Seoul was in chaos.
From neon-lit streets to quiet apartments, screens glowed everywhere. Cafés had their televisions turned up. Phones were held aloft in crowded subways.
Even convenience stores paused their usual rhythm as customers lingered, eyes fixed on live broadcasts tuned to the same event, International Women's MMA Title Bout streamed live from the Jamsil Indoor Stadium.
Tonight, Seoul wasn't sleeping.
"I can't believe she's only twenty."
"What? Only twenty? She fights way too hard for someone that young. Does she even go to university?"
"No. I heard she's been homeschooled since she was little. Apparently, she's really smart."
"Yeah. I heard she gave up academics for boxing."
"Some people are just blessed. Her parents must be so proud."
"That's where it hurts. She doesn't have parents."
"...Oh my... that's heartbreaking."
"...What was her name again?"
"Seo Hwa-rin."
Inside the stadium, the octagon gleamed beneath blinding lights as the announcer's voice cut through the noise.
"In the blue corner, challenging from Spain, former European Champion, Isabella Cruz!"
A tall woman stepped forward, muscles coiled tight beneath her skin. Isabella Cruz lifted her gloves to the crowd, jaw set, eyes burning with determination. She had fought her way here through blood and discipline. She deserved her place under the lights.
Across from her stood the reason the stadium was sold out.
"And in the red corner, undefeated for years, reigning Korean MMA Champion, Seo Hwa-rin!"
The crowd roared louder.
Hwa-rin didn't react.
She rolled her shoulders once, calm and composed, eyes already locked on her opponent.
Her build was lean, her muscles defined, strength shaped by control rather than size.
Every movement was smooth and precise. She was beautiful in a quiet way, impossible to look away from.
Isabella stepped forward, her eyes sharp.
The horn sounded.
Isabella moved first.
She closed the distance in a blink, gloves snapping forward in a sharp jab, testing range. It clipped Hwa-rin's chin. The taste of blood spread in her mouth.
Hwa-rin didn't retreat.
She exhaled once, grounded her stance, and slipped to the side. Isabella's follow-up sliced through empty air.
Hwa-rin pivoted, twisting like lightning, and drove a short body strike into Isabella's side.
The crowd gasped.
Isabella snarled and rushed again, throwing a hard punch. Hwa-rin dodged smoothly. Spotting an opening, she snapped a stiff jab that disrupted Isabella's balance.
By the second round, it was clear who controlled the fight.
Isabella's breaths grew ragged. Her swings widened. Desperation replaced discipline.
Hwa-rin waited.
Then she ducked low at one of Isabella's careless punches.
In one smooth motion, Hwa-rin stepped in, hooked a leg behind Isabella's, off-balancing her, then slammed a brutal body kick into her ribs as she fell.
The sound cracked through the arena.
Isabella collapsed to the mat, gasping.
The referee rushed in, waving it off, pulling Hwa-rin back as the round ended in a stoppage.
Victory.
The stadium erupted. Fans screamed, cheered, and waved banners, but Hwa-rin didn't smile or raise her gloves.
Another fight. Another win. For her, victory wasn't an event. It was a routine.
She became the youngest world champion at eighteen and had carried the title ever since.
Hwa-rin didn't care much for attention. Fame hadn't changed her. Short conversations, fewer people, more silence. That was enough for her.
Backstage, the world went quiet.
She peeled off her gloves, unwrapped the tape from her hands, then wiped the sweat from her face with a towel.
Her gaze met the mirror. Sweat clung to her skin, her hair damp at her neck. A tiny cut on her lip.
She changed quietly and tied her hair back.
From the inner pocket of her bag, she took out a thin silver necklace. The chain was old, slightly dull, the pendant small enough to rest easily against her skin.
She clasped it around her neck; the metal rested lightly against her collarbone.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out.
Babo-ya: "You looked so ugly on TV!"
(* Babo: In korean, it means idiot or a fool.)
She scoffed, left the message on read, and slipped the phone back into her bag.
The real name behind the nickname was Kang Min-ho, her only family, brother, and best friend.
They had grown up together in the same orphanage.
She stood, slung her bag over her shoulder, and left the locker room.
