship with your family?”

When Eric, the manager at Covenant House, asked Siron the question with a kind expression, he hesitated long enough that the timing for a natural answer passed him by.

My mother starved me. My half-siblings ganged up to torment me. My stepfather beat me with a belt until my whole body was black and blue.

For a fleeting moment, he felt a spark of hope—maybe if he said something like that, he’d be allowed into the shelter. But most of it wasn’t true. His stepfather had been violent only once or twice, and while his mother and half-siblings had distanced themselves from him, they didn’t exactly torment him. They just didn’t know how to deal with a family member who wasn’t truly one of their own.

When Siron was nine, his mother remarried, and he was left in the care of his grandmother. Even before the remarriage, he had always been dropped off at his grandmother’s house on weekends, so he didn’t feel much resentment when his mother moved to the far eastern edge of the country. If anything, he was relieved he got to stay with Grandma.

His grandmother had been the head chef at Daegamdaek, a famous Korean restaurant in Koreatown. After Daegamdaek became a mainstay in K-Town, she spent nearly thirty years working in its kitchen and helping run the business. Thanks to the generous restaurant owner, she’d been able to save a decent amount of money. By the time Siron was twelve, she’d even bought a house in Cerritos, about an hour away from Koreatown.

She often said she would pass the house not to her children, but to Siron, her grandson. But that wish, sadly, never came true. Soon after her pancreatic cancer diagnosis, her condition worsened before she had the chance to put her affairs in order. She passed away, and her assets naturally went to Siron’s mother and uncle—the adult children.

When Siron’s mother sold the Cerritos house, she demanded he move in with her on the East Coast. But Siron chose to stay in L.A., deciding to live off what little money he had saved and hang on until graduation, earning his high school diploma.

“So you’re saying you can’t live with your stepfather, your half-siblings, or any of your family.”

Siron nodded glumly at the manager’s question.

“I hate my mom more than my stepdad. She sold Grandma’s house without even talking to me and used the money to pay off his debts.”

His mom was the worst villain in his life. Falling in love with a garbage man like that, abandoning Siron to marry him, and then wasting the money Grandma had spent her life saving on cleaning up his mess. And even though that man was violent, she didn’t have the courage to divorce him. Instead, she tried to use her eldest son, Siron, as a human shield. Every one of her choices had failed, and all of them had become obstacles in Siron’s life.

“Still... isn’t it better to live with family than out on the streets? It’s dangerous out there.”

The manager continued gently, careful and sincere in his tone.

“Especially for minors who look like you, Siron.”

On the surface, Siron seemed like just another teenager who’d chosen early independence because of family conflict. So if the manager and staff at Covenant House turned him away after the interview, it wouldn’t be unreasonable. But by a stroke of luck, Siron passed the final review and was accepted into the shelter.

Maybe his story had touched the manager’s heart. Or maybe it was the fact that his stepfather had a criminal record for domestic violence. Siron never found out the exact reason. What mattered was that he’d secured a spot at Covenant House—a roof over his head, warm meals, and free medical check-ups once a month from volunteer doctors.

But just because he was lucky didn’t mean life there was pleasant or easy. The rooms were shared by four people, and because Siron had arrived relatively late, he had to take the top bunk despite being one of the oldest. Chores like cleaning the bathroom and common areas also fell to him.

Still, the benefits outweighed the downsides. The biggest was that he could stay in the facility long-term, rent-free, until he turned twenty-one. Covenant House was also conveniently located, just a thirty-minute ride from Koreatown by public transit.

Siron’s dream had always been to become an actor in Korea. He’d been the best actor in his high school theater club, but he never got to play Othello—he got Iago instead. Not Hamlet, but Laertes. Even though he was born and raised in America, he wasn’t white—and that was enough. In the U.S., the idea of an Asian lead actor was a joke. And even if he somehow did land a role in Hollywood someday, he’d be cast as a pretty rent boy or a pitiful character who dies a tragic death. He didn’t want to spend his life stuck in supporting roles just because he was Asian. He wanted to find broader opportunities in Korea, to break through those limits.

