Jeong walked toward the school gates with slow, measured steps.
White bandages covered one side of his face, and faint scratches marked his hands. Every movement felt unfamiliar—too light, too fragile.
I have to act normal, Ryun thought inside Jeong's body.
No suspicion. No mistakes.
Students passed by him, some staring openly, others whispering behind their hands. Jeong kept his gaze down, pretending not to notice.
Suddenly—
A voice echoed in his mind. Calm. Heavy. Authoritative.
"You must behave like an ordinary human."
A flash of memory unfolded.
Tavros stood in a vast, dark space, his presence overwhelming even without showing his true form.
"The Northeast Twins can sense abnormalities," Tavros said.
"If you attract attention, they will notice you. That's why I'm speaking through telepathy."
Ryūn had bowed deeply back then.
"Understood, Master."
The present snapped back.
Jeong looked ahead—and collided with someone.
Thud.
He stumbled back a step, instinctively raising his hands. The man standing before him was… strange. His clothes were ordinary, yet something about him felt wrong. Dangerous.
For a split second, Jeong sensed it—
an aura, heavy and ancient.
Like standing before a dormant dragon.
Their eyes met.
Cold. Sharp. Measuring.
Jeong's heart skipped.
This presence… it's not human.
But the man said nothing.
He simply walked past, disappearing into the crowd as if nothing had happened.
Jeong stood frozen.
Who was that…?
A moment later, reality hit him again.
School.
He hurried inside and took his seat. The classroom slowly filled with noise, but the moment students noticed him, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Isn't that Jeong…?"
"I heard he got beaten again."
"Why is he even here?"
The sound of murmurs twisted into something familiar.
Another memory surfaced.
Jeong—much younger—being dragged through a street, his wrists bound with chains. People stood on both sides, whispering, watching, judging. No one helped. No one spoke for him.
The memory faded—but the feeling stayed.
Just then, a chair scraped against the floor.
"Enough."
A firm female voice cut through the classroom. The whispers died instantly.
The class leader stood near Jeong's desk, her expression calm but commanding.
"Stop bothering him. Focus on your own work."
Silence.
She stepped closer and gently placed a hand on Jeong's shoulder.
"Are you okay, Jeong?"
Jeong blinked.
Jeong…
That was the name of this body's owner. From now on, that was who he had to be.
"Y-Yes," he replied quietly.
But inside, confusion swirled.
Why don't I remember her…?
The answer surfaced naturally.
Jeong had rarely come to school.
He was bullied constantly.
When the class leader visited his home to check on him, Jeong intentionally stayed silent inside, refusing to respond, pretending he wasn't there.
So that's why… Ryun realized.
She tried to help. But the original Jeong had already given up.
Before he could think further—
A shadow fell over his desk.
The bullies had arrived.
One of them smirked, leaning forward.
"Look who finally decided to show up."
Another cracked his knuckles.
"You owe us money, Jeong. Thought you could run away forever?"
Jeong clenched his injured hand.
His body trembled—but his eyes didn't.
Deep inside, something stirred.
Not power.
Not yet.
But resolve.
I am not the Jeong you broke, Ryun thought silently.
And this time… I won't disappear.
Jeong walked down the crowded school corridor, his steps measured, his eyes sharp. The bandages on his face itched slightly, and his bruised hands reminded him of yesterday's struggle—but he didn't flinch. Not now. Not ever.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Is that Jeong?"
"He's here again…"
"Finally showed up, huh?"
Jeong ignored them all, focusing only on his path.
Then, a shadow fell across him.
A tall, broad-shouldered boy stepped forward, smirk on his face. One of the notorious kickboxers of the school. He had been training for over two years, and everyone knew not to mess with him.
"Hey, Jeong," the bully sneered, his voice low but venomous. "10,000 won. Today."
Jeong adjusted his bag strap, his calm voice slicing through the tension:
"I don't have it."
The bully raised an eyebrow, as if surprised someone dared answer him.
"And why the fuck not? Don't tell me you're gonna starve, huh?"
A small crowd had gathered, whispers and murmurs buzzing like bees.
The bully's companions laughed, eager to see Jeong get humiliated.
Then, without warning, the lead bully threw a punch—fast, sharp, full force. Trained years of kickboxing made him confident it would land.
But instinct took over.
Jeong didn't even think. His body moved on its own, sidestepping cleanly. The punch tore through empty air, missing him by inches.
The corridor went silent.
The bully's jaw dropped. His fist still extended, his face flushed with disbelief and rage.
"You… you dodged that? What the fuck?" he spat, glaring at Jeong.
The crowd erupted in murmurs, excitement and shock mixing together.
Jeong remained calm, his eyes steady, his breathing controlled.
"Dodge one move, and you think you're some manhwa main character?" the bully barked, stepping closer. "R-right now, I'll—"
"Stop."
The sharp, commanding voice of the class leader cut through the tension. She walked up, hand on her hip, authority in every step.
"You all need to shut the fuck up. Now."
The bully ground his teeth.
"Yeah… whatever. This time he got lucky," he muttered under his breath. "Wait till lunch. I'll make sure he doesn't dare cross me again."
With a final glare at Jeong, he stormed off, puffed with ego, leaving the crowd buzzing.
