The headmaster stands at the corner of his office, his face flushed with anger. His clenched fists twist and turn, betraying his rising fury. The room is eerily silent, the stillness amplifying the turmoil brewing within him.
His thoughts spiral. Who dared to enter my office? Who would have the audacity to challenge me? His mind races, piecing together possibilities.
At that moment, his eyes catch movement outside the window. Woo-Jin is sprinting down the road toward the school, carrying a bag in one hand and some bandages in the other. The headmaster narrows his eyes at the sight, his gaze shifting between the boy and the items he's holding. Something stirs in his mind, a realization sharp and bitter.
He strides purposefully toward the door. His hand grips the handle, and as he pauses, an image flashes before his eyes—Kangha. The scene from earlier unfolds in vivid detail, replaying what happened between them. His anger intensifies, his chest heaving as his face grows even redder.
"Kangha," he mutters through gritted teeth, his voice low and venomous. He clenches his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms. "You'll pay for this. I'll make sure of it. Every single wrong will be avenged."
His voice drops to a whisper, cold and menacing. "And when the time comes, you'll give me what's mine... before you breathe your last."
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"Take it off," she orders firmly, her tone sharp, as though venting her frustrations at him. Her gaze, however, remains steady—calm on the surface but hiding the storm of anger brewing beneath.
Kangha studies her expression. On the outside, she appears composed, even polite. But her eyes betray her—there's a fire of suppressed irritation behind them.
Resigned, he reaches up with his uninjured right hand and begins unbuttoning his shirt slowly. His movements are careful, every stretch pulling on his wounded shoulder. When he leans forward to slide it off, the shirt refuses to budge. His left arm, nearly immobile from the injury, refuses to cooperate.
A sharp wave of pain shoots through his shoulder, forcing a strained groan from him. "Ahhh..." His eyes shut tightly as his body stiffens in reaction, and he falls back onto the bed, his breaths shallow. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead as the pain pulses through him.
Ji-yeon quickly realizes the extent of his discomfort. Without saying a word, she moves closer to him, her irritation melting into concern. Gently, she helps him sit up, guiding his body with surprising care. She reaches behind him, slipping her hands beneath the fabric on his right side, carefully pulling the shirt over his shoulder.
Then, shifting her position, she moves to his left side, supporting his injured arm delicately as she slides the shirt off completely. She works with precision, her touch firm but gentle enough not to aggravate his pain further.
Once the shirt is off, Ji-yeon examines his shoulder. She places her hand lightly against the injured area, her fingers tracing the edge of the bone to check for any fractures. "The bone is fine," she says softly, relief evident in her voice. "But the force that threw you was strong enough to displace the muscles underneath. It's probably strained the nerves too."
Kangha listens quietly, his breathing still heavy but slowing as her calm voice reaches him.
"I'll wrap it," Ji-yeon continues, her tone more soothing now. "Don't move your arm or shoulder for a day, at least. If you keep it still, the muscles and nerves will settle on their own. A day or two, and you'll start feeling better."
Her fingers work skillfully as she applies light pressure to the area, feeling for any signs of hidden injuries. Kangha watches her closely, noticing the faint crease on her brow—a sign of her deep concentration.
Though her touch occasionally causes discomfort, it is far from unbearable. Instead, there's something oddly comforting about the care she is giving him.
Kangha feels an unusual pull toward her, a strange sensation he cannot understand. "What is this?" he wonders to himself, shaking his head. Trying to dismiss the thoughts, he turns his face away to avoid looking at her.
Ji-yeon, however, raises her gaze and looks at him. It seems as if she is about to say something. One of her hands rests lightly on Kangha's chest while the other clutches the loose fabric of his shirt, gently draped over his shoulder. Her movements are hesitant, almost as if she's unsure whether to proceed.
Kangha, keeping his face turned to the side, remains silent. Without uttering a word, she focuses on his task, tying the fabric securely around his shoulder. Yet, a shadow of sadness falls over Ji-yeon's face. She continues helping him but seems lost in her thoughts, her expressions veiled with an unspoken sorrow.
