The man in the black suit, with the deeply carved scar on his face, was one of Yeon Ha-yeon’s organization members, one of their more formidable gangsters.
He was none other than Uncle Axe, the gruff but surprisingly kind man who had once cooked me that memorable soybean paste stew.
He had a formidable appearance, his scarred face adding to his intimidating aura and making him look like a character straight out of a tough guy movie.
Yet, beneath that hardened exterior, I knew, was a surprisingly warm disposition, a gentle giant who cared in his own gruff way.
His presence now, however, standing like a dark sentinel, was far from comforting; it was a glaring, almost cartoonish announcement to the entire school that something unusual was afoot.
Why was Uncle Axe standing there, right outside my classroom door, looking like a misplaced bouncer?
The story began on the day the kidnapping incident occurred, as I was finally on my way back home.
I was riding in Yeon Ha-yeon’s familiar black car, the same sleek, understated vehicle I’d been in before.
The interior was spacious and quiet, a stark contrast to the rough, abandoned construction site I’d just escaped.
The ride felt both comforting, knowing I was safe, and slightly unsettling, given the dramatic circumstances that necessitated such an escort.
The smooth hum of the engine was the only sound for a while, a low, steady drone that did little to ease the sense of lingering tension that still clung to me, a phantom echo of the fear and frustration from hours prior.
I kept replaying the events, the absurdity of it all, in my mind.
As we drove through the familiar city streets, the setting sun casting long shadows, Uncle Axe, his normally stern face now deeply creased with concern, finally spoke.
His voice, usually a gravelly rumble, was unusually strained, almost tight with emotion.
A prominent vein pulsed in his neck as he vehemently emphasized that such dangerous incidents should never happen to me again.
He spoke with a fervor that genuinely surprised me, his concern palpable and raw, far more personal than I would have expected from a professional bodyguard.
He seemed deeply affected by what had transpired, clearly seeing it as a serious breach of some unspoken code or responsibility within their world.
His words were punctuated by frustrated gestures, his large hands clenching and unclenching, as if he were trying to physically push away the memory of the danger I had been in, to somehow erase it with his sheer will.
It was to this worried, agitated Uncle Axe that Yeon Ha-yeon, with a faint, almost imperceptible knowing smile playing on her lips, made a suggestion.
Her lips curved upwards just slightly, hinting at a mischievous thought taking root, a spark of cunning in her usually impassive eyes.
Her composure remained absolute, a stark contrast to Uncle Axe’s visible distress.
“Then, Uncle, would you like to be Dana’s bodyguard?” she proposed, her tone light, almost casual, yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority.
It was a simple question, innocent enough on the surface, yet it held the weight of a decision already made, a subtle command disguised as a choice.
And with that single, seemingly innocuous sentence, a bodyguard was assigned to me.
My own personal shadow.
A very visible, very intimidating shadow. Yeon Ha-yeon insisted, with unwavering conviction, that since I had been kidnapped at school, the school itself could no longer be considered a safe space.
Her logic was cold, precise, and utterly irrefutable.
She argued passionately, her voice calm but firm, that immediate and thorough security measures needed to be implemented to ensure my continued safety.
With unwavering determination that brooked no argument, she insisted that Uncle Axe be stationed right in front of my classroom, a constant, unmoving fixture.
Every time my teachers entered the classroom, their initial expressions of academic focus would warp into surprised flinches.
Their steps would quicken, their eyes wide with alarm as they caught sight of the imposing figure standing guard just outside my door.
Each time, my head would involuntarily bow in a mixture of embarrassment and mortification.
The situation was utterly mortifying, making me feel like a walking, breathing oddity, a spectacle for all to see.
The whispers and curious glances from other students were a constant, low hum of discomfort, following me like an unwanted spotlight wherever I went.
As if this very public, very awkward personal security wasn’t enough to keep me constantly on edge and mentally drained, my nerves had been stretched taut all day due to the Status Window, which had recently captivated the entire nation’s attention.
It wasn’t just a fleeting trend; it was the ubiquitous topic of every conversation, the subject of every news report, a pervasive, inescapable presence in daily life.
You couldn’t turn on a TV, open a newspaper, or browse the internet without seeing something about it.
“Today, Rank 27 changed to a different Awakened!” a student exclaimed excitedly from a nearby desk, his voice buzzing with the latest news, barely containing his enthusiasm.
The news seemed to travel faster than light in our school hallways.
“Really? So the original Rank 27 was pushed down?” another asked, a hint of awe and envy in their voice, already imagining the power shift.
“Wow, who awakened this time? Rank 27, that’s amazing! I’m so jealous,” a third chimed in, their expression a mixture of desire and admiration.
The power and prestige associated with high ranks in this new Awakened world were undeniable, a new form of celebrity.
