The sun beat down with unusual intensity, stronger than Samuel remembered. Or perhaps it was the new body that perceived it differently. The air, on the other hand, was fresher, as if by leaving behind that damp and shadowy apartment, the atmosphere itself could finally breathe. But neither the light nor the wind could dissipate the tension hanging over him. It was an invisible, persistent weight, clinging to his shoulders like an inherited burden.
He walked along cracked streets, lined with buildings that seemed to have given up on hope. The sidewalks were broken, the walls covered in graffiti with no message, and the smell of dampness mixed with cheap food and accumulated trash. Every step was a silent march toward the unknown, and his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts crashing into one another.
"What am I supposed to be now?" he muttered, not expecting an answer.
"Samuel… Jihyeon… Where does one end and the other begin?"
With each step toward the school, Jihyeon's memories became sharper. They weren't just scattered images, but full sensations: fear, shame, pain. That institution was not a place of learning, but a battlefield. A jungle disguised as routine, where the law was dictated by the cruelest.
The bullies weren't like the ones Samuel had known in his previous life. These didn't settle for teasing or shoves. They were more methodical, more ruthless. They hit out of habit, out of pleasure, out of boredom. And Jihyeon, according to the memories surfacing like fragments of a nightmare, was the perfect target.
That explained the bruises, the split lip, the pain in his ribs. They weren't accidents. They were rituals.
"Why me?" he whispered, stopping in front of a closed shop, its shutter rusted and its sign faded. "Why this body? Why this life?"
But there was no answer. Only the distant hum of an engine and the bark of a dog that never showed itself.
Samuel, trapped in that foreign body, felt his thoughts scattering between the new routine and the worries that now inhabited him. He didn't know what awaited him once he crossed the doors of that school. He didn't know the faces, but he feared them. He didn't understand the rules, but he knew they wouldn't protect him.
The backpack weighed more from uncertainty than from books. And every step brought him closer to a place that didn't want him, didn't expect him, wouldn't forgive him.
"Maybe..." he said, with a strained smile. "maybe this body chose me because it knew I didn't want to fight either."
And he kept walking, with the sun stabbing at the back of his neck, with dust clinging to his shoes, with fear beating at every corner. The world wasn't looking at him. But he felt everything.
But then he saw them.
Bullies, and judging by the uniform, they were from the same school as Jihyeon. They were on a corner like lions lying in wait. I guess they were part of the group that made this body's life miserable.
To be more precise, there were four of them. With an air of arrogance and superiority that wrapped around them like a shadow. They didn't need to speak to impose fear; their very presence warped the space, making it narrower, more hostile.
As always, there was the muscular one. The leader. A bulky guy with a worn leather jacket over his uniform. He sneered when he saw me. It was a smile without joy, without surprise. As if my appearance was part of a routine he already knew by heart.
He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head.
"Well, well, look who we've got here, the little rat. Are you going to run, or are you going to stay and play?" he said, his voice echoing like a mocking taunt.
The other three laughed under their breath, like hyenas waiting for the first move. Their eyes scanned me, searching for weakness, savoring the moment. One of them, shorter but with a sharp gaze, stepped a little closer, as if he wanted to sniff out the fear.
Samuel didn't respond. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how. Jihyeon's body trembled with muscle memory that didn't belong to him, but now controlled him. His legs wanted to retreat. His heart pounded as if searching for a way out.
"What's wrong, Jihyeon?" said another, the one with dyed hair and a broken smile. "Didn't you miss us?"
Samuel swallowed hard. He didn't know their names, but he recognized them. They were part of the pain that lived in this body. Part of the silence that had shaped it.
He tried to calm himself. His face twisted into a cynical smirk, though his hands trembled under the mask of confidence.
"Running? No, thanks," he said with feigned composure.
"I'd rather stay and enjoy the show. After all, you don't see four bullies begging for attention every day."
The other three laughed, but the laughter quickly faded when the second bully, the one with dyed hair, took a step forward.
"You know what happens to those who talk too much?"
Samuel shrugged, with a sarcastic smile.
"Why don't you show me what happens to them?"
The third one, the shortest but with a sharp gaze that tried to make up for his height, crossed his arms.
"Keep talking, runt. A couple of punches and you won't be so funny anymore."
Samuel laughed, a brief, almost forced laugh.
"Punches? How predictable. I thought you'd be more creative."
The leader, unable to contain his frustration, threw a punch into the air as a warning.
"Shut up and fight, idiot! Or I swear you won't be able to get up."
"So what? Are you afraid a 'rat' might fight back?" Samuel shot back, feeling adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Come on, show me what you're made of. All of you are nothing but cowards who need to pick on someone weaker to puff up your egos."
The provocation was enough. Without warning, the bully with the tattoo on his arm lunged at him. Samuel, by sheer luck, dodged the blow and shoved him back, making him stumble. The surprise on the attacker's face was short-lived; the fury of the others arrived instantly.
"Get him! Don't let him get away!" the leader shouted.
A blow to the side knocked him to the ground, sharp pain stabbing through his body, his ribs burning, and every attempt to get up was like sinking deeper into a sea of fire.
"Is that the best you've got?" Samuel spat with a crooked smile, blood staining his lip.
"Come on, guys, this is almost fun!"
The fourth one, who had remained silent until then, unleashed a punch straight to his face. Samuel fell again, dizzy, dazed, with the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth.
Kicks and punches began to rain down like cruel storms. Their uniforms flared with each strike, as if the school itself gave them legitimacy to be executioners. Samuel barely managed to lift himself a few inches before being thrown back to the ground again. Every impact was a reminder of the unfairness of the fight.
Even so, among the bruises blooming on his skin, among the pain of fists and kicks, he found small instants of resistance. Sometimes he dodged just in time, other times he blocked with an arm, a shoulder. Each tiny evasion was a small victory, a spark that kept something alive inside him.
He knew the situation was unfair, that the odds were completely against him, but he couldn't allow despair to consume him. Because even though his body bled and hurt, he could still defy them with his gaze, still force them to face more than just a weak body—he forced them to face a will that refused to break.