The memory felt distant, but it was only a week ago.
Arin stood in front of the Royal Hotel. Snow had not yet swallowed the world back then. The lobby inside glowed warmly against the cold air outside. As Arin entered, his eyes calmly swept across the interior. At the front desk stood a young woman with pink hair, neatly tied back, offering a professional smile to every guest.
She must be doing a part-time job to survive, Arin thought as he passed by her without a second glance.
The world was still normal back then. But now…
Present Day. January 13 – The Seventh Day of the World of Snow.
Snow roared outside, blanketing everything under an endless white sheet.
Inside his apartment, Arin sat silently on his worn-out couch, his eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. The news anchor, bundled in thick clothes, spoke with urgency.
"The snowfall shows no sign of stopping. Temperatures have dropped to dangerous lows, reaching minus thirty degrees in many areas. The government has officially advised everyone to stay indoors until further notice."
Arin leaned back, his crimson-tinted eyes reflecting the frozen wasteland beyond the window. The world was slowly being buried alive.
Meanwhile, in another part of the apartment building, Jacklin was stewing with frustration.
The overweight, short, and unpleasant manager sat on her floral-patterned couch, furiously tapping her phone with her sausage-like fingers. Her apartment smelled faintly of stale food and cheap perfume.
Jacklin sent a message to the building's group chat, her eyes burning with anger.
Jacklin (message): "Arin and Ayric must clean the snow! They are young and strong!"
Seconds later, a reply popped up.
Arin (message): "The ground floor is already completely buried under snow.
According to your logic, Jack should handle it. He's the leader of a gang. He has people."
Jacklin's jaw dropped as she read the words. Her face turned beet red.
How dare that brat talk back to her?!
Slamming her fist onto the armrest, she grabbed her phone and immediately dialed a number. Her stubby fingers barely hit the right keys.
At the same time, in a different apartment unit…
Jack sat sprawled on a leather chair, one leg thrown lazily over the armrest. His muscular arms were crossed behind his head. A few rough-looking gang members chatted and laughed around him, trying to kill time as the snowstorm raged outside.
Jack's phone buzzed.
Grunting, he picked it up and read the group messages.
As he scrolled, his eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened.
The relaxed atmosphere in the room instantly shifted.
Jack lowered the phone slowly. His dark eyes, hidden partly by the beard framing his face, burned with irritation.
Who does this kid think he is? Jack thought, his fingers curling into a fist.
Outside, the snow continued to fall harder, as if nature itself was warning that a storm was coming — not just in the skies, but inside the building too.
(End of Chapter 6)
