A Pure Soul

1.

This was my first FanFiction, and I gotta admit it's not that good; it get's better over time.

The first 6 chapters are a bit repetitive, sorry. 🙏 

 I am sorry for the many grammar mistakes, etc.

Pov: Author

It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon in Seoul. The city was full of people; they laughed, went shopping, or ate something, and amid all this chaos was a lonely soul. In both of his hands, he held bags filled with groceries he had just bought.

The bags were nearly as big as his chest, and his hands were burning from all the heavy lifting he had to do. But no one noticed his struggles—it was as if he were invisible to the rest of the world.

But he understood. Why would anyone care about him? They had enough problems of their own and didn't need another one. They had never noticed him, and they never would. He had made peace with that thought. Every step he took made him feel more exhausted, and every breeze that hit his face and small hands felt colder than the one before.

As he reached the district of Seoul he had to call home, he felt no relief, knowing full well he wouldn't be back in the warmth of their apartment for another half hour. First, he had to run to a small shop on the opposite side of his "home." He hated calling that dirty little apartment his home, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had no money, and the only family he had was his alcoholic father, with whom he lived.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice he was already at his destination and nearly walked past it. The ugly, run-down shop had holes in the walls, and one of its windows was slightly shattered. A piece of cardboard taped over the broken glass was the only thing keeping the wind out.

As he walked to the counter, a familiar discomfort crept over him, knowing the shop owner would soon appear. The boy wasn't someone who judged easily; he always tried to be respectful toward everyone. But this man... this man he disliked deeply. His personality was ugly. He sold drugs—both legal and illegal—to underage people. Jimin himself was proof of that crime. He was only 17, and he had been shopping for himself—and mostly for his father—for the past eight years. He had first come to this store to buy alcohol when he had just turned nine.

"Jimin, how are you, sweetie?" A voice reached his ears, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to reality. He shuddered at the last word.

"Fine," was all he said before laying the alcohol bottles on the counter.

"You know, Jimin, my offer is still on the table. You do this one thing for me, and you don't need to pay today."

There it was again—that smile he hated. The smile that made him feel sick. Jimin would never take that offer. He would never let this man touch him—especially not in the way he wanted to. He would never use his body as payment.

Without a word, he placed the money on the counter. The man looked annoyed but took the cash anyway. As soon as Jimin got his change, he was out of there.

He started running the moment he stepped outside and only stopped once he rounded the next corner.

POV: Jimin

As soon as I had put enough distance between me and the store, I carefully set the groceries down. Catching my breath, I opened my small palms and looked at the red marks on them.

Aishhh, I groaned in my head.

I looked around and noticed it was already getting dark. How late was it? I flipped my hand to check the old watch strapped to my wrist—the one my mother gave me when she was still alive. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remember her by.

My eyes widened when I saw the time: 19:23.

How could it be this late already? I was supposed to be home by 19:30...

Terror filled my eyes as I started running toward the apartment. I wasn't just thinking about the punishments my father would come up with if I were late. It was also dangerous to be outside in this district after sunset.

This was the part of Seoul where the poor and criminals lived. Most police officers here were corrupt, and the few who followed the law didn't live long enough to make a change. The people in charge weren't politicians—they were the mafia.

I had been lucky enough to never encounter any of the leaders. And honestly, I didn't even know what they looked like. Nor was I trying to find out.

The streets were quiet and empty. I hoped to avoid everyone, but sadly, that wish wasn't granted.

On the other side of the street was a tall man wearing expensive-looking black clothes. His whole presence screamed I'm rich and I have authority. He seemed lost in thought, his face emotionless, his eyes focused on the ground.

He had to be crazy to walk down this street in clothes that basically screamed "I AM RICH."

As if on cue, a man stepped out of a dark alley the taller man had just passed. My focus shifted to this new figure. His clothes were old, ripped, and dirty. He had a long beard, and a large scar ran across his left cheek. He looked like he belonged here.

My eyes widened in shock when I saw a large knife sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans.

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1052 words

First of all thanks for reading this story, I wanna apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes. I am not a native speaker but I try my best to give you a rather good reading experience. I am not a very fast writer so I apologize beforehand for my slow updates!

Have a very nice day/night