Hwa-rin returned to her apartment building close to midnight. The city lights stretched endlessly as she stepped into the elevator and pressed 6. The ride up was silent.
At her door, she keyed in the password and entered.
A pair of black formal shoes sat neatly by the entrance.
Hwa-rin stopped.
She stared at them for a moment, face serious.
Then she nudged them aside, just enough to ruin their neatness.
After that, she calmly took off her own shoes and placed them neatly where the black ones had been.
Satisfied, she walked in.
Min-ho was sprawled across the couch like the place belonged to him, phone in hand, one arm thrown behind his head.
His shirt was half-buttoned, sleeves rolled up, paired with formal pants that looked far too expensive for how casually he wore them.
Min-ho was the CEO of Geumseong Group, one of Korea's most powerful companies. Yet he lounged like he had nowhere else to be.
Hwa-rin said flatly, "Hey, Beggar. Don't you have a home?"
"Nah," he replied without looking up. "This is my home."
She clicked her tongue. "I really need to change my passcode."
He finally glanced at her, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. "Wow. So harsh. Can't I even come, visit my cute little sister?"
"Hah." She dropped her bag near the couch and crouched down, unzipping it.
"Really, are you here to see me, or snatch a spare room of mine?"
"I am considering it."
She pulled out a folded towel from the bag and tossed it over her arm.
"Half the year you live in your office, the other half here. Is your house in debt or something?" She said taking out a bottle and placing it on the table.
"Hey. That place is expensive," he said with genuine offense
"Whatever." she turned away.
"I'm taking a shower."
She disappeared into her room.
When she returned, her hair was tied into a loose bun, still slightly damp at the ends. She wore a clean white shirt and black pants.
She made herself a coffee and sat on the armchair beside the couch.
Min-ho lifted his eyes from his phone to the cup in her hand. Then to her face.
Where's mine? his look said.
She looked at him, then took a slow sip, pulled out her phone and started scrolling through the screen.
"You know," he complained, "you're really heartless. I even congratulated you today, and you… you left me on read."
"Congratulated?" she asked. Then she lifted her gaze from her phone and looked at him. "You looked so ugly on TV," she repeated mimicking his tone.
"Yeah, it might be bitter. Truth usually is," he replied casually. "So I congratulated you with the biggest truth. Something no one else would dare say."
She rolled her eyes, thumb already scrolling, dismissing him without a word.
"You should respect me," he said. "I'm five years older than you."
"Yes, Grandpa."
He scoffed. "I'm not talking anymore."
"Better for me."
"…."
A moment of silence passed.
Then Min-ho smirked and held his phone out. "You know, even if you win fights across the whole universe, the top talk in Korea is still about her."
She glanced at the screen.
#1 Kim Ha-eun — The Talk of Korea
"Who is she?" Hwa-rin asked.
Min-ho made a face, as if she had just said something unbelievable.
"What?" she asked, still confused.
He sighed. "That figures. You're completely untrendy. Good thing you have a trendy brother like me."
"Just tell me."
"Kim Ha-eun has always been the talk of Korea," he said. "But never in a good way."
"Never?" Hwa-rin asked.
"Never. She was born into wealth. Her dad runs one of those big companies " Min-ho said.
"And her stepmom? Actress. Big one. Always smiling for cameras. Even her stepsister is loved—kind, graceful, already following in her mother's footsteps. Kim Ha-eun is the only odd one out."
" How so?" she asked
"She's in the headlines again—clubs, fights, screaming at people… everyone online says she's a mess."
Hwa-rin studied the photo on the screen.
Thick mascara weighed down the girl's eyes. Heavy red lipstick. Too much blush. Her hair was a flashy blond—probably a wig.
Scandals followed her name. Praise never did.
"Her makeup is… heavy," Hwa-rin said.
"People say she hides her face because she's ugly," Min-ho replied. "She even wears it at home. Apparently, her family has never seen her bare face."
Why does this bother me so much?
she thought. Staring at the screen.
"But that's not why she's number one," Min-ho said.
Hwa-rin looked up. "Then why?"
"Tae Yang."
"Tae Yang?" she repeated.
