The morning bell rang sharp through the corridors of Daehan High, echoing over the hum of chattering students and the rhythmic squeak of polished shoes on linoleum. The school was pristine, like it had been scrubbed raw with bleach and pride. Shiny floors. Freshly painted walls. A perfectly manicured front lawn that no student dared to step on.
Nam Ji-hoon slipped through the side gate, half a minute before the late bell. His duct-taped shoes slapped against the pavement, drawing glances he’d long since gotten used to. A few girls wrinkled their noses. A pair of boys chuckled and whispered something about “the blob.”
He didn’t flinch. He never did. Instead, he watched. Always watched.
Eyes half-lidded and heavy with exhaustion, Ji-hoon scanned the crowd like a hungry animal too weak to hunt, but still starving.
At 5'3", he was a lump in the sea of tall, fit, genetically superior students. In this world of subsonic sprinters and steel-crushing handshakes, he was a speck. A joke. Fat arms stuffed into a worn-out uniform two sizes too tight, acne scars trailing down a face too pale, too tired.
He tugged his oversized hoodie tighter over his belly as he trudged into class, ignoring the soft tsk of the teacher when he walked past.
Inside, the classroom was warm and blindingly bright. Posters of smiling athletes lined the walls, winners of last year’s inter-academy tournaments. They looked like gods carved out of flesh. Ji-hoon stared at one of them for a moment too long, his jaw tightening.
The teacher’s voice droned on. He didn’t listen. His focus was on his notebook, one of the few possessions he kept clean. Inside were scribbled names, locations, whispered rumors, job listings passed in crumpled notes under desks.
Assassinations. Courier work. Illegal matches. Escort-for-hire. Dangerous, dirty jobs meant for the strong. But he wasn’t strong.
Not yet.
His pen scratched across the page as he added a new name.
“Kwon Tae-min. 2nd Year. Fast. Likes to show off.”
A rich brat with a speed fetish. Probably superhuman. Probably dumb enough to underestimate someone like Ji-hoon.
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He closed the notebook. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since yesterday. His mother had pretended to be full and told him to eat the last instant ramen cup. She always pretended.
Ji-hoon looked out the window, past the soccer field and the sports court. The sky was blue. The campus looked peaceful. But below the surface, everything stank of survival.
He didn’t belong here. But he wasn’t leaving either.
Not until he could take what he wanted...
Night fell like a wet curtain over Seoul’s rusted edges.Ji-hoon’s neighborhood was a concrete graveyard, gray, crumbling buildings stacked like tombstones, alleys that smelled of mold and cat piss, neon signs flickering with the energy of a dying lung.Apartment 5-C buzzed faintly when he pushed the door open.
"You're home," came a soft, brittle voice from the bedroom.
"Yeah." Ji-hoon slipped off his shoes and stepped into the cramped, dim apartment. He could already hear the rasping cough behind the curtain. Her cough. His mother’s. The living room doubled as a kitchen. A single pot of rice porridge simmered on the stovetop, thin enough to see the bottom of the pan. No meat. No side dishes. Just some spring onion floating like a joke.
He poured a bowl and carried it into the bedroom.Nam Sun-hee lay curled on a floor mattress, blankets piled on top of her like armor. Her skin was thin, papery. Her lips were dry. But when she saw him, she smiled.
"My little boy..." Her voice cracked. "Did you eat already?"
"Yeah," he lied smoothly, kneeling beside her. "Ate with friends."
She reached out a trembling hand. He took it, felt the bones under the skin like she was carved out of twigs and sorrow.
"You should make more friends," she whispered. "You’re a kind boy."
He said nothing.
"Promise me something, Ji-hoon."
Here it comes.
"Promise me… you'll stay good. That you'll never do anything bad to get ahead."
He almost laughed.
But instead, he nodded. "I promise, Mom." She sighed like a child soothed by a bedtime story and closed her eyes. In seconds, she was asleep, drugged by cheap meds and exhaustion. Ji-hoon sat in silence for a long time. Then he pulled his hand away and stood. He returned to the kitchen, poured the rest of the porridge into his own bowl, and stared at it. He didn't eat. Instead, he opened his phone. A cracked, secondhand model. No service. Just Wi-Fi, when the neighbor forgot to password it. He opened a private messaging app and scrolled through old threads, forums, chat rooms, dirty corners of the net where desperate people found work.
Then he saw it.
"Need courier. Fast job. Good payout. No questions asked. Strong legs recommended."
Location: Yeonam District. 11:30 PM. Come alone. Wear black.
His eyes flicked to the clock.
11:02 PM.
He stood up, grabbed his hoodie, and slipped out the door.
Yeonam District — 11:28 PM
The alley reeked of oil and cold metal. Three men stood by a parked van, black masks covering their faces. Ji-hoon approached slowly, heart pounding in his ears. The smallest of the men, still bigger than him, tilted his head.
"You’re the runner?"
Ji-hoon nodded. "I can run."
"You don’t look like it."
Ji-hoon didn’t reply. Just held out his hand. The man laughed, tossed a sealed package into Ji-hoon’s chest.
"Take it across the bridge. Abandoned subway station. 15 minutes. If you're late, don't bother coming back."
Ji-hoon turned and ran.
End of Chapter 1...