LOCKED STREAM IDOL: OWNED BY MY STEPBROTHER AND FOUR YANDERE FRIENDS

“Aerin!” Mr. Kang’s voice boomed through the open garage. No answer came, only the dull clinking of a wrench hitting the undercarriage of his old sedan. “Aerin-ah!” he barked again, louder this time, his chest heaving under a grease-stained jumpsuit but still, nothing. He clicked his tongue in sharp annoyance, a heavy growl escaping his throat. “Aigoo, that useless punk.” Muttering under his breath, he grabbed the edges of the mechanic creeper and wheeled himself out from under the car. He sat up, wiping his black-smudged hands on a rag, his face twisted in a scowl. “Always glued to those screens,” he growled to the empty garage, tossing the wrench into a metal toolbox, “I swear to God, I am going to take a hammer to those stupid computers today.” He marched into the house and stopped right in front of Aerin’s bedroom door, found it locked, and immediately began pounding on the wood with his fist. “Open this door!” Inside, the world was completely different. Aerin sat in the glow of dual monitors with large noise-canceling headphones resting over his ears, entirely cutting him off from the chaos outside. He had a soft smile on his face, his eyes crinkling as he looked at the scrolling chat on his left screen. “Ah, thank you for the five stars, Min-ji,” Aerin said into his mic, “Yes, I ate dinner already. Don't worry about me. I'm just happy to be streaming for you guys tonight. Even if it's small, having you all here makes it—” He was cut off when he felt the floorboards beneath his chair vibrate. Slowly, he opened up his ear, hearing the muffled shouts of his father, he froze, his smile faltering. “Open it before I smash it down, you bastard!” Panic flared in Aerin’s chest as he looked at the chat, which was already starting to ask if everything was okay. “Uh, guys, I have to go. Sudden technical issue. See you next time,” he blurted, immediately killing the stream, he then ripped the headphones off his head, tossing them onto the desk, his heart hammering against his ribs. The moment his hand turned the lock and pulled the door open, he was already met with a fist connecting squarely with his jaw. The force of the punch sent Aerin stumbling backward, collapsing hard onto the ground. He cradled his face, gasping as a sharp pain bloomed across his cheek and mouth, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Mr. Kang stood in the doorway, pointing a finger right at Aerin's face. His eyes were wild with disgust. “Look at you! A grown man, hiding in a room begging strangers for pennies!” the older man yelled with rage. “Father—” “Shut up!” Mr. Kang pushed past him, stomping into the small room. He looked at the glowing monitors, the expensive microphone, the ring light, his face contorting as if he were looking at trash. Then raised a boot, aiming a kick toward the computer tower beneath the desk. “This is what's ruining this family! This is why you are a disgrace compared to your brother!” Seeing the boot lift, Aerin’s fear instantly turned into desperation as he scrambled off the floor, throwing his body between his father and the desk, his hands raised in the air. “Don't!” Aerin cried out, standing firmly in front of the desk, shielding the equipment with his own torso. He looked his father dead in the eye, tears of frustration stinging his vision but refusing to fall. “Hit me all you want, I don't care. But don't you dare touch my computers.” Mr. Kang took the defiance like a slap to the face, “You arrogant little bastard,” he hissed, and with a shove, he threw Aerin sideways. Aerin crashed into his bedframe, he could only watch in horror as his father lunged forward kicking the computer tower beneath the desk. The plastic casing cracked open, not satisfied. He grabbed the main monitor, ripped the cords from the wall and slammed it face-down onto the desk, breaking the glass into a spiderweb of dead pixels. “No—” Aerin screamed, diving off the bed to throw himself over the remaining equipment. Before Mr. Kang could raise his boot for another strike, a hand clamped down on his shoulder stopping him mid swing. “Father, that's enough now.” The voice was cool, steady, and completely detached from the violence in the room. Aerin snapped, his chest heaving as he pushed himself up from the floor, tears finally spilling, “Get out! Both of you, get the hell out of my—” The words died in his throat when his eyes locked onto the figure who had just yanked his father backward. Min Jiwon. Jiwon stood there in a dark suit, his hair perfectly styled, not a single hair out of place. His expression was a mask of calmness, looking entirely out of place in the cramped bedroom. Aerin’s stomach churned, his mind reeling. “Of course, he was here to witness me at my lowest.” Aerin immediately pointed a finger straight at Jiwon's face. “This is your fault,” he spat, “This is all your fault!” Jiwon didn't blink or try to defend himself. Aerin grabbed the edge of his door, slammed it shut with a force that shook the entire hallway, and threw the