Min-ho smacked his forehead. "Seriously. You really are disconnected from the world."
Suddenly his phone rang. He glanced at it and stood up.
"I need to take this. Look him up yourself.", he said, heading to the balcony.
Hwa-rin typed the name into her phone.
Tae Yang
Korea's most beloved action movie star.
Handsome. Talented. Untouchable.
Award headlines flooded the screen—another win this year, another hit mystery film.
As she scrolled, another name kept appearing.
Kim Ha-eun
Photos. Articles. Rumors.
She chased him relentlessly. Made headlines. Humiliated herself publicly.
Her obsession looked like madness, possessive, excessive and it turned Tae Yang's fandom against her.
Hate followed.
After some time, Min-ho entered, finishing his call.
"Did you ever meet her father?" Hwa-rin asked.
"Once or twice, maybe," Min-ho said,
dropping back onto the couch.
"Maybe?"
"Yeah. He runs a big company, but mine's larger and more influential. There's not much to gain working with him."
Hwa-rin nodded and glanced at the clock.
"It's late. I should sleep. Morning practice tomorrow." she said
Min-ho yawned, stretching. "You go every day. You could skip just one day."
She stood, carrying her coffee cup to the kitchen. "No thanks. I can't be lazy like you."
"Hey, I'm busy too."
"Yeah, busy lazing around in my apartment."
He shook his head, opening his laptop. "Your tongue gets sharper every year."
-----
Hwa-rin woke at five, the room still dark and quiet.
She slipped out of bed, tied her hair, and went for a run.
The city was barely awake, streets damp with leftover night air. Her pace never changed, breath even, steps light.
By six, she was home.
The smell of food greeted her first.
Min-ho stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, frying pan in hand, already dressed for work. He glanced at her and scoffed.
"You're late."
"Same to you," she replied, reaching for a bowl.
He swatted her hand away. "Wash up first."
She elbowed him in the ribs."Stop nagging "
He hissed and flicked water at her.
"Wash up. No food with those hands."
Hwa-rin rolled her eyes, turned to the sink, and scrubbed her hands quickly.
She held them up in front of him, dripping.
"Satisfied?"
He nodded and served the food
She took her serving, sat down, and took a bite.
She made a disgusted face. "Salty."
"Stop complaining."
-----
The Baekryeon MMA Center was already alive when Hwa-rin arrived.
Gloves thudded against heavy bags. Shoes scraped across the mats. The air smelled of sweat and disinfectant.
She stepped inside.
"Sunbaenim," several trainees greeted, pausing their work for a moment.
"Good morning, sunbaenim."
She nodded in return.
After a long practice, she left the hall.
As she walked toward the locker room, voices drifted from behind her.
"Did you hear about Kim Ha-eun?"
"Yeah. A car accident, right?"
A scoff. "Serves her right."
"Tae-yang is finally free from that b**** now."
"People like her never learn unless something bad happens. I hope she never wakes up."
Hwa-rin slowed, just for a moment.
She didn't turn around.
She pushed open the locker room door and stepped inside.
The noise faded.
She sat on the bench and reached into her bag, pulling out her phone.
The screen lit up.
8:00 a.m.
April 12, 2025
Her thumb hovered for a moment, then she locked the screen.
She leaned back slightly, staring ahead. Then she turned her head toward the window.
Cherry blossom petals drifted through the air.
How can people hate someone they've never met?
She glanced at the mirror beside the window. The black arm sleeves covered her arms, yet she could still feel the long scar beneath her right sleeve.
She avoided looking at that spot. Some memories never healed.
Her fingers brushed the pendant at her neck, tracing it gently.
Hwa-rin let out a slow, quiet sigh.
Mom, I'm tired.
She picked up the bottle beside her and twisted the cap.
A sudden, unbearable pain tore through her chest.
The bottle slipped from her hand, clattering loudly against the floor.
The room tilted, vision blurring as she collapsed.
"What was that sound?" a voice called from outside.
Footsteps rushed in.
"Hwa-rin-ssi!" one girl cried, panic rising.
"Blood—there's blood!"
Someone shouted for help.
And her world went blank.