"Some say you need years of hardship to become strong. What a joke. True kings are born, not made. And I? I was born to rule." - Lee Sejong
The autumn sun filtered through Hanseong Private Academy's windows, casting golden stripes across Lee Sejong's desk. He lounged in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, ignoring the droning of his history teacher. At thirteen, he already commanded attention without trying - sharp features, calculating eyes, and an aura that made even teachers pause mid-sentence.
Six years ago, everything changed. The image was still fresh in his mind: his mother collapsed in their kitchen, phone still buzzing with work messages, while his father stayed trapped in endless meetings. That night, as he stood in their massive empty house, something clicked in his seven-year-old mind. The world was divided into those who led and those who followed, those who controlled their destiny and those who let it control them.
Park Jinyoung, his father's closest friend, took him in after that. The Parks became his sanctuary - Uncle Jinyoung's quiet strength, Aunt Somin's warm smile, and Junho's admiring eyes following his every move. But even in that loving home, Sejong knew he was different. He wasn't meant for an ordinary life.
"Hey, look who's daydreaming again," a voice cut through his thoughts. "The almighty Lee Sejong, thinking he's too good for class?"
Sejong's eyes flickered to the reflection in the window. Kim Dongho - a loudmouth who'd transferred in last month, standing with his little gang of wannabe thugs. Usually, Sejong wouldn't even acknowledge such noise, but something in Dongho's tone grated against his nerves.
"If you've got something to say," Sejong drawled, not bothering to turn around, "at least have the balls to say it to my face."
The classroom temperature seemed to drop. Students who had been pretending not to listen suddenly stiffened.
Dongho's face reddened. "What, you think you're some kind of king? Always sitting there like you own the place, looking down on everyone with that smug face."
Now Sejong turned, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. "Looking down? Nah, I just have standards. Something you clearly wouldn't understand."
"You piece of-" Dongho lunged forward, fist cocked back.
Sejong's chair scraped against the floor as he stood in one fluid motion. The first punch whistled past his ear - amateur hour. He stepped in close, his own fist driving up into Dongho's solar plexus with a satisfying thud. The bigger boy doubled over, gasping.
"Boss!" Two of Dongho's friends rushed in. Sejong's grin widened. Finally, something interesting.
He caught the first one with a sweep, sending him crashing into desks. The second managed to graze Sejong's cheek, drawing blood. Big mistake. Sejong's eyes flashed, and suddenly he was moving like water - ducking under a wild swing, his elbow cracking against the guy's jaw, following through with a kick that sent him sprawling.
The last two hesitated, then charged together. Sejong clicked his tongue. "Pathetic."
He grabbed one's uniform, using his momentum to slam him into his friend. They went down in a tangle of limbs and cursing. Five bodies lay groaning on the classroom floor, while Sejong stood untouched, save for the small cut on his cheek.
He touched the blood with his thumb, then looked at it with mild interest. "Huh. At least one of you can throw a decent punch."
The commotion drew a crowd to the doorway, including three tenth-graders wearing silver pins - the infamous Night Shine group. Park Minho, leaned against the doorframe, eyebrows raised.
"Impressive show, kid," Minho said, genuine interest in his voice. "Ever thought about joining Night Shine? We could use someone with your skills."
Sejong locked eyes with him. "Funny you should ask. I've been thinking about Night Shine lately."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Sejong's smile turned predatory. "Been thinking it needs new leadership."
The hallway went dead silent. Then Minho burst out laughing, his friends joining in. "You've got some serious balls, kid. But you're still just a seventh-grader."
"Then this should be easy for you," Sejong's voice cut through their laughter. "One fight. You pick your best fighter. I win, I lead Night Shine."
The laughter died. Minho studied him, amusement turning to something sharper. "You're not joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
A long moment passed. Finally, Minho nodded slowly. "Tomorrow. Behind the old gym. Show up alone."
"I always do."
As they left, Sejong returned to his seat, that dangerous smile still playing on his lips. Around him, students whispered and stared, but he barely noticed. His mind was already on tomorrow, on the first step toward claiming what was rightfully his.
The funny thing was, despite his overwhelming confidence, Sejong wasn't completely heartless. When he spotted the class president struggling with a stack of papers, he wordlessly took half the pile. When a freshman got cornered by some thugs last week, Sejong had stepped in, not because he cared about justice, but because real strength meant protecting your territory. These moments weren't kindness exactly - more like a lion deciding which gazelles to spare.
As the final bell rang, Sejong gathered his things unhurried. Others might see tomorrow as a challenge, but for him, it was just a formality. The crown was already his - the world just didn't know it yet.
He stepped into the corridor, autumn sunlight casting his shadow long against the floor. Someone had once told him that power had to be earned. They were wrong. True power wasn't earned - it was claimed. And Lee Sejong was done waiting.