He’d even been scouted by casting managers from Korean entertainment companies visiting Koreatown on business trips. They offered to take him in as a trainee, but they all pushed the idol route. Siron wasn’t confident in his singing, and he had no desire to be the awkward rapper doing English verses. So he turned them down—for now. But he kept their business cards, just in case.

So in the end, actor Yoon Siron had always been inevitable. Even if he hadn’t gone to that fancy house party on a whim... even if he hadn’t slipped into the pool and looked like a soaked rat when Baek Kyung spotted him and threw him a rotten lifeline... it was fate. He was always going to become an actor.

But looking back, there were regrets. He had gone to Korea to escape racial limitations and discrimination. He should’ve become an actor he could be proud of. Not someone who exploited desperate people behind Baek Kyung’s back, not some arrogant pretty boy looking down on others from atop a pedestal—but a real actor. Even if it meant a longer, harder path through years of obscurity, he should’ve taken it step by step.

Because his true worth would’ve shone through even without a fluke or a lucky break. But instead, he clung to the easy opportunity. He used the excuse of a sick friendship. He trapped himself in the role of beloved public figure “Yoon Siron,” and blinded himself willingly.

---

“...It’s cold.”

Siron heard his own voice from far away, as if in a dream. His body felt like it was submerged, floating in cold currents—just like during underwater filming.

“It’s freezing... I’m going to die.”

His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and his whole body shivered as if his core temperature had dropped. He tried to press closer to the source of warmth against his back, like meat being flipped over on a grill, and turned toward it. At last, tepid body heat pressed against his frozen chest, and a warm, steady breath brushed over his cheek and nape. As he moved, the distant sound of water sloshing teased at his ears like waves.

“Are you very cold?”

“F-Freezing...”

“Hah. Just a moment ago, you said you were burning up.”

“C-Cold...”

“Then shall we get up?”

The more they talked, the closer the man’s voice seemed to get. Every time warm breath touched the back of his neck, it felt like a soft hand pulling him back to reality. Slowly, Siron opened his eyes. Wet, pale skin. Firm, muscular body. He realized he was leaning against a person.

“Wh-What the hell?!”

Panic shot through him as he pushed away from the body supporting him. Water splashed everywhere, and though it was only knee-deep, he lost his balance and fell backward, inhaling a mouthful of water.

A strong hand grabbed him and hauled him upright. Dr. Johnson loomed over him with a frown as Siron coughed violently. There was no context, no connection in his memory to explain why he was in the water with this man. Then, like scattered photos rushing back out of order—he remembered. The cloth over his face, headlights shining through it, the orange-tinted light behind Johnson’s face, that strangely mournful smile.

“Let’s finish what we started. The third dose of the clinical trial.”

His heart slammed into high alert, pumping blood like a war drum. Thump, thump—his chest echoed. Siron scrambled out of the tub but tripped as soon as he crossed the edge and fell hard onto the floor.

“Ugh!”

Clutching his bruised knee, he bit back tears and quickly scanned his surroundings.

He no longer wore handcuffs, but his ankle was shackled to a metal chain. The chain looped tightly around the sink pipe, giving him only about two meters of movement.

The tub had been roughly constructed with stacked bricks, and the rest of the room was bare cement sealed with waterproof coating—no tiles, no polish. A brutal, utilitarian bathroom that met only the most basic demands of survival.

Was I being waterboarded?

The thought flared through Siron’s panicked mind.

“Hm. Seems like you’re doing better now.”

Johnson leaned over him, droplets falling from his soaked body and hitting Siron’s chest like ice picks.

He spoke as if Siron had just caused some minor trouble. There was no empathy—only mockery.

“You were unconscious for two days after the third dose—”

“Please let me go home.”

Siron interrupted him mid-sentence. Johnson paused.

“Home? You’re with me now...”

Then he fell silent. As if the word itself felt strange in his mouth. As if something about it made it hard to continue. But Siron remembered what Johnson had said. If this experiment succeeded, he’d spend the rest of his life on the run with him. That warning pierced deep into his heart.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Trembling, Siron looked up at him. Johnson studied the fear and fury in his eyes—calm, but persistent. Then he gave a faint, enigmatic smile.

“Because you accepted my invitation.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!