When Toji reached home, he kicked off his shoes, letting them land wherever they pleased by the door. It had been a longer day than he had anticipated, and only now was he bringing the groceries home, right when it was already time to eat. The comforting smell of instant ramen filled the air, reminding him just how late he was. His stomach growled in response.
He walked into the kitchen to find his mother and sister seated around a hot pot. Steam rose from the bubbling broth, and Toji handed over the grocery bags to his mother. She looked up, giving him a once-over, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to uncover a hidden secret.
"Where were you?" she asked, the question heavy with suspicion.
"Just went for a jog," Toji replied with a shrug, attempting to sound casual. But he knew his mother wasn't buying it.
Her eyebrows shot up. "A jog, huh? Are you sure you're not getting bullied at school?" she asked, concern edging into her voice. "Maybe I should have your dad talk to the teachers?"
At this, his sister smirked from her side of the table, spooning ramen into her bowl. The look she shot him said everything her mouth didn't—if anyone was bullying anyone, it was probably Toji doing the bullying. Toji ignored her as she inhaled her food with almost alarming speed.
"No, mom. I'm fine," Toji reassured her, keeping his tone flat. The last thing he wanted was for his dad to get involved in some ridiculous conversation with his teachers.
He pulled up a chair and sat down, breathing in the savory aroma of the hot pot. His sister was already halfway through her bowl, barely pausing to breathe between bites. "Gotta finish this quick," she muttered, noodles hanging from her mouth, "I've got homework."
Toji, on the other hand, took his time. Homework wasn't an issue for him; he had others handle that, whether through favors or sheer intimidation. Leaning back in his chair, he savored the meal, appreciating the simple comfort it provided. The peaceful moment was a rare one, but it wouldn't last long.
After his sister practically sprinted from the table to tackle her "mountain" of homework, Toji finished his food, enjoying the quiet. When dinner was over, he headed upstairs, ready to collapse into bed. Sleep came quickly, but it wasn't long before the sound of voices downstairs dragged him from his slumber.
Toji groaned, his face buried in his pillow. But something about the voices today felt off. He could hear his dad, and while his father was rarely loud, there was an unmistakable tension in his voice. Toji sat up, listening more closely.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found his dad seated at the table, his face tight with frustration. His usual calm demeanor was gone. His mother hovered nearby, placing breakfast on the table with a worried expression.
"He came home late last night," she said quietly, trying to explain. "And he got angry about something."
That alone was unusual. Toji's father rarely lost his temper, especially at home. The uneasy atmosphere hung over the kitchen like a thick fog as the family sat down to eat. Toji glanced at his dad, who was scrolling through his phone with a clenched jaw. His father's hand tensed, gripping the phone so tightly it looked like it might crack.
As Toji started eating, he tuned in to the conversation, his sharp hearing catching bits and pieces of the call his father was on. The voice on the other end was rough, dripping with arrogance. The name "Jake" came up, along with something about "Big Deal." It was a local gang that controlled a chunk of the city's business district, and they were shaking down his dad, demanding respect, which, of course, meant money. On top of that, they were insisting on jobs for their people, and not just any jobs, but full contracts under their terms.
Toji's dad wasn't the kind of businessman who could fend off these types of threats. He made a decent living, pulling in about 10 to 15 million won a month, but it wasn't enough to deal with a gang like Big Deal. And going to the cops wasn't an option either, not with how dirty his dad's business was.
That phrase—"pay respect"—got under Toji's skin. Who were these people to extort his father like this? His dad had worked too hard to be muscled around by some street thugs. Dropping his chopsticks onto the table, Toji stood abruptly.
"I'm going," he said.
His mother blinked, confused. "You haven't finished your breakfast. Where are you going?"
"School," Toji replied as he grabbed his jacket, knowing full well he was about to be late.
Before his mom could protest further, he was out the door, running down the street. But as much as his feet were carrying him toward school, his mind was elsewhere—on Big Deal, on Jake, and the mess his father had just stumbled into.
"Sigh… what a drag," Toji thought to himself, knowing this situation would get messy without anyone even realizing what was coming.
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Toji POV
I stood in front of H-High, my school. It had been more than six months since I first joined, and to anyone passing by, it looked like an elite institution, something straight out of a brochure for prestigious private schools. The kind of place parents send their kids to become model students and future leaders. But that's not what H-High was when I first arrived. Far from it.
When I walked through the school gates, seniors and juniors alike bowed on either side of me. They lined up from the gate to the entrance, heads down in silent respect, as if I were some kind of king walking among his subjects. They looked like model students—neat uniforms, serious expressions—but it hadn't always been like this.
When I first arrived, this school was the worst in all of South Korea. Smack in the middle of Seoul, H-High had a reputation for failure. The management was a joke, and the students? Even worse. Gambling, extortion, drug deals—this place had it all.
