The rehabilitation center I stayed in was a rather ridiculous place.
Mostly because there was no real labor.
Other centers forced addicts to work in farms or plantations, but here there wasn't even land to grow vegetables.
The girls could sign up for sewing classes if they wanted. Someone would take them outside to learn tailoring. Most of them liked it—it gave them something light to do so the days passed faster.
The guys had different options.
They could go to the gym, enroll in English classes, or help with gardening around the yard.
Personally, I liked none of those things.
Ever since I arrived, my daily routine had been simple: eat, sleep, repeat.
I tried the gym a few times, but it was always packed with sweaty bodies and loud grunting, so I gave up after a few days.
But lately, I had started going there every single day.
Not because I suddenly became passionate about fitness.
Because Victor Santos dragged me there.
For some mysterious reason, the old gangster had recently developed a sudden enthusiasm for bodybuilding.
The first time he suggested going to the gym, I thought he was joking.
With that skinny frame of his, lifting weights looked about as convincing as a political cartoon.
But apparently, he was serious.
The moment he unbuttoned his shirt and walked into the weight room, his bony chest exposed, the entire place went silent.
Everyone just stared.
Victor marched straight to the bench press where a huge barbell waited.
My lips twitched.
"Kuya Victor… are you planning to go to the hospital and get released early?"
He burst out laughing.
"You little brat. Watch this."
The thin body lying beneath the massive bar looked completely mismatched.
But when he grabbed the bar and lifted it…
Up.
Down.
Up again.
Effortlessly.
My jaw almost dropped.
The crowd around us started shouting and cheering as if they were watching a professional bodybuilding competition.
The noise echoed so loudly that even the staff office next door opened its door to see what was happening.
Several heads peeked out.
And among them…
was Angela.
***
A counselor stepped outside holding a glass of water, smiling politely.
"Victor, you look thin but you're surprisingly strong."
Victor calmly took the glass and drank it in one gulp.
"That's because some little punks keep staring at me," he replied casually. "I have to stay in shape in case they try to jump me."
He turned and grinned at me.
I snorted quietly.
For someone so skinny, the man had unbelievable strength.
Even I wasn't sure I could lift that much.
The counselor chuckled awkwardly and started walking away.
I hurried after him.
"Sir, why are there inmates inside the staff office?"
He looked at me with mild curiosity.
"You're new here, right? The office is where students can come talk to the counselors. If you have problems, you're free to come in."
I licked my lips thoughtfully.
"Anytime?"
He nodded.
"Of course. Actually, we're also preparing the school newspaper right now. If you can draw, write poems, or tell stories, we'd love some help."
My heart began dancing quietly in my chest.
This man had incredible insight.
Because in my entire life, I possessed exactly two talents:
Drawing nonsense.
And making up stories.
And just moments ago I had spotted Angela sitting inside that office.
I grabbed the counselor's arm enthusiastically.
"Sir! Those are exactly my specialties!"
He looked at me suspiciously.
"You'd better actually know how to do it. Angela is already helping us with the newspaper, and a lot of boys have tried to join just to flirt with her. Their drawings looked like kindergarten scribbles and none of them could write a single poem. We kicked them all out."
I nearly fainted from embarrassment.
Apparently this man hadn't read my profile yet.
Still, judging by the intelligent glow on my face, he somehow guessed the truth immediately.
But I put on my thickest skin and followed him into the office anyway.
Normally I wouldn't waste time helping with a silly newspaper in a tiny rehab center like this.
But Angela was inside.
And the moment I heard she was working there, something inside me began to stir for the first time since I entered the center.
***
The staff office was smaller than I expected.
A long table stood in the middle of the room.
Angela sat at one end, her hair tied into a ponytail. She was leaning over a sheet of paper, sketching something carefully.
Several sheets of paper were scattered across the table.
A few older female counselors were bending over their work as well.
The counselor who brought me in spoke with obvious uncertainty.
"A new student wants to help with the newspaper. Maybe you can see if he's suitable."
The older women looked up at me with expressions full of doubt.
I couldn't blame them.
According to the counselor, many boys had already come here pretending to help just so they could flirt with Angela.
I turned toward her and gave my most elegant, respectable smile.
First impressions were important when courting a girl.
At least, that was what I believed.
Angela didn't even look up.
She continued drawing as if I didn't exist.
How rude.
I had carefully prepared that pose and she didn't even glance at me once.
Trying not to kick her in the throat, I sat down calmly.
Three charcoal pencils lay on the table, along with a box of watercolor paints and a few brushes.
I turned to the oldest counselor, who seemed to be in charge.
"What is the theme of the newspaper, ma'am?"
Apparently no one had spoken to her with such polite language in a long time.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Our theme is Teacher's Day," she said kindly. "What's your name? You must be new here."
"My name is Marco. I just arrived recently. What kind of illustration do you need?"
She handed me a blank sheet of paper.
"Could you draw a picture of a student giving flowers to a teacher wearing a traditional dress?"
I nearly fainted.
Was this a kindergarten project?
This was a rehabilitation center, not an elementary school.
Seeing my miserable expression, she asked gently,
"Is it too difficult?"
I almost cried.
If she had asked me to draw her naked, I could have done it without hesitation.
But drawing something so childish felt like an insult to my artistic dignity.
Still, I forced a smile.
"I can draw it… but I'm not very inspired by that idea."
Everyone looked at me.
I leaned forward confidently.
"How about this? Let me sketch a concept about the future of the center for Teacher's Day."
The entire room froze.
The counselors stared at me as if K-pop fans had just met their favorite idol.
Even Angela couldn't hide her curiosity anymore.
She turned slightly to look at me.
And from that closer distance, I realized just how beautiful she really was.
Her skin was pale with a faint rosy glow.
Her eyes weren't black, but a soft brown, almost like someone with mixed heritage.
Her lips pouted slightly, clearly unconvinced that I knew what I was doing.
Good.
Her doubt only fueled my inspiration.
I grabbed the pencil and began drawing.
Creativity had always been one of my greatest strengths.
The moment I heard the theme, the entire image had already formed in my mind.
I sketched a fierce-looking gangster with a cold face—Victor Santos would be the perfect model.
Then I drew a counselor figure standing beside him.
In the picture, the counselor handed the gangster a giant key in front of a bright blue door.
The meaning was powerful.
A key to the future placed in the hands of those who had lost their way.
A door of hope opening toward a new life.
When I finished the first lines, I couldn't help smiling.
Honestly…
I impressed myself.