"Raise your arm," Ji-yeon's voice comes softly, almost trembling. There is something about it—like the faint echo of someone holding back tears.
Kangha turns his face toward her, unable to resist glancing at her for a moment. His gaze lingers. Is she crying? He wonders. Yet her face, though expressionless, bears no tears. A pang of guilt or perhaps pain stirs in his chest. Slowly, he lifts his arm, feeling some relief in the motion, though the ache remains.
His eyes remain fixed on her, observing every subtle movement. Ji-yeon keeps her face lowered, her focus solely on adjusting the cloth around his shoulder. She works in silence, her emotions carefully concealed, but there's a weight in the air that neither of them can ignore.
Kangha feels a deep sense of shame as he watches Ji-Yeon tending to his wounds with quiet care. Guilt weighs heavily on him, and a longing to apologize rises within him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. The soft words reach Ji-Yeon's ears, and she pauses. Lifting her eyes to meet his, she realizes the apology is meant for her. But instead of responding immediately, she lowers her gaze and continues wrapping the bandage around his shoulder.
"For what?" she asks softly, her voice calm, almost hesitant.
"For misunderstanding you. For everything I've done to you. I... I shouldn't have treated you like that," Kangha admits, his voice laced with regret.
"It's okay," Ji-Yeon replies, her tone curt, as if unwilling to dwell on the moment. She finishes tying the bandage and starts to move away.
Kangha stares at her in disbelief. "It's okay?" he repeats, his brows furrowing. "You're not angry with me?"
"No,"
"Why not?"
"I don't know," she says, her voice steady but distant. Her response feels like a wall, shielding her thoughts. Maybe she doesn't want to talk about it. Or maybe she's too exhausted to feel anything else.
Before Kangha can press further, another question slips from his lips. "Who told you about me? About... everything?"
Ji-Yeon, who has taken a few steps away, stops and turns to look at him. Her expression is unreadable as she replies, "Your mother."
Kangha freezes, his face draining of color. His mind reels at the revelation, leaving him speechless. He doesn't know what to say next, his thoughts tangled in confusion and alarm.
Ji-Yeon says nothing more. She turns and walks out of the room, leaving Kangha behind with his unanswered questions and the weight of his guilt.
Kangha's heart pounds with unease. What is all this? My mother? Miss Choi... does she know everything? About my mother? His mind buzzes with questions,. I need answers. I have to find out the truth.
His thoughts are interrupted by the booming voice of the headmaster echoing across the school grounds. Kangha snaps out of his reverie and listens carefully. The headmaster is calling names—Miss Choi, Woo-Jin, and... his own.
With a tense expression, Kangha moves out of his room, his face void of emotion, and peers down into the ground. The headmaster stands in the center, commanding attention. Miss Choi and Woo-Jin have already made their way to the grounds, joining the gathered students, who seem to be rehearsing.
The headmaster begins speaking, his authoritative tone cutting through the field. "I know all of you have been preparing tirelessly for the upcoming competition. I understand the pressure you're under. Which is why I've decided... the competition will not take place five days from now. Instead, it starts tomorrow."
The crowd of students erupts in murmurs of surprise and excitement, but Kangha remains frozen, watching from the upper level.
The headmaster raises a hand to quiet the noise before continuing. "The first round will be a fight. Each of you will compete against one another, and the winners will advance. Those who lose will be eliminated. The final challenge? To face me. If you defeat me, you will move on to the next stage of the competition."
The field erupts in cheers. Students buzz with enthusiasm, thrilled by the prospect of proving themselves. Kangha, however, stays silent, his eyes fixed on the headmaster. His face betrays nothing, but a storm brews inside him.
Tomorrow morning, the first round begins, the headmaster declares, a chilling finality in his voice.
As the students disperse, preparing for the sudden change in schedule, Kangha stands still. His mind lingers on the words, the sudden shift, and the questions that remain unanswered.