“His nickname is ‘Strongest Seung-min,’ I heard!” someone else whispered, sharing the latest tidbit of information, which spread like wildfire through the classroom, a juicy piece of gossip.
The rank list, updated whenever a new Awakened person emerged or an existing one changed positions, was a source of endless fascination for the entire nation.
It was practically the national pastime, the new national sport.
The list, updated in real-time, publicly announced the changed rankings, creating a constant buzz of excitement and speculation.
Everyone was glued to their screens, whether phones, tablets, or public displays, watching the numbers shift, eager to see who would rise and who would fall.
When the rank list first appeared, the most intense interest was naturally focused on “Nada,” the mysterious Rank 0.
That interest hadn’t waned; if anything, it had only intensified, burning brighter than ever. News channels, television broadcasts, internet communities – everyone was frantically trying to uncover the identity of the elusive Rank 0.
The obsession was pervasive, a collective national hunt, a modern-day treasure quest for the ultimate secret.
My secret.
Even in our own classroom, the topic of ‘Nada’ was discussed daily, almost religiously, a part of our morning routine.
One day, a classmate jokingly remarked that since Yeon Ha-yeon and the Heavenly Kings were all in our class, maybe Rank 0 was in our class too.
It was meant as a lighthearted jest, a playful theory, but my heart nearly leaped out of my chest.
The sudden surge of adrenaline was almost painful, making my breath hitch and my hands subtly clench under the desk.
I forced myself to maintain a poker face, praying my reaction wasn’t visible.
The speculation that the hooded girl who first cleared the Gate was ‘Nada’ had almost become accepted as fact, broadcast widely across various media outlets.
News anchors discussed it with grave faces, and talk show hosts debated the implications. Some YouTubers, ever eager to capitalize on the public’s insatiable curiosity, were drawing attention to themselves by announcing their intentions to find the hooded girl, purely for the sake of increasing their viewership and ad revenue.
They were like vultures circling, trying to exploit the mystery for their own gain, and the thought of them getting close to me made my skin crawl.
It was a plausible conjecture, I admitted, given the circumstances and the limited information available to the public.
But I never imagined that my existence, my true identity, would be revealed so quickly, especially after all my meticulous efforts to remain hidden, to live a quiet, normal life.
The system, which seemed utterly useless when I truly needed it – offering no guidance or protection during my kidnapping, for instance – but constantly adding unnecessary, intrusive features that complicated my life, felt incredibly spiteful right now.
It was infuriating, a constant reminder of my lack of control.
“Sister!”
I was eavesdropping on the conversation of the children, trying to appear nonchalant, my posture relaxed, when the front door of the classroom swung wide open with a familiar creak.
Yeon Hyung-gwang, with his usual, easy confidence, entered the classroom.
He walked directly to the seat in front of me, which happened to be empty at the moment, and settled down comfortably, as if he owned the place. He turned, his youthful face alight.
“Did something good happen?”
I asked him, genuinely curious, as he was beaming with a smile as radiant as sunshine, almost blinding in its sheer cheerfulness.
He grinned, rocking his legs back and forth with an almost childlike glee, then gestured for me to lean closer, as if to share a thrilling secret.
Conscious of the curious glances from students around us, who were always eager for any hint of drama involving the Heavenly Kings, I deliberately leaned back against my chair, indicating for him to speak without making it too obvious.
Yeon Hyung-gwang propped his chin on both hands, a wide, mischievous grin spreading across his face, and said, his voice a triumphant whisper,
“Yes, I just finished filming a spectacular revenge drama.”
***
At Iljin Sanggo, a storm of ‘blood’ had erupted, a veritable bloodbath of retribution that left the school in utter chaos.
Yeon Hyung-gwang, who had appeared out of nowhere to beat the ‘Collectors’ and their gang to a pulp, leaving them half-dead and groaning in agony, returned to his own school with a look of immense satisfaction on his face, as if he had just enjoyed the most refreshing drink after a long day.
The school infirmary, overwhelmed by the sheer number of injured students – a constant stream of limping, bruised figures – ran out of beds almost immediately, forced to lay out blankets on the floor to accommodate all the battered bodies.
The cries and groans from within the infirmary were a constant, disturbing reminder of the violence that had just transpired, a chilling testament to Hyung-gwang’s efficiency.
“Gamseong High isn’t challenging our school now, are they? Coming all the way here to do something like that is a clear provocation!”
A male student, a member of the Onsaemiro Guild and a classmate of Do Yi-hyun’s, angrily slammed his desk, his face flushed with indignation and a mix of fear.
The sharp crack echoed through the quiet classroom, drawing a few startled glances.
