The yard smelled of sweat, blood, and fear.Seok-Hyun walked alone, silent, his red eyes scanning every corner. He didn't look human—he looked like a storm waiting to strike, a predator waiting for its prey.
He had been watching. The inmate who had tormented him before—always mocking weaker prisoners, always smiling at pain—was here.And tonight… he would pay.
No hesitation. No words. Just waiting, calculating the perfect moment.
The bully laughed, shoving a smaller prisoner into the wall.
Seok-Hyun moved.
Not fast. Not hurried. Deliberate. Every step measured, every breath controlled.
When he struck, it was brutal.The first punch hit the side of the bully's jaw like a hammer. The second lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the concrete.The yard gasped.
But Seok-Hyun didn't stop.He rained down blows with primal ferocity, grappling, twisting, slamming—like a cave man fighting for survival, like a dinosaur tearing into prey. Each strike was precise and deadly, fueled by years of pain and rage.
The bully screamed, but Seok-Hyun's face remained cold, dead, soulless. Red eyes burning, a monster of pure instinct.
When it ended, the bully lay broken, barely conscious, and the yard went silent.The whispers began:
"Did you see him? The red-eyed beast… he's unstoppable."
Seok-Hyun didn't celebrate. He didn't even look at the fallen man.He turned and walked back to the shadows of his cell block, calm, unfeeling, already planning his next strike.
"This is only the beginning," he thought."They will all fall. One by one."
For the first time, everyone in the yard understood—he wasn't a boy anymore.He was a predator.And predators don't forgive.