The school hallway was a warzone of squeaky sneakers and hormonal chaos, but that text on my burner phone burned hotter than any middle school drama. Heard you're back, White Dragon. Stay dead, or you'll wish you were. Someone knew I was alive—well, alive-ish, in this pint-sized body of Lee Do-hyun. My money was on Park Jin-woo, the weasel who'd probably danced on my grave the second I bled out on those Incheon docks. But I needed proof, and I needed a plan. Step one: survive first period.
I shoved the phone into my pocket, dodging a kid who nearly impaled me with a pencil. Hong Middle School was no Itaewon back alley, but it had its own predators—bullies with bad haircuts and teachers with grudges. I slipped into the math classroom, where Kim Hae-rin, the class president with a stare sharper than a switchblade, was already at the front, handing out worksheets like she was judge, jury, and executioner.
"Do-hyun," she said, not looking up. "Homework. Now."
I slumped into my seat, my too-tight uniform creaking like it was mocking me. "Working on it, your highness," I muttered. The class snickered, but Hae-rin's eyes flicked to me, cold and calculating. I'd seen that look before—on loan sharks and triad bosses. This girl was trouble, and not just because she was gunning for my detention record. Her family was rich, connected, maybe even dirty. In my old life, I'd have had her background checked by lunch. Now? I was stuck solving quadratic equations.
The teacher, a balding guy named Park who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, droned on about factoring polynomials. I zoned out, my brain running numbers of a different kind. My old accounts—50 million won in a Cayman Islands shell, another 20 in a Busan locker under a fake name. If Jin-woo was running my old crew as the Black Crane Syndicate, he'd be sniffing around those funds. I needed to move first, but how? I couldn't exactly waltz into a bank looking like I belonged at a milk carton audition.
A paper ball hit my desk. I glanced up to see a smirking kid with a buzzcut, probably thinking he'd punked the class loser. I unfolded the note: Nerd, give me your answers or eat dirt. Cute. I scribbled back, Try harder, or I'll sell your sneakers on the dark web. I tossed it back, watching his face pale. Amateurs. I'd negotiated with men who'd cut throats over a bad deal, and this kid thought he could scare me?
The bell rang, and Hae-rin materialized at my desk. "No homework, no excuses. Detention after school." She leaned closer, voice low. "And stop acting like you're above everyone. It's weird."
I raised an eyebrow. "Weird? You're the one playing hall monitor like it's a cartel." Her lips twitched—amusement or annoyance, I couldn't tell. Either way, she was sharp, and I needed to know if she was just a goody-two-shoes or something more dangerous.
Lunch was my chance to breathe. I grabbed my tray of soggy kimchi and rice, scanning the cafeteria for a quiet corner. Sun-hee plopped down across from me, her pigtails bouncing. "Oppa, you're acting so spacey today. Did you hit your head or something?"
"Something like that," I said, poking at the food. My stomach growled, but my pride wasn't ready to admit this slop was my new reality. Sun-hee, though—she was the real deal. Frail, sharp-tongued, and way too perceptive for a 10-year-old. In my old life, I'd have burned the world down for less than her hospital bills. Now, she was my anchor, the one thing keeping me from going full White Dragon on Mapo's streets.
"You gotta eat," she said, shoving a spoonful of rice at me. "Eomma says you're too skinny."
I snorted. "Eomma's out here calling me skinny while I'm dodging death threats." The words slipped out before I could stop them. Sun-hee's eyes widened.
"Death threats? Oppa, you're so dramatic." She giggled, but I caught the worry in her voice. Damn it. I needed to be careful. This kid didn't deserve to get dragged into my mess.
"Joking," I said, ruffling her hair. "Just school stuff. Bullies, you know?"
She nodded, but her frown said she wasn't buying it. Before I could redirect, my phone buzzed again. Another text, same unknown number: Mapo's too small for you, Dragon. Leave, or the kid gets it. My blood ran cold. The kid. Sun-hee. I gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked, my old instincts screaming to hunt, to kill. But I was a 13-year-old nobody now, not the White Dragon who could make men vanish with a phone call.
"Stay here," I told Sun-hee, standing up. She protested, but I was already moving, slipping out to the school courtyard. I needed air, a plan, and maybe a miracle. The courtyard was packed—kids laughing, a few sneaking smokes behind the gym. I leaned against a wall, running through options. Confront Jin-woo? Too soon, no leverage. Track the number? I didn't have the tech anymore. Bulldog—where the hell was he? If anyone could help, it was that loyal idiot.
As if on cue, I heard a familiar grunt. Across the street, outside the school gate, a delivery truck idled, and there he was—Jang Ki-bum, "Bulldog," hauling a crate of instant noodles. Six-foot-something, built like a bulldozer, wearing a neon-green delivery vest that looked like it was begging for mercy. He hadn't changed, except for the dumb baseball cap he probably thought made him blend in.
I jogged over, ignoring the weird looks from classmates. "Ki-bum!" I hissed, keeping my voice low.
He turned, squinting. "Kid, you got the wrong guy. I'm working." His voice was gruff, but his eyes lingered, like he was trying to place me.
I leaned closer, dropping the old code phrase we'd used for emergencies: "The crane flies at midnight."
Bulldog's jaw dropped, the crate slipping slightly in his arms. "No way… Boss?" He looked me up and down, confusion morphing into a grin. "What the hell happened to you? You shrink in the wash?"
I groaned. "Long story. Meet me tonight, Mapo Station, 9 p.m. Don't wear that stupid vest."
He nodded, still grinning like an idiot. "You got it, Boss. Man, I knew you weren't dead!"
"Keep it down," I snapped, glancing around. The last thing I needed was some nosy kid overhearing. But as I turned back to the school, I caught Hae-rin watching me from the gate, her arms crossed, that same calculating look on her face. Great. Just what I needed—another problem in a skirt.