He quickly glanced at Do Yi-hyun, who remained impassive, completely unaffected by the outburst, then began scrambling to pick up the mechanical pencil and eraser that had bounced off his desk, his earlier bravado quickly fading under Do Yi-hyun’s silent presence.
“Don’t you have ears?”
Hae Malgeum, another classmate, chided the male student, her voice laced with exasperation and a hint of weariness.
She then let out a deep sigh, a sound of resignation, turning her gaze to Do Yi-hyun, who was staring out the window, lost in thought, his usual detached expression in place.
“It’s true we provoked them first… so what is there to say?” she murmured, her voice resigned, acknowledging the undeniable truth of the situation.
The kidnapping incident, which had happened just a few days prior, had quickly reached Hae Malgeum’s ears, despite the initial attempts to keep it quiet. Do Yi-hyun himself had appeared at the construction site, personally punishing the Collectors and their gang, but he hadn’t uttered a single word about it afterwards, keeping his involvement a secret.
Consequently, Hae Malgeum and the others had only heard the news hours later, through other students who gossiped endlessly about the sensational event, adding their own dramatic embellishments.
Hae Malgeum, who had never approved of the ‘Collectors’ and their gang’s frequent unsavory activities – their bullying, their petty crimes – had no intention of getting involved in this particular issue.
She found their behavior repugnant and saw this recent beating as a karmic outcome, a well-deserved comeuppance.
It seemed Do Yi-hyun felt the same way, maintaining a detached indifference that suggested he wasn’t particularly bothered by the fate of the Collectors, seeing them as mere irritants that had finally been dealt with.
“Tsk, what in the world is this ‘Outsider’ person, that she’s causing such a fuss?” someone grumbled from across the room, expressing a common sentiment of bewilderment and frustration at the ongoing drama.
“Indeed. I’m curious who this ‘Outsider’ is. Should I go take a look?”
At that moment, a boy who had been engrossed in a mobile game beside them spoke, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, his thumbs moving rapidly.
This was Kang Ye-dam, one of the three VIPs of Iljin Sanggo, known for his nonchalant attitude and immense wealth.
His words, though casual, carried the weight of his influence.
He had just returned to Korea a couple of days ago after an entire month of overseas travel during the school semester, a privilege only the extremely wealthy could afford.
He ruffled his orange hair in frustration, presumably because his mobile game wasn’t going as planned, his brown eyes darting across the screen as his fingers moved frantically, betraying a rare flicker of annoyance.
“From what I heard, she seems like a perfectly ordinary kid,” Hae Malgeum commented, recalling the disjointed information she had gathered about the ‘Outsider.’
“She has ordinary brown hair and brown eyes. The color is a bit light, and her skin is fair, giving her a delicate image, but that’s all. Oh, and I think I heard she’s a bit short.”
Her personality was said to be quiet and kind, but she had once fiercely pursued Ban Eun-hyul – that was the full extent of the ‘Outsider’s’ personal information that had spread like wildfire among the neighboring schools.
Her normalness was, in itself, a paradox given the dramatic events and powerful individuals constantly revolving around her.
It was a little strange, she mused, how such an ordinary girl could be so entangled with such powerful and notorious individuals.
And then, she remembered something else, a detail that had stuck with her.
“Come to think of it, didn’t Yeon Ha-yeon, who supposedly has no friends, say that this ‘Outsider’ was the only person she hung out with?”
The thought added another layer to the enigma, making the ‘Outsider’ even more intriguing.
“No, I guess she might be a little peculiar after all.”
Hae Malgeum quickly corrected herself, a slight frown on her face.
She rested her chin on her hand and looked out the window, then cast a weary glance down at Do Yi-hyun, who was now slumped over his desk, seemingly lost in thought.
His posture suggested profound boredom or deep contemplation.
Regardless of their conversation, Do Yi-hyun remained in his posture, deep in contemplation, his presence a silent, unmoving anchor in the room.
He had discovered the kidnapped girl and the Collectors’ gang purely by chance.
The rooftop of the construction building was a place he occasionally used to relax and escape, a secluded spot where he could find peace.
So he had simply gone there that day, seeking solitude.
To his surprise, others had already arrived, disrupting his quiet sanctuary.
He was accustomed to masking his presence, moving silently and unobserved, a skill he had perfected over time, so he had climbed to the upper levels without anyone noticing his approach, becoming a silent observer.
He saw a girl kneeling, her hands bound, and the Collector raising his fist to strike her, a scene of impending violence.
This was the scene that greeted him, a common enough sight in the shadows of the city.
Just as he was about to step forward and intervene, to swiftly put an end to the brutality, an unusual sight unfolded before his eyes, a strange turn of events that had altered his initial plan.
The Collector, frozen in mid-strike, and the girl breaking free on her own.