"They asked if I was ready for my first real fight. But kings don't prepare for victory - they expect it. Yesterday was just proof of what I already knew: I was born above them all."
- Lee Sejong
Dawn painted Seoul's skyline in shades of gold and crimson as Sejong stood before his mirror, adjusting his tie with practiced precision. The cut on his cheek from yesterday's fight had faded to a thin red line - a souvenir from his first taste of combat against Dongho's gang. His fingers traced the mark lightly, a small smirk playing across his face as he recalled how naturally it had all come to him. Park Minho's words still echoed in his mind: "Tomorrow. Behind the old gym. Show up alone."
"Sejong-ah! Breakfast!" Aunt Somin's voice carried up the stairs, pulling him from his thoughts.
The scent of grilled mackerel and doenjang soup filled the Park family's modern apartment. As Sejong descended the stairs, each step measured and unhurried, he could hear the morning news playing softly from Uncle Jinyoung's tablet and the clatter of chopsticks as Junho, already seated, attacked his breakfast with typical enthusiasm.
Junho looked up from his bowl, eyes shining with barely contained excitement. "Hyung! The whole school's talking about what happened! They say you're fighting Song Minjun today!"
Sejong raised an eyebrow as he took his seat. News traveled fast in Hanseong's hallowed halls. Song Minjun - Night Shine's renowned fighter, a tenth-grader whose reputation preceded him. Three students hospitalized last semester, or so the whispers said. The thought should have worried him. Instead, it made his blood sing.
"Fighting?" Uncle Jinyoung lowered his tablet, concern etching his features. Unlike Junho's animated energy, his uncle's worry carried the weight of adult responsibility. "Sejong, what exactly happened yesterday?"
Sejong accepted the bowl of rice Aunt Somin passed him, his movements graceful and controlled. "Just a small matter of establishing natural order, Uncle. Nothing that should concern you."
"Natural order?" Uncle Jinyoung's brow furrowed deeper. In the six years since taking Sejong in, he'd learned to read between his nephew's carefully chosen words. "This isn't like you, starting fights..."
"I never start fights, Uncle," Sejong replied, sampling the perfectly grilled mackerel. "I merely end them."
Aunt Somin paused in her cooking, wooden spoon held mid-stir. "The school hasn't called us about any trouble."
"And they won't," Sejong assured her, his voice carrying absolute certainty. "Yesterday was simply... a clarification of position. Today is about claiming what's rightfully mine."
"And what exactly is rightfully yours?" Uncle Jinyoung pressed, his newspaper forgotten beside his half-eaten breakfast.
Sejong met his uncle's gaze steadily. Six years of their care had earned them honesty, if nothing else. "Leadership of Night Shine."
The clatter of Junho's chopsticks hitting his bowl echoed through the suddenly silent kitchen. "Night Shine? But Hyung, they're the strongest group in school! Even the seniors-"
"Are merely keeping my throne warm," Sejong finished, dabbing his lips with a napkin. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows caught the steam rising from his soup, creating a momentary crown of mist above his head.
"Just... be careful," Uncle Jinyoung finally said, though his tone suggested he wasn't sure who needed the protection more - Sejong or his opponents.
Sejong savored his soup, each movement deliberate. The rich broth reminded him of countless mornings in this kitchen, of the stability the Parks had given him when his own world had tilted off its axis. Six years of Aunt Somin's cooking, of Uncle Jinyoung's quiet guidance, of Junho's admiring gazes. They were the closest thing to subjects a young king could have.
"The rice is perfect today, Aunt Somin," he said, setting down his spoon.
"Ah, you always notice," she smiled, but concern lingered in her eyes. "I packed extra in your lunch today. You'll need your strength."
"Strength?" Sejong stood, smoothing his blazer with practiced care. "Aunt Somin, have you ever seen a tiger train before it hunts?"
Before she could answer, he bowed respectfully. The gesture was perfect - neither too deep nor too shallow. A king's courtesy. "Thank you for breakfast. I'll be home for dinner."
