Si-woo shut his eyes, trying to remember why he was even here.
It was the only way to ignore the half-dressed girls giggling at him from the corner of their eyes.
Well… not really half-dressed.
In truth, they were just changing in the locker room.
The mixed locker room.
Mi-cha had dragged him inside just before practice with her group of trainee idols. She had told the guard at the entrance that Si-woo was a new recruit in training.
Unbelievable… but the brute had actually bought it.
— You really need to tell me your birthday, Mi-cha had quipped when he voiced his disbelief. I'll get you something super useful. It's called a mirror.
Before long, they had slipped into the locker room, unnoticed.
Si-woo had already felt uncomfortable when Mi-cha undressed in front of him after turning her back. Now that there were more of them, he felt cornered. Trapped.
— Who's that? one girl whispered—the same girl he'd seen in the rooftop video Mi-cha had shown him.
— Must be a newbie, another said as she untied her schoolgirl braids.
— He's pretty cute, the first snickered. I wouldn't mind having him for a snack.
Both glanced his way.
The moment their eyes met, Si-woo dropped his gaze.
Their laughter burst louder, buzzing with excitement.
Mi-cha glared at them, eyes like machine guns, but said nothing. Instead, she stepped closer to Si-woo. She was far too small to shield him, but her intent made him smile faintly.
When a trio entered and scanned him from head to toe, Si-woo couldn't take it anymore. He clenched his fists, his eyes, and shut out their curious chatter. He forced his thoughts back—to the week before.
A week he didn't want to remember.
But it was that… or burn alive in his own embarrassment.
The days after his awakening had been disastrous.
So much so that—though it pained him to admit it—he missed Jeunk.
Yes, Jeunk had made his life a living hell for two years.
Yes, he had delighted in humiliating him.
Yes, Si-woo had wanted him gone.
But Jeunk's imagination had been… limited.
The seniors, though? They were different.
It was as if they were racing against the clock, desperate to test every illegal thrill before adulthood put them behind bars. They didn't just shake kids down for lunch money.
They invested.
Si-woo's fists trembled. He recalled in detail what the younger students had told him. One senior gang forced their victims to steal goods for them. Another turned into actual pimps, pushing both girls and boys into prostitution.
— The scariest one is Ju-Ming's crew, a trembling girl had confessed. They became streamers on Kick. They film themselves torturing people. Viewers pay to watch… even give suggestions for the next time. Ju-Ming hands out a cut to the victims, just to keep them tied in. And he forces them to sign fake contracts.
The memory made bile rise in Si-woo's throat.
Victims weren't just suffering anymore.
They were made into accomplices.
And if things were exposed, the weak would fall harder than the guilty.
So they protected their abusers. Covered for them.
To outsiders, it looked like kids joking around.
And the new principal… actually thought he'd succeeded where the last had failed. He believed he had ended bullying.
All of that in just three days.
Three. Days.
The seniors must have been planning long before Jeunk's downfall. Or maybe… this was already happening, even when Jeunk was in charge. He had ruled through his father's influence, and the older students let him be as long as they got their cut.
But with Jeunk gone, the balance collapsed. Only one idea remained:
The King of the School.
One ruler.
One tyrant.
Every faction under his control.
War had broken out—war in blood and tears.
The blood of the weak. The tears of scapegoats.
And right in the middle of it all:
Si-woo. And Il-seong.
Si-woo—the powerless.
The obedient dog.
The seniors' new game was to force him to choose his master.
Whoever he chose… would become king in Jeunk's place.
Disgusting.
Every group hunted him. Every day. Even outside school grounds.
At least Jeunk had kept his cruelty contained within the school walls.
The first night, wannabe pimps had cornered him at the subway station. They grabbed his collar, forcing him into what they called "anal training." In other words: ordering their lackeys to violate him with a pen, while they filmed and laughed.
Another group of streamers tried to trap him in a hallway for a live beating.
By some miracle, he hadn't crossed paths with Ju-Ming's crew yet.
And then came the blackmail. Fake pictures of him stealing, raping, vandalizing. Ridiculous, fabricated garbage. Each "proof" came with a note: commit the crime for real, or the pictures go online.
At least those blackmailers were smart. They stayed anonymous.
Through it all, Si-woo was helpless.
Counting the days until his punishment ended.
Shaking under the weight of every gaze.
And there was Il-seong.
Il-seong.
The very name burned his tongue now.
They barely spoke anymore.
Yet his friend was always there.
Like a shadow.
The day the pimps shoved Si-woo into a public restroom and ordered him to strip, he had considered fighting back.
But the ones fumbling with his belt weren't the leaders.
They were underclassmen, their faces already swollen with bruises.
Si-woo couldn't bring himself to fight them.
Didn't want to.
He wished the senior himself would get off his "chair"—a fat classmate Si-woo recognized, the same one who used to laugh while Jeunk tormented him—and deal the blow personally.
But from the smirk on his face, Si-woo knew he never would.
— Damn! Nice package! the senior barked, whipping out his phone.
Si-woo let them pull his pants down without a word.
— On all fours, the leader ordered.
The group pushed down on him until he complied.
Si-woo trembled with rage. He would've given anything for a spell that could burn the bastard alive. And he wasn't even that strong—just a parasite.
Before the trembling hands of a sobbing underclassman could press the pen inside him, the restroom door slammed open.
Il-seong stood there.
— Hands off my friend.
Si-woo swallowed a growl.
His friend's voice was like a blade pulled from ice.
His aura—like the cold light of a winter sun.
Yes, he saved him. Every time.
Il-seong crushed skulls, terrorized leaders, erased threats.
The streamers ended up filming their own beatings.
The blackmail notes stopped appearing.
All of it was Il-seong's work.
But he wasn't the hero Si-woo had once believed him to be.
He charged others for rescues—everyone except Si-woo.
He robbed enemies to fill his own pockets.
He acted only when it suited him.
Apathetic. Capricious.
And the power Si-woo had helped him gain… he now used to bend his charisma, to make the whole school adore him.
He was the true King of the School.
But he refused to claim the throne.
He preferred the chaos.
Si-woo had told him again and again.
Il-seong never listened.
The real problem came the day before the locker room incident.
For the first time in days, they ate lunch together on the football stadium steps.
Il-seong leaned back, face tilted toward the sun, and said casually :
— I guess I'll have to start dating Mi-cha.