Hyun-Jae lay on his bed, the hum of the old house filling his ears. Outside, sunlight streamed through the windows, but the usual warmth of a spring morning was missing but was instead replaced by the faint tension that seemed to hang over the city like a shadow he'd grown used to.
A pillow smacked him in the face. He blinked and looked up to see his older sister, Yumi, grinning down at him. "Come on, wake up! Mom made breakfast, and you've got school."
Hyun-Jae groaned, rubbing his face. "Do I really have to go today? I feel… kind of sick."
"Uh-huh," Yumi said, tossing the pillow aside. "Sure you are. You've been 'sick' every Monday this month."
Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and shuffled through his morning routine. When he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, his stomach sank. He'd always been nothing special—maybe even a little below average. And yet, it still burned him with frustration to see that all his effort had amounted to nothing.
"All that training… and still nothing," he muttered, clenching his fists.
The school had recently made those so-called "special training" classes mandatory, but judging by the results, they might as well have been a joke.
Hyun-Jae sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped into the living room. The house was alive with its usual morning bustle—his mother, Hana, rushing to prepare breakfast, his younger sister Harin getting ready for school, and his father reading the newspaper quietly at the table.
Yet, for all the movement around him, Hyun-Jae felt trapped, as if life were happening beyond a glass wall he could never reach.
"Honey, you better eat faster, or your food's going to get cold," his mother called. He just nodded, sleepily finishing his breakfast.
"You know, you could at least try to look awake," his father added with a faint smile.
"I know, I know," Hyun-Jae replied quickly, packing his things. He knew better than to argue—his father's heart condition made disagreements dangerous.
After breakfast he trudged along to school, already bracing himself. The "special training" wasn't just exhausting—it was humiliating. No matter how hard he pushed, his classmates seemed to surge ahead effortlessly, leaving him scrambling just to keep up.
The school gates loomed ahead, and Hyun-Jae felt a familiar knot tighten in his stomach. The courtyard buzzed with chatter and laughter, but his eyes searched for a friendly face—anyone who might make this ordeal slightly more bearable. That's when he spotted Min-Seok, his best friend, sprawled lazily on a bench, headphones in, completely ignoring the chaos.
"Morning," Hyun-Jae grumbled, plopping down beside him.
"Morning," Min-Seok replied, glancing up. "You look like you survived another night of torture."
"Torture's putting it lightly. Did you see the lineup for today's drills? Endurance, agility, strength… all while carrying extra weight. I swear the teachers just want us to quit."
Min-Seok shrugged, stretching. "You just gotta push through it. That's what they said."
"Easy for you to say," Hyun-Jae muttered, thinking of how naturally strong and fast Min-Seok seemed. He envied that effortless skill. Hyun-Jae, by contrast, had nothing to show for his sweat and effort but sore muscles and a bruised ego.
A loud whistle cut through the air, snapping him from his thoughts. The instructors had arrived. Students scrambled to line up, faces a mix of determination and dread. Hyun-Jae exhaled a long, resigned sigh. Another day of proving he wasn't good enough. Another day of falling behind.
Yet as he glanced around, at classmates laughing nervously or glaring in competitive intensity, a stubborn spark flickered inside him. Maybe today wouldn't be perfect… but maybe, just maybe, he could survive it without completely embarrassing himself.
"Alright, maggots!" one instructor barked, shoving the tension back into focus. "Line up! Training starts NOW!"
Hyun-Jae clenched his fists. His heart pounded—not with excitement, but with defiance. He might not be special. He might be the slowest, the weakest, the one everyone rolled their eyes at. But that didn't mean he would let today defeat him completely.
As the drills began, sweat stinging his eyes, muscles screaming in protest, Hyun-Jae reminded himself: one step, one push, one effort at a time. He might fall behind—but he wouldn't quit. Not yet.
Hyun-Jae's vision blurred, his legs buckling beneath him. The world tilted and spun, a storm of noise and motion pressing in from all sides. He tried to push through, tried to force his body to keep moving—but his muscles screamed louder than his mind.
Then darkness swallowed him.
---
When he came to, the smell of antiseptic hit him first. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus. White walls, a small bed, and the soft beeping of a monitor surrounded him. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow, making him squint.
The nurse glanced up from her clipboard, smiling faintly. "Ah, you're awake. Take it easy, Mr. Hyun-Jae. You pushed yourself too hard again."
Hyun-Jae's stomach sank. He knew this scene all too well. This wasn't the first time he'd ended up here, collapsed from overexertion after falling behind in training.
"I… I overdid it again," he muttered, voice hoarse. He glanced at his arms and legs, still trembling. "I thought… I could keep up this time…"
The nurse nodded, not looking surprised. "You're determined, I'll give you that. But your body has limits, Hyun-Jae. You need to pace yourself, or you'll keep ending up here."
He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up again. "I know. I know, but… I can't just stand by while everyone else—" His words caught in his throat. He didn't want to admit it, but the truth was clear: no matter how hard he tried, he always felt two steps behind.
The nurse sighed softly. "Rest for now. You'll have plenty of time to recover. And when you're ready, you'll face training again."
Hyun-Jae closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion pull him under once more. His body ached, but his mind refused to give in entirely. He thought about Min-Seok, about the drills, about the relentless pace of the school. He hated this feeling—this helplessness—but somewhere beneath it, a stubborn thought persisted.
One day… one day, he would be able to push harder without falling apart. One day, he wouldn't collapse from keeping up.
For now, though, he let the quiet of the nurse's room envelope him, his chest rising and falling as he slowly drifted back toward sleep, plotting silently the next attempt.
But the quiet of the nurse's office was broken by the familiar click of the door opening. Hyun-Jae glanced up, immediately recognizing her.
"Hyun-Jae," Soo-Min said, a mixture of exasperation and amusement in her voice. "Again? You just can't help overdoing it, can you?"
He groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… I thought I could keep up today."
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "You thought. Right. You've said that before, you know. And each time, you end up here, looking like a mess. I don't know why I even bother."
Hyun-Jae's face flushed. He opened his mouth to reply but couldn't get the words out, so he simply nodded. She had scolded him like this more than once, and each time, he'd felt the same mixture of embarrassment and… something else. Relief, maybe, that she was here.
"You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days," Soo-Min continued, softening slightly. "Rest now. Don't try to get up before the nurse says so. And don't even think about skipping your meals—no excuses."
"Y-yes… Soo-Min," Hyun-Jae murmured, his voice barely audible. He avoided her gaze, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, feeling that familiar warmth of being looked after, even if it came with a side of scolding.
She gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile, shaking her head as she moved to help the nurse with the next student. Hyun-Jae exhaled quietly, leaning back against the pillow. Even after all these times, seeing her here—knowing she genuinely cared enough to watch over him—made the nurse's office feel a little less like a place of defeat and a little more like… a haven.