lock. Outside the room, Mr. Kang violently yanked his shoulder away from Jiwon’s grip, straightening his dirty jumpsuit. He clicked his tongue, glaring up at his stepson. “Why are you stopping me, huh?” the older man grumbled. He never yelled at Jiwon the way he yelled at Aerin. “You shouldn't have interfered, Jiwon-ah. That boy needs to be taught a lesson.” Jiwon adjusted his cuffs, “wrecking his room won't solve anything, Father. It's beneath you.” “Beneath me? Look at him!” Mr. Kang gestured wildly at the closed door, “He is a disgrace to this family name. While you are running an entire entertainment empire, he is locked in a room playing games for pocket change. And you—” The older man stopped, narrowing his eyes as a sudden wave of bitterness took over. “You always do this. Why do you always defend that useless punk?” Jiwon’s hands went still as he looked down at his stepfather, “I am not defending him,” Jiwon said, “I am managing the peace of this house. Let it go.” Mr. Kang opened his mouth to argue, but looking into Jiwon’s eyes, he swallowed his words, merely muttering another curse under his breath before storming back toward the garage. ××× Days later, Aerin returned from his usual night jogs. He has the last week completely ignoring his father to avoid another confrontation. He slipped through the front door, to meet a quiet house believing the coast was clear, he let out a sigh, slipping off his sneakers and whistling a tune under his breath as he stepped into the living room. When suddenly the lights overheard flooded the room, blinding him for a second. Aerin blinked rapidly, his heart dropping into his stomach. Mr. Kang was sitting in the armchair in the corner, a half-empty glass of soju on the table beside him. “We need to talk,” he said flatly. Aerin stiffened. He didn't even look at him, already turning toward the hallway. “I don't want to. I'm tired.” “Sit down, Aerin.” “I said I'm going to my room,” Aerin muttered, taking a step forward. “Your mother had high hopes for you before she died.” The words cut through the living room, causing Aerin to stop dead in his tracks. He didn't turn around, but his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Mr. Kang let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair. “She really did. On her deathbed, she made me promise to look after you, believing you’d actually amount to something. Do you know how hard that is for me? To look at you every day and see how much you’ve failed her memory?” Aerin swallowed hard, the sting of the words burning the back of his throat. “You know who Jiwon’s mother was,” his father continued, “She was my first love. The woman who broke my heart, who walked away from me. When I took Jiwon in, I wanted YOU to be the successful one. I wanted my true son to outshine her bloodline. I wanted you to look down on him.” Mr. Kang stood up, his steps echoing as he walked closer to Aerin. “But look at what happened. Jiwon is a king. And you?” He stepped into Aerin’s line of sight, “You are a clown,” his father hissed. “A beggar on the internet while your brother runs the entire entertainment industry.” From all the years of comparison, the pressure, the bruises, all boiled over, and Aerin snapped. “Then stop looking at me!” He yelled, “If I'm such a disappointment, stop expecting me to live out your sick, pathetic revenge against a dead woman! I didn't ask to be compared to Jiwon! I am doing what I love, and I don't give a damn if it fits your pride!” Mr. Kang’s face went completely purple, his eyes widening in disbelief, “What did you just say to me? You ungrateful little bastard, I am the one providing for you! This roof over your head, the food in your stomach—it’s all paid for by MY sweat!” “Then I don't want it!” Aerin screamed back, “I can provide for myself just fine! I don't need your money, and I damn sure don't need to stay under your roof if it means being suffocated by your hatred every single day!” The room went dead silent as Aerin expected another punch, bracing himself for it. But instead, a smile crept onto his father's face like he'd been waiting for this moment. “Is that so?” Mr. Kang whispered, walking a few steps away from Aerin. “Then leave," Aerin blinked, the anger suddenly turning into shock. “What...?” “You heard me! You said you can provide for yourself, so do it!” Mr. Kang didn't even give him a chance to move as he lunged forward, grabbing Aerin by the collar of his hoodie. “Wait—” He hadn't expected this to happen so soon. “Get out of my house!” The man yelled, aggressively dragging Aerin toward the front entrance. Aerin stumbled, his socks slipping on the hardwood floor as he tried to find his footing. Mr. Kang threw open the front door, the chilly night air rushing into the house, and with one final heave, he shoved Aerin out. Aerin collapsed onto his hands and knees, the stone scraping his palms. He turned around wildly, his breath catching in his throat as he looked up from the ground. “Don't you ever come back.” That was the last thing Aerin heard before the door was slammed.