It wasn't a school; it was a breeding ground for future criminals. Honestly, I didn't have much of a choice when I joined. My grades weren't exactly stellar, so I couldn't get into the top schools. H-High was a last resort. But if I couldn't change schools, I decided that I would just change the school itself.
It took me one week to bring the entire student body to its knees. A full week of fighting day and night, taking on everyone who thought they could own this place.
Most of them were barely students—more like gangsters in uniforms. They had experience in everything from street brawls to actual killing and torture. But… I've seen worse. Way worse. I've fought against men who could rip you apart without blinking, and I've survived hellish situations that would leave most people trembling. So, fighting these amateurs? It wasn't hard. I'd fought through things that would make their nightmares look like fairy tales.
The hardest part wasn't beating them. It was holding back. Controlling my strength so I didn't kill any of them. With my heavenly restriction, I'm already stronger than a million men. Add my fighting skills to that, and if I'd gone all out, they wouldn't be standing today. But I didn't want bodies on my conscience. So I held back, fought smarter, broke a few bones here and there, and made sure they understood who was in charge.
I fought them day and night for a week straight. It wasn't about winning or losing. I needed to establish dominance, to make it clear that this was my school now. By the end of it, the entire school was under my control.
The gambling and illegal money-lending still go on, but now, it's on my terms. We lend millions to small business owners, and either they pay up, or we take over their businesses.
The operations are managed by ex-convicts I handpicked myself. These guys were looking for redemption, a way to stand proud in front of their families again. Sometimes, we even helped their kids out with school fees or medical bills. They were like dogs—loyal to the end, all because I beat them up once.
I glanced at the two guys walking beside me. The first one, an absolute giant of a man, stood at two meters tall. His arms and legs were like pillars, solid muscle. Poor guy—I had to drag his face through the ground during our fight, cracking the pavement, and punching every single one of his teeth out just to show him who was stronger.
Now, I called him Meatshield No. 1. He was tough, but not too bright. Still, he was useful when I needed someone to scare off the competition.
The other guy was more interesting. He had these weird eyes, black with white dots, kind of like mine. He was half-Japanese, half-Korean, and he gave me the most trouble when I first arrived.
He kept getting up, again and again, no matter how many times I knocked him down. In the end, I had to crush both his hands and legs and dislocate his jaw before he finally stayed down.
Funny thing is, after that week-long fight, I ended up with those same eyes. They only activate when I will them to, though. Thanks to the heavenly restriction on me, I'm already as strong as a million men, but these eyes? They make everything slow down around me, making it easier to end fights faster. It's a dangerous ability, one that I have to keep in check. Otherwise, I might accidentally kill someone.
I call him Meatshield No. 2. He never talks unless necessary, just like me, and for some reason, he's the most loyal out of all of them. After working as an assassin for a decade, I've learned how to read people. I know for a fact that even if the entire world turned against me, he'd still have my back.
Then there's the last guy—a kid. He's still in middle school, studying in the lower block. I took him under my wing because he was a good bread shuttle, always running errands for others. But I hit the jackpot with him. He's actually intelligent, unlike most of the idiots in this school, he did all my homework without complaining.
But more importantly, he had a brain. Unlike the idiots around here, he actually thought things through. He took care of the business side of things, made sure the legal stuff was handled. He wasn't like Meatshield No. 1 or No. 2, who relied on their fists to get things done. This kid used his head.
When I first met him, he was getting bullied. People would beat him up and steal his lunch money. Worse, they even targeted his older sister.
His father had gambled her away in some illegal gambling den, betting his own daughter like she was property. He lost, of course, and she was about to be sold off to some brothel or organ farm. If it weren't for me, who knows what would've happened to her? After I brought her back, the kid swore loyalty to me. No one bullies him now, and no one even looks at his sister the wrong way.
With a sigh, I walked into the classroom and took my seat. The rest of the students did the same. Most of them were either asleep or goofing off. Only a handful actually listened to the teacher.
The management of the school used to be a joke. Gangsters were running the place, using the students to carry out their illegal activities. But after I beat them all up, I put a real management team in place. Now, the school is run by a proper board made up of parents and teachers.
The teachers didn't bother me anymore either. They knew the only reason the school was in better shape was because of me. I invested some of my own money to renovate the place, making it look as good as any international or private school.
The canteen served real food now, not the garbage they used to dish out. H-High is famous now. More and more girls are opting to study here, and we've climbed the ranks. Currently, we're ranked seventh in all of South Korea, and we're only going up from here.
[ Author: Manhwa logic don't ask How ]
I'd also enforced a new rule: every student had to wear a name tag on their chest. It wasn't just for discipline; it was for me. I was terrible at remembering people's names, so this way, I didn't have to.
I still called my closest guys Meatshield No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3 though. They didn't need names. They were useful, and that's all that mattered.
But even if I didn't like it, I couldn't deny the truth. Right now, I was the leader of this crew, whether I wanted to be or not. We called ourselves "The Division."