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Apart From The World

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Apart From The World

Chapter -1

Prince Han (ML)

Jihu Kim (MC)

Chapter -1

The morning sun slipped through a cracked windowpane, its light weak and half-blocked by dust.

The old curtains hung limply, stained with years of neglect.

The floor creaked under the faintest movement, and the entire place reeked of dampness mixed with faint traces of burnt wood from the last winter fire.

This was Jihu’s home.

Jihu sat at the small wooden table, elbows resting on the surface that had long since lost its polish.

The table was uneven, one leg shorter than the others, so it wobbled every time he placed something on it.

In front of him was a single empty plate. No food, no bread, not even rice left from yesterday.

His stomach churned painfully, but he ignored it, staring at the blank plate as though he could force something to appear.

The nineteen-year-old sighed, running a hand through his slightly messy dark hair.

His face, though young, carried shadows far older than his years.

His sharp jawline, tired eyes, and tall frame gave him a dignified look, but that dignity often went unnoticed.

No one cared about a boy struggling at the bottom.

He had been fired the day before from his part-time job at a café.

“We don’t need you anymore. Business is slow. Sorry, kid.” That was all they’d said before shoving his last paycheck into his hands.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Rent was coming, his scholarship covered only tuition, and he had no family to depend on.

His father was locked away in prison after murdering his mother in front of him when he was only eight.

That memory had carved itself into his bones—blood splattering across the kitchen floor, his mother’s lifeless body falling to the ground, his father’s drunken roar echoing in his ears.

He had lived alone ever since, bouncing between part-time jobs and the mercy of neighbors until he could stand on his own feet.

Now, those feet were trembling again, threatening to give out.

His stomach growled loudly. He pressed his hand against it, muttering bitterly,

“...Shut up. I don’t even have money to feed you.”

The sound of hurried footsteps came from outside. Before he could react, the front door creaked open, and a familiar voice called,

“Jihu! You awake?”

It was Ren.

Ren stepped inside without hesitation, his tall, lean figure filling the doorway. His light brown hair was messy, like he had just rolled out of bed, and his expression was a mix of worry and exasperation.

Jihu frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to stop barging in like this?”

“You’d let yourself starve to death if I didn’t,” Ren retorted, holding up a plastic bag from the convenience store.

The smell of warm bread and instant noodles wafted from it, making Jihu’s stomach twist violently.

Immediately, Jihu shook his head and looked away.

“No. Take it back. I don’t want charity.”

“Charity?” Ren raised a brow. “It’s not charity, idiot. It’s called being a friend. You think I’ll just sit by and watch you faint in class again?”

“I won't faint,” Jihu muttered under his breath.

“You nearly collapsed last week,” Ren shot back. “Your face was pale as a corpse. Do you think I didn’t notice?”

Jihu stayed silent. His pride screamed at him to refuse, but his body betrayed him—the way his eyes flickered toward the bag, the way his throat tightened when the aroma reached him.

Ren sighed, walked over, and set the bag down on the table.

He pulled out two bread rolls and shoved one into Jihu’s hands.

“Eat. Or I’ll force-feed you.”

Jihu gave him a sharp glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Ren smirked. “Try me.”

For a long moment, the two stared at each other.

Jihu’s pride and Ren’s stubbornness clashed in silence until finally, Jihu’s stomach growled again, breaking the tension.

His face burned red, and he muttered,

“...Damn it.”

He tore into the bread, chewing quickly as if embarrassed by his own hunger.

Ren sat across from him, calmly eating his own roll, pretending not to notice the way Jihu devoured his food.

That was what Jihu liked about Ren.

He never pitied him openly.

He just… stayed.

After finishing the bread, Jihu leaned back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

His stomach felt a little better, but the weight on his chest didn’t.

“Thanks,” he muttered reluctantly.

Ren grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Jihu clicked his tongue and looked away.

Across the city, another morning had begun—one painted in extravagance and excess.

Inside a grand mansion, light filtered through enormous glass windows into a dining hall larger than Jihu’s entire house.

Chandeliers sparkled above, servants lined the walls, and the long dining table was covered with dishes most people would never see in their lifetime.

At the head of the table sat Prince.

Twenty years old, tall—6’3, broad shoulders, sharp features, and an undeniable aura of arrogance.

He leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his phone while servants carefully arranged plates in front of him. Omelets, sausages, pancakes, fruit platters, freshly squeezed juice—everything a king could want for breakfast.

Yet, his brows furrowed the moment he took a bite.

“What the hell is this?” he snapped, throwing his fork down.

The servant flinched. “S-Sir, is there something wrong with—”

“It tastes like garbage,” Prince interrupted coldly.

He pushed the plate away, glaring at the trembling maid.

“Do you idiots not understand the meaning of seasoning? Or do you think just throwing expensive ingredients together makes it edible?”

The maid bowed repeatedly, apologizing.

Prince sneered, waving his hand dismissively.

“Forget it. Bring me something else. And tell the chef that if he keeps serving me crap like this, I’ll fire him.”

The servants scattered nervously.

Across the table, a calm voice broke through the tension.

“Prince.”

It was his younger brother, Noha.

At eighteen, Noha was only slightly shorter than Prince, with softer features and a calmer aura.

Unlike his brother, his eyes weren’t filled with arrogance but with quiet concern.

“Don’t waste food,” Noha said firmly.

“If you don’t like it, fine. But don’t insult people who are just doing their jobs.”

Prince rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. My annoying little brother, lecturing me first thing in the morning.”

“No, I’m serious,” Noha replied, his tone steady.

“There are people out there who would kill for even a fraction of this food. You sit here in a mansion, throwing tantrums over breakfast, while—”

“—while what?” Prince cut him off sharply, leaning forward.

“Don’t act like you know the world, Noha.

You don’t. You’re just a kid who reads too many moral books. This is how life works. I’m rich. People serve me. End of story.”

Noha’s jaw tightened.

“Those so-called friends of yours—those idiots who laugh at every cruel thing you do—they’re not real friends. You know it. You’re not stupid, Prince. You don’t even like bullying people. You just do it because you’re afraid of losing face in front of them. Am I wrong?”

Prince’s smirk faltered for a split second.

But then he leaned back, chuckling coldly.

“You think you’ve figured me out? How cute. Don’t bother, Noha. You’re not half as clever as you think.”

Noha clenched his fists but didn’t argue further.

He had said enough.

Prince glanced back at his phone, ignoring him, though a flicker of irritation crossed his face. Noha’s words dug deeper than he wanted to admit.

Still, he refused to show weakness.

To the world, Prince was untouchable—the perfect heir to a wealthy family, handsome, arrogant, feared.

The number one bully at school, the one everyone avoided or sucked up to.

His friends were fake, shallow parasites, but he kept them around because it was easier than being alone.

Deep inside, though… he hated the person he had become.

But no one could ever know that.