Junho scrambled up, nearly knocking over his water glass. "Hyung, wait! Let's walk together!"
"Not today," Sejong said, his tone softer than usual. "A king walks alone to his coronation."
The autumn morning embraced him as he stepped out. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and distant rain. Usually, he made the twenty-minute walk to Hanseong Private Academy in precisely seventeen minutes. Today, he took his time, letting the whispers of passing students wash over him.
"That's him-" "The one who took down Dongho's whole gang-" "But Song Minjun is different-" "Did you hear? He demanded to lead Night Shine!" "Is he insane or just-"
A smile tugged at his lips. Their whispers were like the rustling of leaves - background noise to a predator's stride. Other students in their identical uniforms gave him a wide berth, some bowing hastily, others averting their eyes. Yesterday, he had been merely another student. Today, he was something else entirely.
The gates of Hanseong Private Academy rose before him, modern glass and steel reaching toward the morning sky. Security cameras tracked every movement, ensuring no deviation from approved behaviors. But even here, in this carefully controlled environment, true power found its own hierarchy.
As he passed through the gates, conversations died. Students paused mid-step, some instinctively moving aside. A group of girls near the entrance whispered behind their hands. One, braver than the rest, called out softly, "Sejong-sunbae! Fighting!"
He acknowledged them with the barest tilt of his head. Fighting? No. This wasn't a fight. This was destiny.
The main building's lobby buzzed with morning activity, but a bubble of silence followed his path. As he approached his shoe locker, he spotted three Night Shine members lounging nearby, their silver pins catching the fluorescent light. Not Park Minho's inner circle - these were lesser members, sent to observe.
Let them watch. Let them report back. It wouldn't change anything.
"Ya, Lee Sejong."
The voice cut through the morning chatter like a blade. Kim Dongho stood at the end of the row of lockers, his face still showing yesterday's lesson. But it wasn't Dongho who drew Sejong's attention.
Behind him stood Song Minjun.
The tenth-grader was everything the rumors claimed: tall, broad-shouldered, with the practiced stance of a trained fighter. His Night Shine pin sat on his collar like a medal of honor. But it was his eyes that interested Sejong - they held none of the usual arrogance or fear. Only calculation.
Students around them quickly backed away, forming an impromptu arena in the lobby. Someone whispered, "It's starting-"
"So," Minjun's voice was surprisingly soft, almost gentle. "You're the little king who wants my position."
Sejong closed his shoe locker with a quiet click. "Your position? No. I'm here for something much simpler." He turned, meeting Minjun's gaze directly. "I'm here to take what's mine."
A hint of amusement flickered across Minjun's face. "Park Minho told me about your... request. Bold. Stupid, but bold." He stepped closer, using his height advantage to look down at Sejong. "Last chance to back out, kid. I don't usually fight middle schoolers, but if you insist..."
The air grew thick with tension. In the silence, someone's phone clattered to the floor, the sound sharp as breaking glass.
Sejong's smile was terrible in its beauty. "You think this is a fight?" He stepped forward, closing the distance until they were almost chest to chest. "This isn't a fight, sunbae. This is just... formality. A quick ceremony before I take my throne."
For a moment, something dangerous flashed in Minjun's eyes. Then he laughed, the sound echoing off the lobby walls. "Behind the old gym. After classes." He turned to leave, then paused. "Bring a change of clothes. Wouldn't want to ruin that perfect uniform of yours."
"Don't worry about my uniform," Sejong called after him. "Kings know how to keep their crowns clean."
As Minjun disappeared into the crowd, the lobby erupted into furious whispers. Dongho lingered, mouth opening as if to speak, then thought better of it and hurried away.
Sejong adjusted his cuffs, unhurried. The morning sun had fully risen now, streaming through the lobby's high windows. In its light, his shadow stretched long across the floor - not the shadow of a middle school student, but of something far more ancient.
A king's shadow.