The school had changed.
Since Logan Lee's brutal defeat, an invisible line had been drawn in the air. Students walked differently now—more carefully, eyes darting when Daniel passed. Logan had ruled with noise and fists. Daniel ruled with silence and certainty.
But power, once taken, must be defended.
---
The second-years were the first to move.
Kang Do-jun was no small-time thug. He led one of the school's strongest factions: The Steel Fangs, fifty boys strong. Their reputation was simple—if you fought one, you fought all. Their base was the old gym storeroom, plastered with graffiti and stinking of cigarette smoke, where they trained with weights and practiced street brawling.
Do-jun himself was a sight.
Broad-shouldered, with a wrestler's build and scarred knuckles from too many bare-knuckle fights in Daegu alleys. He had a nose slightly bent from being broken, and a voice rough like gravel.
The kind of senior most kids stepped aside for without being told.
And now he stood in Daniel's path.
Behind him, a dozen of his lieutenants leaned against lockers—tattooed forearms peeking out from rolled sleeves, some clutching bats, some with brass knuckles dangling from their belts. They weren't just posturing; these were boys who had bled together, who had sent kids to the hospital and laughed about it.
---
> Kang Do-jun: (grinning wide, voice loud enough for the crowd)
"So this is the freshman everyone's whispering about. The boy who put Logan down like a dog."
His crew laughed. The sound was ugly, mocking, meant to shake Daniel.
> Kang Do-jun: "I'll admit it—you got guts. But guts don't make you king. This school? It's not yours. Not yet. Beating Logan? That's nothing. Logan was a loudmouth. You want a throne? You gotta take it from me."
His words carried weight. Whispers rippled through the hall as students pressed closer, afraid to miss what came next.
But Daniel didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his voice.
---
> Daniel: (softly, almost conversational)
"You think this is about fists? About who can hit harder?"
> Kang Do-jun: (snorts) "That's how it's always been."
Daniel stepped forward, not fast, but deliberate. His shoes clicked against the tiles. His eyes never left Do-jun's.
> Daniel: "No. You're wrong. This isn't about fists. It's about fear. And right now—your boys?" (glances at Do-jun's crew) "They're more afraid of me than they are loyal to you."
The words slipped into the air like a blade.
Do-jun's men shifted, some swallowing hard, others looking at their leader uncertainly. Their laughter had stopped.
Daniel's smile was calm. Too calm.
> Daniel: "I don't need to fight you, Kang Do-jun. I don't need to lift a finger. I've already won."
---
The hallway was dead silent.
The Steel Fangs' lieutenants avoided eye contact. Even Do-jun felt it—the shift, the weight pressing down on him. His crew, his strength, his years of fear-mongering—crumbling, not because of fists, but because of a boy's presence.
Do-jun's jaw clenched. He wanted to swing. To show strength. To erase the humiliation burning his chest. But he saw the hesitation in his own men's eyes. If he swung and lost… everything would fall apart.
Finally, with a grunt, he stepped aside.
> Kang Do-jun: (low, bitter)
"Tch… You're bold, freshman. Let's see how long you last."
Daniel walked past him without looking back, his stride steady, his shadow long.
For the first time in years, Kang Do-jun's crew didn't laugh.
---
That night, in his study, Daniel's pen scratched across paper.
Names. Numbers. Notes.
The Steel Fangs – already fractured. Logan's crew – leaderless. The cafeteria table – mine.
> Fear is mine, he thought. Next comes loyalty. Then comes obedience. Then… control.
His lips curved into a cold smile.
This wasn't survival anymore. This was empire.
And Daniel Park had just conquered his first faction—without throwing a single punch.
---