The faint hum of rain tapped against the window as Jewel lay sprawled across Yukita's neatly made bed, twirling a strand of her caramel-colored hair. Yukita sat on the floor, cross-legged, her hood pulled snugly over her head even in the comfort of her own room. She stared at the floor, her fingers anxiously pulling at a loose thread on her sweater. Jewel watched her with narrowed eyes, her usual playful smirk tugging at her lips.
"Alright, spill it," Jewel said, her voice teasing yet insistent. "You've been acting so weird and quiet ever since Tae showed up. And don't even try to play it off. You never act like this no matter how cute a guy is, something is up."
Yukita stiffened but didn't look up. Her fingers froze mid-fidget, her shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to make herself smaller.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, her voice soft but tinged with nervousness.
Jewel sat up straighter, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Yuki. You think I didn't notice? Every time he's around, you suddenly turn into a shadow. All this hiding under your hood and sneaking away like a ninja—it's not like you. Is it because of him?"
The silence that followed stretched out, filled only by the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. Jewel leaned forward, her curiosity mounting as Yukita finally sighed and pulled her knees to her chest. Her expression was a mix of embarrassment and hesitation, her lips pressing into a thin line before she whispered, "Maybe."
Jewel's eyes widened, her brows shooting up. "Wait… you actually know him? Like, from before?"
Yukita hesitated, biting her lip, before giving a small nod. A faint, wistful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as her gaze drifted to the raindrops racing down the glass.
"We were… a bit close I guess. Back when we were kids. Around eight years old. He was the only one I really trusted."
Her voice cracked slightly, and she paused to steady herself. "It's just… seeing him again after all these years—it's strange. I don't even know if he remembers me. And what if he doesn't?"
Jewel tilted her head, studying her best friend's expression. The vulnerability on Yukita's face was uncharacteristic, her usual confident demeanor replaced by uncertainty and an almost longing sadness.
"Yuki," Jewel said softly, "I think you should just talk to him."
Yukita shook her head quickly, pulling her hood tighter around her face. "No, not yet," she said firmly. "Not until I know for sure."
FLASHBACK/BACKSTORY-
The playground buzzed with the cruel chatter of children, their laughter cutting through the crisp air like a jagged blade. Yukita sat on the creaky swing set, her feet dragging lightly in the dirt. She didn't bother swinging; there was no point. No one would come near her, and even if they did, it wouldn't be to talk.
Her fingers clutched the cold metal chains, but her grip was weak. Her mind was elsewhere, drifting between the sting of their taunts and the ache of isolation. "White Balloon Monster," they called her, the words echoing in her ears like a haunting melody.
Her long, white hair hung limply around her face, framing the lump of skin that drooped from her neck—a cruel imperfection she couldn't hide. The small connection between the skin tag and her neck made it sway slightly with every movement, and its balloon-like appearance had earned her the playground's most demeaning nickname.
She kept her head down, willing herself to disappear.
But the whispers didn't stop.
"Look, she's just sitting there like she's waiting to be popped," one boy sneered.
"Bet she doesn't swing because she's scared her balloon will fly off!" another jeered.
Their laughter erupted, and Yukita clenched her fists in her lap, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to ignore them, but the knot in her chest grew tighter with every cruel word. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but what was the point? No one was on her side.
Then it happened.
A group of older boys approached, their footsteps heavy with intent. They were at least three years older, towering over Yukita as she froze in place. One of them, the ringleader, grinned wickedly.
"Hey, Balloon Girl," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Ever wonder if we could pop that thing? Like, you know, with a pin or something?"
Yukita's breath hitched.
The other boys laughed as they closed in on her. She tried to push herself off the swing, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. Fear had turned them to jelly.
"Hold her down!" the ringleader barked.
Before she could react, rough hands grabbed her arms and shoulders, pinning her to the ground. The swing's chains clanged together as they forced her off it, and her head hit the dirt. She winced, but the pain in her chest far outweighed the physical discomfort.
A crowd of kids gathered around, their faces alight with twisted curiosity. No one stepped in to stop it. No one fetched a teacher. They just watched, whispering excitedly as if they were about to witness something incredible.
"Pop it! Pop it!" they chanted, their voices growing louder with every passing second.
