Morning sunlight poured over Shinan High School, where students streamed through the gates, chatting and laughing. The campus buzzed with the energy of youth—until silence suddenly fell.
A figure walked through the school gate.
He was tall—6'0"—lean yet muscular, his presence radiating an aura that made students instinctively step aside. His hair was shaved on the sides but long on top, slicked back neatly. A pair of full-rimmed glasses hid the scar stretching between his eyes, tattoos ran faintly across his arms beneath his sleeves, and most unnerving of all were his eyes.
Though concealed behind his lenses, everyone whispered about them—pitch-black eyes with white irises. Demon-like eyes. Eyes that never blinked in fear.
It was the infamous Ultra Instinct, or as some whispered, the Reverse Eyes—a state where a fighter's body fought unconsciously, stripped of all emotion, maximizing every sense and reaction. Few ever survived long enough to face it.
He was Gun Ha, son of the late Ha Jinoh, and a first-year student at Shinan High.
Gun strode casually into school wearing a crisp white shirt, a red tie neatly fastened at his neck, and black formal pants held by an H&M belt with a golden H buckle. His polished black shoes tapped softly against the pavement, and over it all hung a gray hoodie, casually unzipped. Earphones dangled in his ears, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his phone.
He was playing a video game.
The atmosphere froze. Students stopped their conversations. Some whispered nervously. Others, terrified, moved out of his path entirely. No one dared meet his eyes, even through the shade of his glasses. His mere presence bent the air.
---
By the time class began, Gun was slouched in his seat, phone in hand, still gaming as the teacher droned on. When the bell rang and the class ended, students scattered into small groups, chatting and laughing. Gun remained in his seat, fingers gliding smoothly over his screen.
Then—thud.
A hand landed on his desk. Gun lifted his head.
A girl stood before him, smiling gently. She was tall, slender, with long black hair and a presence that made the room brighten. Her name was Joo Ahrin—the "Goddess of Class 7," admired by many for her beauty and kindness.
"Wow," she said softly, leaning over to peek at his phone. "Did you really clear that level?"
Gun's voice was calm, almost disinterested. "Yes. I'm at level 89."
Ahrin's eyes widened. "Level 89? Ooooh… I'm only at level 32. I'm not really good at mobile games."
Gun adjusted his glasses, replying smoothly, "I can help you. If you want."
Ahrin blinked in surprise. "You… will?"
"Yes. If you want."
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Okay. That'd be great. Next time, then—"
"Ah Rin!" a voice called from the doorway. Her friend waved frantically. "The teacher wants us at the gym to help!"
"Ah! I forgot!" Ahrin hurriedly turned back to Gun. "Sorry! Next time, we'll play together." She gave him an apologetic smile before running off with her friend.
But in her rush, she left her phone on his desk.
Gun picked it up, calling after her—but she was already gone. With a small sigh, he slipped the phone into his hoodie pocket and returned to his game.
That was when—CRASH!
His table jolted violently. Gun's fingers froze mid-swipe. Slowly, he looked up.
On the floor in front of him was a thin, bruised boy with oversized round glasses. He struggled to get up, trembling. Behind him, a heavier figure approached with slow, arrogant steps.
Chulwoo Min. The class bully.
Chulwoo sneered, yanking the weak boy by his collar. "How many times do I have to tell you, huh? You upgrade this character before anyone else! But you…" he snarled, spittle flying, "you useless shit-for-brains can't even do that?"
The boy whimpered. "I-I'm trying—"
THUD!
A cruel punch slammed into his gut. The weak boy crumpled to his knees, clutching his stomach. Chulwoo grabbed his hair, jerking his head up to force eye contact.
"Finish it before I finish you, motherfucker." His voice dripped with venom.
Tears welled in the boy's eyes. "I-I'm trying…"
Chulwoo raised his fist again, lips curling in a cruel smile. "What you need is a real beating, you worthless little—"
"You're disturbing me."
The voice was cold. Sharp. Like a blade pressed against the throat.
Chulwoo froze mid-swing. Slowly, he turned his head.
Gun sat casually on his bench, phone still in hand, his body relaxed. But his eyes—hidden behind his lenses—radiated something primal. Something demonic.
And though Gun's tone was calm, the weight of his words crushed the air around them.
---