Jeong stayed rooted, his mind clear.
This body isn't weak.
No flashy powers yet—but instinct… instinct is more than enough.
And somewhere in the crowd, unnoticed, the first whispers of something dangerous watching stirred.
Jeong was still standing there, his senses sharp, when he felt it again—
that strange pressure in the air.
As if someone was watching him.
Just as he turned slightly—
"Why did you do that, Jeong?"
The voice was familiar.
Jeong looked up and froze.
A boy stood a few steps away, leaning on crutches. One of his legs was wrapped in plaster, uneven and stiff. His face looked thinner than before, his eyes dull, tired—like someone who hadn't slept properly in months.
"…Minho," Jeong muttered.
The name surfaced instantly.
Minho.
The only friend Jeong ever had.
Minho walked closer, the sound of the crutches echoing softly in the corridor.
"You shouldn't have talked back," Minho said quietly. "You can't do anything to them. Their gang is big… really big."
Jeong stayed silent, but memories crashed into his mind.
Minho had always been the one who stood beside him.
When the bullies crossed the line, Minho had snapped. He had fought them—beaten a few badly. That day, Minho had decided he wouldn't stay silent anymore.
But it didn't end there.
On his way home from work one night, the bully leader returned—
not alone.
Street thugs.
Too many.
They had beaten Minho mercilessly.
That broken leg.
Those crutches.
That hollow look in his eyes.
After that day, Minho changed.
He became distant.
Depressed.
He quit taekwondo.
He stopped coming near Jeong.
Not because he didn't care—
but because he was afraid.
"I don't want you getting hurt again," Minho continued, avoiding Jeong's eyes.
"They don't play fair."
Jeong felt something tighten in his chest.
So this is why he stayed away…
Before he could say anything, the bell rang.
The corridor emptied, and the scene shifted.
Classroom – A Different Kind of Battle
Jeong sat at his desk, eyes on the board.
As the lesson progressed, something surprised him.
This body… understands everything.
Formulas. Concepts. Logic.
The original Jeong wasn't stupid—he was smart.
He just lacked confidence.
So he was never weak, Ryun realized.
He was just broken.
Then he noticed her.
A girl sitting a few rows ahead.
The moment Jeong saw her face, another memory surfaced—sharp and painful.
She was friends with the bullies.
One day, she had secretly slipped a cigarette into Jeong's bag.
When the teacher found it, Jeong told the truth.
That night, the bully leader had beaten him brutally.
That was the same day—
Jeong had tried to end his life.
His chest tightened.
Jeong lowered his gaze, fingers curling slowly.
This body survived all of that…
And now Ryun was inside it.
I won't let it break again.
The bell rang.
And somewhere outside the classroom, unseen and unnoticed,
the world continued to move—
toward something far more dangerous than school bullies.
The rooftop was empty… except for him.
Jeong stood there, bandages on his face, bruises on his hands, the wind scratching at his clothes. The city spread beneath him, endless and uncaring.
And then… they came.
Eight of them.
The bullies.
The leader stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with a cocky smirk.
"So, your mouth's been running a lot lately, huh, brat?" he sneered.
"Time to shut it up… properly."
Jeong said nothing. His body tense. His mind… calm.
The leader lunged first, throwing a jab–cross combo, trained and fast.
Instinct took over.
Jeong sidestepped effortlessly. The punch sliced through the air, missing by inches.
The bullies froze.
The leader scowled.
"Learning to fight now, madarchod? Huh? Let's see if you can handle this!"
He spun, throwing a high roundhouse kick.
Jeong ducked. Then twisted. The kick barely brushed him, tearing the sleeve of his uniform.
Confidence sparked in his chest.
I can dodge… I can survive… maybe even fight back.
The leader's grin turned darker.
"Alright, gaandik*, now you're gonna learn the real pain."
He launched a flurry:
Low sweep kick
Elbow strike to the ribs
Side hook punch
Jeong's body moved on instinct, weaving between strikes.
Then—BAM!
A knee shot up, striking his jaw.
Blood exploded from his mouth.
Jeong staggered, head spinning.
This body… it was weak.
Exhausted. Untrained.
The leader laughed, loud, cruel.
"See that, bhosdike? Instinct doesn't mean shit if your body's trash!"
He flicked his cigarette ash.
"Leave him for a sec, you little shits, he's mine."
The lackeys advanced.
Jeong stood, knees shaking. Blood dripping. Vision blurring.
One lackey swung at him.
Jeong dodged—and struck.
A single, precise blow. The lackey crumpled.
Everyone froze.
"What the fuck?!" one shouted.
"He… he didn't even touch him!"
The wind shifted.
Pressure crawled down Jeong's spine.
Half a shadow appeared, face unseen.
A voice—low, calm, terrifying—whispered:
"Game… start now."
The bullies lunged.
Jeong moved.
It wasn't him.
Fluid, precise, ruthless movements—
Spinning elbows snapping joints
Palm strikes shattering balance
Twists and locks leaving them unconscious
One by one. Bodies hitting the concrete.
The rooftop fell silent.
Jeong collapsed, exhausted, shaking, blood in his mouth.
Around him, the unconscious bodies.
And somewhere, unseen, a sinister presence lingered… watching, controlling, smiling.