Yukita's eyes darted frantically. The dirt beneath her felt cold, gritty against her cheek. Her jaw trembled as one of the boys leaned in, his hand gripping her face. His fingers dug into her skin as he forced her head to the side, exposing the lump to everyone.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the dirt.
"No…" she whispered, but her voice was drowned out by the chant.
Her mind raced, but not with hope. She knew the truth about the lump. It wasn't some balloon filled with air. It was a mass of tissue and nerves, fragile and dangerous. If they popped it, she could bleed uncontrollably. It would leave a a much bigger scar, a reminder of this moment that would never fade.
She wanted to scream, to beg, but her voice caught in her throat. All she could do was close her eyes and accept it. She was helpless.
The ringleader's grin widened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a sharp pencil. He held it up for the crowd to see, and the kids erupted in cheers. Yukita's body trembled violently.
Then, a voice cut through the chaos.
"Let her go."
It was quiet but firm, carrying a weight that silenced the crowd instantly.
The boy with the pencil froze, looking up in confusion. The crowd parted slightly, and there he was. A boy Yukita's age, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
Tae Kang.
He didn't yell, didn't shove his way through. He simply walked forward, his presence alone enough to make the older boys hesitate. There was something in his gaze—an unwavering determination that made even the boldest of them falter.
"Who the hell are you?" the ringleader sneered, though his grip on Yukita's face loosened slightly.
Tae didn't answer. He just stared, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. Despite his small frame compared to the older boys, he didn't flinch. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and stopped just inches away from the ringleader.
"I said, let her go."
The ringleader scoffed, trying to mask his unease. "What are you gonna do about it, huh?"
Tae tilted his head slightly, his gaze never wavering. "You're about to find out."
The older boys didn't even hesitate. They descended on Tae with a vengeance, fists swinging and feet kicking as the crowd cheered them on. Tae's small frame crumpled under the first blow, a solid punch to his stomach deflating the air out of him. He fell to his knees, gasping for air, his arms wrapped around his midsection.
"Stay down, kid," one of the boys growled, shaking his fist.
But Tae didn't stay down.
He planted his hands on the ground, pushing himself up slowly. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and his legs wobbled beneath him, but his eyes burned with defiance.
The ringleader sneered. "You've got guts, I'll give you that." He kicked Tae in the ribs, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
The crowd jeered, their voices a cacophony of mockery and cruel excitement. Tae coughed violently, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His vision blurred, but still, he moved. His hands trembled as he forced himself to his knees, then to his feet.
"Why... won't you... stay down?" one of the boys muttered, frustration creeping into his tone.
Tae didn't answer. He just stood there, swaying slightly, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His face was a mess—a black eye already swelling shut, his nose bleeding, dirt smeared across his cheeks. His shirt was slightly torn, exposing purple bruises blooming across his ribs.
Another punch connected with his jaw, and Tae hit the ground again. He stayed there for a moment, his body aching, his head spinning. But then, with an almost robotic determination, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up once more. He was put onto the ground but he got up again, and again...and again.
The older boys exchanged uneasy glances.
"This kid's insane," one of them muttered.
"Enough of this," the ringleader said, grabbing Tae by the collar and lifting him off the ground. He pulled back his fist and drove it into Tae's stomach again, dropping him like a sack of rocks.
Tae hit the dirt with a dull thud, curling into himself as he wheezed. His entire body screamed in pain, but his mind was somewhere else. He thought of the girl on the swing, the tears in her eyes, the humiliation she endured every day. He couldn't stop now—not when someone needed him.
Slowly, agonizingly, he got up again.
The crowd fell silent, their jeers replaced by stunned disbelief. Even the older boys seemed unsure of what to do. Tae's legs shook violently, and his shoulders slumped, but his fists were clenched, and his eyes locked onto the ringleader.
"I told you to stay down!" the boy shouted, his voice cracking with anger.
He lunged at Tae, but something was different this time. Tae didn't move, didn't flinch. He simply stood his ground, staring at his opponent with an intensity that made the older boy hesitate.
And then the ringleader did something no one expected: he stepped back.
"Forget it," he muttered, spitting on the ground. "This freak isn't worth it."
One by one, the older boys followed suit, their frustration boiling over. The crowd, sensing the show was over, began to disperse.
Tae stood there, alone in the middle of the playground, swaying on his feet. His body was broken, his face unrecognizable, but his spirit was intact.
Yukita ran to him, tears streaming down her face. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she reached for him.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want you to get hurt."
