Chapter 12
Lunch Bell
RING!!!
The shrill clang of the school bell echoed through the classroom, signaling the end of the morning period and the beginning of lunch break.
Students shuffled their books into bags with eager chatter, chairs scraping against the tiled floor. Some rushed toward the cafeteria, others gathered in little cliques, gossiping and laughing about trivial matters.
At the back of the room, Sung Ho sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the window. Outside, the sunlight fell bright and warm across the schoolyard, but for him, it might as well have been the shadow of a noose.
Lunch break. The words alone filled his stomach with a leaden weight.
For most, it was a time of rest, laughter, and food. For Sung Ho, it was when Xin Min and his pack of jackals came hunting.
He clenched his fists beneath the desk, nails biting into his palms as he tried to steady his breathing. He had already counted the money in his wallet three times since morning—enough to hand over, but not so much that he'd starve the rest of the week.
It didn't matter. Whether he had cash or not, they would take it. And if he resisted…
His jaw tightened. He remembered the bruises hidden beneath his shirt from the last time he'd refused.
"That will be it for today," the physics teacher announced, tucking chalk into his pocket and collecting his notes. "During the next lesson, I expect at least half of you to know how to calculate resultant force."
The man didn't even glance at the back of the class as he left. His tone was weary, distant—already halfway to the staffroom.
Sung Ho almost laughed, though there was nothing funny about it. Teachers never looked too closely. Even when they did, their eyes always slid away from Xin Min and his crew.
He had tried reporting them once. That was back in the first month of this nightmare, when he still believed authority meant something.
The memory still burned.
"You need to toughen up, Sung Ho," one teacher had said, patting his shoulder as though that counted as help.
Another had promised to "speak to Xin Min." The next day, Sung Ho was dragged up to the rooftop and beaten so badly he couldn't stand straight for a week.
That was when he learned the truth: Xin Min's family was untouchable. Their influence stretched deep into the school, into the city. Complaints evaporated before they left a mouth.
And so, Sung Ho endured.
The door burst open with a bang.
Conversation in the classroom stuttered to a halt. Heads turned. A group of boys swaggered in, their laughter loud, grating, purposeful.
At the center was Xin Min.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and always with that smug curl to his lips, he moved like the room already belonged to him. His uniform was half-unbuttoned, tie hanging loose, shoes polished enough to reflect light. The kind of carelessness that screamed money and power.
His two goons flanked him—stocky, mean-faced boys whose eyes swept the classroom like predators choosing prey.
They didn't need to look long.
Their gazes locked on Sung Ho almost immediately.
Sung Ho's throat tightened. His fingers twitched toward his pocket where the money waited. His body knew the drill; resistance was useless. But his heart still thudded painfully, as if some desperate part of him still hoped for a miracle.
Xin Min's smile widened when he saw him.
"Well, well. If it isn't our little banker," Xin Min drawled, voice carrying across the room.
A ripple of laughter followed. Not from everyone—most of the class kept their heads down, pretending to be busy with their bags or notes. But a few chuckled nervously, eager to stay on Xin Min's good side.
Sung Ho didn't move. His eyes stayed on the window, on the bright sky outside, as if he could ignore them away.
"Don't pretend you didn't hear me," Xin Min said, his footsteps heavy as he strode toward the back. His goons trailed behind, grinning. "It's lunchtime, and we're feeling hungry."
The words were playful, almost casual. But Sung Ho knew what they meant.
His hand slipped into his pocket. The paper notes crinkled against his fingers, warm from being gripped so tightly all morning.
Xin Min's shadow fell over his desk.
"Well?"
Slowly, Sung Ho pulled out the money and held it up. He kept his eyes down, his lips pressed together, his face blank.
Xin Min snatched the bills with a laugh, flipping through them as though counting wasn't even necessary. His goons leaned in, peering over his shoulder, their grins stretching wide.
"That's more like it," Xin Min said. He tapped the wad of cash against Sung Ho's head lightly, mockingly, before tucking it into his pocket. "Good boy."
The classroom laughed again. This time louder.
Sung Ho's ears burned. His chest ached with something he couldn't swallow down—humiliation, anger, despair, all tangled together.
But he stayed silent. He always stayed silent.
That was how you survived.
Xin Min lingered just a moment longer, savoring the control, the way the room bent around him. Then he turned, his laughter echoing as he walked back toward the door. His goons followed, one of them deliberately shoving Sung Ho's desk so hard his books slid to the floor.
"See you tomorrow, banker," the boy sneered.
The door slammed behind them.
The classroom exhaled. Conversations resumed, but quieter, more cautious now. No one looked at Sung Ho. No one helped him pick up his books.
He bent down slowly, his fingers trembling as he gathered the scattered pages.
Through the window, the sunlight was still warm and bright.
But to Sung Ho, lunch break had already devoured the day.