The man who appeared before Ilak, now alone, was an uncle whose face he didn’t know.

Three months later, that man, who had been drunkenly using Ilak as a punching bag, ran away.

Young Ilak, who had lost everything, insurance money, inheritance, all of it…met a man.

“Your name?”

“La… Ilak.”

My name was a flower. It was something my grandmother cherished, the last gift my mom and dad gave me.

“It’s a flower. My name.”

“Yeah.”

Chuckle, in the end, I was pricked again by the man’s fingertips.

“Suits you. Pretty.”

In front of the orphanage, where the man had driven him, Ilak spoke.

“What’s your name, Mister?”

“What do you need my name for?”

“My grandmother said that if someone helps you, you must repay the kindness.”

The man, pulling out a lighter to light his cigarette, asked again.

“How are you planning to repay that kindness?”

“I’ll do anything you want.”

Thankfully, it was an easy question.

Latest Release