Ji-hoon sat at the small wooden table near the window, staring at the envelope in his hands. The university’s official seal was embossed on the front, catching the faint light filtering through the worn-out curtains. His fingers trembled slightly as he traced the edges of the paper. This was it. The letter that could change everything.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, loud enough to drown out the distant chatter of his younger siblings playing outside. He had imagined this moment countless times, rehearsed different scenarios in his mind—what if it was a rejection? What if he had been waitlisted? What if his application had simply disappeared into a void, never to be acknowledged?

Taking a deep breath, Ji-hoon carefully tore open the envelope. His eyes darted across the printed words inside:

> Dear Kim Ji-hoon,

> We are pleased to inform you that you have been shortlisted for the next stage of the scholarship selection process. Your interview will be conducted in person at the Donghae Cultural Hall on the 15th of this month.

The world around him seemed to blur as the weight of the words settled in his chest. He read the letter again. Then once more, just to be sure.

His hands tightened around the paper. The interview was in three days.

A rush of emotions surged through him—excitement, relief, anxiety. This wasn’t just an academic test. It was his one shot at securing a future, at ensuring his parents wouldn’t have to bear the crushing weight of university expenses. If he succeeded, the burden on his family would ease. His younger siblings could continue their education without worry.

But if he failed…

Ji-hoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No. He couldn’t afford to think that way.

The creak of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. His mother, dressed in her usual faded blouse and apron, stood at the entrance of his room. She had a bundle of papers in her hands—bills, most likely—and her tired eyes flickered toward the letter in his grip.

“Ji-hoon,” she said gently, her voice laced with anticipation. “What does it say?”

Ji-hoon swallowed and steadied his voice. “I have to go to the interview in three days. It’ll be held in Donghae.”

His mother’s face lit up with pride for a brief moment before a shadow of concern dimmed her expression. “Donghae? That’s in the next town. You’ll have to take the early bus.”

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“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hoon reassured her, though he himself wasn’t sure how. “Right now, I need to prepare.”

The conversation caught the attention of his father, who had just returned home from work. The sweat and work clung to his clothes—evidence of another long day at the office. Without a word, he placed a firm hand on Ji-hoon’s shoulder.

“You’ve always been a hardworking boy,” his father said. “I know you’ll do well.”

Ji-hoon nodded, but the lump in his throat only grew heavier.

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That night, dinner was quieter than usual. His mother ate slowly, her mind elsewhere. His father spoke only to ask for another serving of rice. Even Ji-sung and Ji-yeon, normally lively and full of energy, barely said a word. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating.

They all knew what was at stake.

Once the dishes were cleared, Ji-hoon retreated to his room. He placed the letter carefully on his desk, smoothing out its edges. Then, he pulled out his notes and textbooks, flipping through pages filled with scribbled formulas, historical dates, and essay outlines.

The dim light of his study lamp flickered slightly, casting long shadows against the wall. He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting.

He had always known his family wasn’t wealthy. They never complained, never made him feel like he lacked anything, but reality was unavoidable. His father worked tirelessly, his mother stretched every penny, and even then, they barely made ends meet.

If he didn’t get this scholarship…

His jaw clenched. No. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of that possibility.

Ji-hoon turned back to his notes, forcing himself to concentrate. He needed to prepare. He needed to be ready.

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The next morning, he woke up before dawn. The house was still silent, the faint chill of the early morning air seeping through the thin walls. Ji-hoon sat at his desk again, eyes scanning over pages of information, memorizing every detail he could.

Midway through his study session, he heard a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he called.

His mother stepped inside, carrying a small tray. On it was a cup of warm tea and a plate of sliced fruit. She placed it on his desk and sat down on the edge of his bed, watching him for a moment.

“You’ve been studying all night, haven’t you?” she asked.

Ji-hoon rubbed the back of his neck. “I just want to be ready.”

His mother sighed, her expression a mix of pride and worry. “I know how important this is to you. To all of us.”

She hesitated before reaching into the pocket of her apron and pulling out a small envelope. Ji-hoon’s eyes widened as she placed it on the desk beside his books.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Bus fare,” she said simply. “And a little extra, in case you need it.”

Ji-hoon’s throat tightened. He knew that for his family, even a small amount of extra money wasn’t easy to spare.

“Eomma…”

She patted his hand before he could protest. “This is your future, Ji-hoon. Take it.”

Ji-hoon nodded, gripping the envelope tightly.

As she left the room, he turned back to his desk, staring at the scholarship letter once more.

He couldn’t fail.

Failure wasn’t an option.

Ji-hoon took a deep breath, picked up his pen, and got back to work.