Tae, still panting, lowered himself to the ground and leaned back, resting his head against the swing set. He stared at the sky, the warm hues of the setting sun painting the horizon.
"I won," he said simply, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his swollen lips.
Yukita blinked through her tears. "What? You didn't—"
"I didn't run," Tae interrupted, his voice hoarse but steady. "That's what matters. I didn't run."
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Yukita wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself.
"You're crazy but... you were amazing in a way." she muttered, her voice cracking.
"Maybe," Tae said, laughing softly despite the pain it caused him. He turned his head to look at her, his expression softening. "But you shouldn't have to go through this alone, Yukita. No one should."
Her lip quivered, and she nodded. Something in his words clicked, igniting a spark in her heart that would never fade.
In the days that followed, Yukita stayed close to Tae. She walked behind him through the hallways, her small frame barely noticeable as she used him as a shield. No one dared to mess with Tae after that day. Word had spread about the boy who stood his ground against older bullies, and his reputation soared. To think someone had that much endurance after fighting older boys?what could the boys Tae's age possibly do to him.
For Yukita, Tae was her savior, her hero. But their time together was short-lived.
One morning, just weeks later, Yukita's father announced they were moving to London. It was sudden, unexpected, and Yukita didn't have the chance to say goodbye to the boy who had changed her life.
Her father, now in a better financial position, paid for the removal of her imperfection with liquid nitrogen. The lump was gone, but the memory of Tae's kindness and courage remained etched in her heart.
Yukita finished her story, her voice trembling slightly as she looked at Jewel.
"I never got to thank him properly," Yukita said, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. "And now he's here, at our school, and I don't know what to say. He's so different—stronger, more confident. And… he's handsome. when I first saw him I didn't even think he was real I thought I was dreaming."
Jewel blinked, absorbing everything she'd just heard. She had always thought the tiny faint mark on Yukita's neck was a birthmark or a beauty spot, but now it carried a story she hadn't expected.
"I had no idea," Jewel said softly. "About any of this. But, Yukita, you can't keep hiding from him. You owe it to yourself—and to him—to talk to him."
Yukita bit her lip, unsure.
"And Tae…" Jewel added, her voice trailing off as she thought about him in a new light. "He's… something else."
A plan began to form in Jewel's mind. She would find a way to bring the two together and, if the opportunity arose, maybe even learn more about Tae's past herself. On the other hand, Tae sat outside on a bench, his hood pulled up to shield him from the soft drizzle falling from the London sky. The rain here wasn't harsh or wild; it was steady and calm, like a quiet whisper. The cold droplets ran down his windbreaker, creating small streams on the fabric before dripping onto the ground. The air was fresh, carrying the earthy scent of rain-soaked concrete, and the faint glow of streetlights reflected off the wet pavement. This was what Tae liked about the London weather—it gave him space to think, to reflect without the noise of the world pressing in.
At this dark hour, the city felt like it belonged to him. The rain created a rhythm, soft and steady, that matched the beating of his heart. He took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs as he stared into the distance. The fight earlier was still fresh in his mind, his bruises a reminder of his limitations. His fists clenched involuntarily at the thought of Baron, the so-called king of the school.
"I can't rely on adrenaline to win," he muttered to himself. That burst of energy might have helped him the other day, but it wouldn't be enough against someone like Baron. No, he needed more.
Two things became clear to him: first, he needed to learn some kind of martial art, something practical and effective. Second, he needed to upgrade his physical body—become stronger, faster, and tougher. Only then could he face Baron, not just as an opponent but as an equal. Tae leaned back on the bench, letting the rain hit his hood as he thought deeply. If he was going to take this seriously, he needed to choose a martial art that he could learn on his own. He didn't have time—or money—to join a dojo or training center, so self-teaching was his only option.
A few immediately came to mind. Boxing, with its sharp punches and defensive footwork, seemed practical for close-quarters fighting. Then there was Taekwondo, which emphasized powerful kicks—perfect for keeping opponents at a distance. Karate, with its precise strikes and disciplined movements, also seemed appealing.
Judo and Jiu-Jitsu crossed his mind next, both focusing on grapples and submissions. Those arts could be useful for opponents larger than him, like Baron. But learning them without a partner seemed nearly impossible.
The possibilities swirled in his head, each offering something valuable. He knew he had to make a decision soon and commit to it fully.