kheoukh—!
Dam—!
Dam—!
"Ughhh, damn it!"
The frustration in his voice was evident as he clenched his fists.
"I don't know why, but every damn time, I just feel the overwhelming urge to beat the crap out of this guy!"
His foot swung through the air with force, landing a clean kick on the chest of a skinny teenager clad in a blue school uniform.
The impact was sharp, the force enough to send the boy stumbling backward.
His face, already bruised and swollen, contorted with pain as he crumpled to the ground.
The fat guy, dressed in the same blue uniform, stood with a smug grin plastered across his face.
He was flanked by a group of his friends, all of whom were reveling in the moment.
They laughed and jeered, finding amusement in the suffering of the smaller, weaker student.
Each kick, each blow, seemed to feed their collective sense of superiority.
The scene was a grim display of power, one that was all too familiar in the halls of the school.
This was nothing new, the usual display of power dynamics that ran deep in the veins of Korean society.
The hierarchical system, where the strong preyed on the weak, had long been a fixture in schools, workplaces, and even the streets.
The bullies in the blue school uniforms—embodying the arrogance of those who held power—represented the unspoken truth of a society where strength and influence were the measures of worth.
It was the same cruel game, where those at the top crushed those below them, with the world turning a blind eye to the pain of the powerless.
The fat guy's smug expression reflected not just his personal arrogance but a much larger, deeply ingrained culture that idolized success, domination, and respect, often at the expense of compassion or empathy.
His gang of followers, like loyal lapdogs, fed off the misery of the weak. It was a sick, twisted cycle—one that many Korean youths knew all too well.
.
.
.
.
After several more seconds of relentless punching and kicking, the skinny teenager was left crumpled on the ground, barely conscious.
His face was a swollen mess, and blood stained his uniform.
"Haaa.....haaa....huff..huff..haaa.."
The fat guy, his breath heavy with satisfaction, paused for a moment, surveying the damage he had caused.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter with an almost careless flick of his wrist.
The moment felt deliberate, like a ritual to solidify his dominance.
As he lit the cigarette, the burning tip glowing against the evening air, he took a slow drag, inhaling deeply as if savoring the moment.
A smug, almost indifferent look settled on his face as the smoke curled up, mixing with the tension of the scene.
What made it worse, though, was the fact that the fat ass was underage.
Yet, there he was, indulging in the rebellious act of smoking, his defiance of rules and authority all too fitting for his role in this cruel little hierarchy.
"Hey, Hyejin,"
The fat guy called out, his tone dripping with smug curiosity.
"What did you say his little sister's name was again?"
Hyejin, standing nearby, gave a half-hearted glance at the beaten figure on the ground before answering.
"Right... Doona Lee, isn't it?"
She spoke casually, though there was an edge of amusement in her voice as she watched the broken teenager squirm beneath the weight of their cruelty.
The fat guy grinned wider, his expression twisted in satisfaction.
He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke as if it were a victory, his gaze never leaving the teen.
"Doona Lee, huh? I bet she'd be real proud of her big brother."
His words were laced with mockery, a cruel jab at the teenager's helplessness.
"Or should I give her some pleasure and make sure she never forgets about something?"
The fat guy's words hung in the air, his grin widening even further, stretching like a predator savoring his next move.
The sentence hit the teenager on the ground like a sharp punch to the gut.
His eyes, already bloodshot and pained, flashed with shock and disbelief at the mention of his little sister.
The words, laced with vile disrespect, struck a raw nerve, leaving him temporarily stunned, his body trembling with a mix of rage and helplessness.
The humiliation of hearing his sister's name tainted with such disgusting intent was a blow he hadn't expected, and it made his heart race with a growing desire for retribution.
But in his weakened state, all he could do was lie there, powerless.
Through the pain and the blood trickling down his face, the teenager forced his throat to work.
His voice was barely a whisper, thick with hatred and venom.
"You... piece of crap... shit..."
His words were strained, almost garbled, but each syllable carried the weight of his anger.
He gritted his teeth, struggling to hold on to any shred of defiance.
The fat guy smirked, leaning in closer, mocking the teen's attempt to retaliate.
"What's that? You going to kill me? With what? Those weak little fists?"
He chuckled cruelly, flicking the ash from his cigarette, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Pathetic."
The teenager's eyes burned with fury, the fire within him refusing to be snuffed out, no matter how much pain they inflicted.
He took a labored breath, his words now coming out louder, filled with raw, unrestrained hatred.
"I'll kill you... I'll drag you to hell... and make you beg for mercy you'll never get."
The fat guy paused, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he leaned back, a small, condescending laugh escaping him.
"Big talk from a loser who can't even stand up,"
He taunted, his voice oozing with disdain.
"You can't even defend yourself, let alone touch me."
But the teenager, though barely able to move, clenched his fists, his chest heaving with rage.
"When I do, you won't be able to run. You won't have anyone to save you,"
He spat, his voice hoarse but determined, as if the words themselves were a weapon.
Khkh—!
The sound of a harsh, forceful kick echoed through the air as the fat guy's boot slammed into Minho's abdomen.
"Dreaming big, loser,"
He sneered, his words dripping with mockery.
"Minho."
Minho gasped, the air knocked from his lungs as he crumpled further into the dirt, pain radiating through his body like fire.
The world around him felt distant, his vision blurring, but his hatred for the fat guy only grew.
He couldn't move, but in his mind, he was already planning his revenge.
With a final sneer, the fat guy turned away, his laughter barely audible over the sound of his retreating footsteps.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone without a second glance at Minho.
His group of friends followed, their laughter fading as they moved further down the street.
As he scrolled through his phone, he let out a dismissive chuckle.
"Haah, nowadays, Webtoons are all about some loser becoming overpowered. So original."
He shook his head, the weight of his words filled with disdain.
"Webtoon companies don't have a damn clue about new concepts anymore."
His voice carried in the distance as he walked away, the sound of his words lingering in Minho's ears, making the teenager on the ground clench his teeth even tighter.
Despite the beating, despite the pain, Minho's heart burned with a resolve that could no longer be extinguished.
"Just wait,"
He muttered under his breath, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper.
"One day... I'll make you regret this."
*****
First time seeing this kind of concept?
I just thought what might happens when we mixed the rpg genre to tokyo revengers...that's all.
And I've taken this reference from questism anyways
By the way thanks for reading—!
And don't forget to add this in your collection.
Bye bye.