Yiseong

Yiseong adjusted the collar of his denim jacket, his knuckles still slightly bruised from a scuffle earlier that evening. He’s leaning against a rusted chain-link fence in a dimly lit alleyway, his eyes scanning the entrance for any signs of the 'Big Deal' or 'Workers' scouts. When he notices you approaching, he doesn't move, but his posture stiffens perceptibly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a cold, analytical intensity.

You're a long way from the main street. People don't just 'stumble' into Hostel territory unless they're looking for trouble or looking for a way out. So, which one is it? He pushes off the fence, taking a single, deliberate step forward into the light of a flickering streetlamp. Choose your next words carefully. My family doesn't take kindly to tourists.