With Yeon Ha-yeon’s sudden, devastating arrival, the chaotic situation was quickly and brutally resolved.
A silent, efficient force of nature, she had swept through the group of Iljin Sanggo thugs like a chilling autumn wind, leaving them crumpled and compliant.
Only moments before, I had been devising frantic escape plans, mentally steeling myself to somehow break free from their crude bonds and later seek a more thorough retribution if no one showed up.
The rough rope, crudely fashioned from some abandoned material on the construction site, had chafed my wrists, leaving angry red marks, but my focus had been on survival and future revenge.
Now, all the guys, having each received a precise, powerful blow from Yeon Ha-yeon, were miserably kneeling on the rough, dusty concrete, their heads bowed low in forced submission, an aura of utter defeat hanging over them.
The sharp tang of fear mingled with the metallic scent of rust and damp concrete in the air, a desolate symphony to their downfall.
“Who is it?”
Yeon Ha-yeon’s voice was a low, dangerous murmur, cutting through the heavy silence that had fallen over the construction site.
It wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable weight, a cold edge that promised swift repercussions.
She didn’t have to raise her voice; her presence alone commanded obedience, radiating an unseen pressure that made the air itself feel dense.
Her dark eyes, usually so placid, now held a glint of something sharp and unforgiving.
“Who is behind this?” she reiterated, her gaze fixed on the cowering leader.
Her patience, thin at the best of times, seemed to be entirely absent now, worn away by the sheer audacity of the kidnapping.
The leader visibly trembled, his shoulders hunching further, his face a mask of terror.
He seemed to weigh his options, perhaps considering defiance, but a quick glance at Yeon Ha-yeon’s unyielding expression clearly told him the futility of such a thought.
He didn’t open his mouth immediately, an agonizing pause filled only by the muffled sounds of the distant city and the heavy breathing of his defeated gang members.
He was buying time, or perhaps just too terrified to speak.
“I don’t have a hobby for torture.”
The words were delivered with a casual, almost bored tone, yet they carried a threat far more potent than any shouted menace.
It was a simple statement of fact, implying that if they didn’t comply quickly, things would escalate beyond mere physical violence.
The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air: her methods would be far more efficient and unpleasant, bypassing any notions of conventional interrogation.
The leader, his eyes wide with stark terror, understood the unspoken message immediately.
“Ha, Han Gu-reum ordered us!”
But at the words that followed, the answer shot out like a bullet, tumbling from the leader’s lips in a desperate rush, a torrent of confession.
Even I, who had been relatively calm despite being kidnapped and mentally prepared for confrontation, found those few words from Yeon Ha-yeon a bit terrifying.
They were delivered with such quiet confidence, such chilling conviction, that they spoke of capabilities far beyond what I could imagine.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much those guys’ knees were trembling under the weight of her unspoken threat.
Their quick confession was a testament to her terrifying efficiency, a surrender born of overwhelming fear.
I had naturally assumed that if there was a mastermind, it would be someone I knew well, perhaps a rival or someone I’d inadvertently crossed in my complicated life.
My mind had raced through a list of potential enemies, people who might hold a grudge against me.
But my eyes widened in genuine shock at the unexpected name. Han Gu-reum?
Wasn’t she the so-called “princess” of Gonju High, a school notorious for its cliquishness and rigid social hierarchy?
She was rumored to be obsessed with the school’s male elite, particularly Ban Eun-hyul.
Why would she do something like this to me?
It made absolutely no sense, completely defying my expectations and all logical reasoning.
If it was because she liked Ban Eun-hyul, then there was even less reason for her to target me.
I had clearly told her back then, during that awkward, highly public encounter, that I didn’t have any interest in Ban Eun-hyul.
My words had been unambiguous, my tone firm.
And since that day, nothing had happened between me and Ban Eun-hyul that would provoke such an extreme reaction.
We hadn’t had any secret meetings, no dramatic confrontations, nothing that would justify this level of animosity from anyone, let alone an “adoring fan” of his.
Our interactions had been minimal and always tinged with his profound irritation.
“Han Gu-reum?”
Unlike me, who immediately recalled who she was upon hearing the name – her reputation, though uninteresting to me, was widespread among the student body – Yeon Ha-yeon tilted her head, a subtle gesture of confusion.
She seemed genuinely unable to place the person, her brow furrowing slightly as if trying to access a non-existent file in her mental database.
It wasn’t surprising, given her near-total disinterest in high school social dynamics, which she clearly considered trivial.
Since she barely remembered any names to begin with, outside of her guild contacts and a select few classmates she occasionally acknowledged, there was simply no way Han Gu-reum, a “princess” from a rival school, would be occupying any space in her meticulously organized, dungeon-focused memory.
Her indifference was almost legendary, a consistent trait that often surprised those around her.
Just as this perplexing revelation hung in the air, creating a momentary lull in the tense atmosphere, the worst possible timing struck.
The true instigator of the kidnapping appeared, stepping into the murky light of the construction site from the shadow of the stairwell.
“What are you guys doing? Why is she perfectly fine?!”
Han Gu-reum, still somewhat disoriented by the dim light and the general chaos, hadn’t immediately seen Yeon Ha-yeon’s face as she stood with her back to the stairs, partially obscured by a rusted pillar.
She didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation, only the unexpected sight of her henchmen kneeling in submission and my perfectly fine (if exasperated) self standing unbound.
Her voice, high-pitched and demanding, cut through the quiet, echoing slightly in the vast, unfinished structure.
She glared at the kneeling Sanggo guys, clearly annoyed by their unexpected submission and my apparent lack of distress.
“It’s you, then?”
Yeon Ha-yeon’s voice, now devoid of even its previous casual menace, dropped to a flat, almost clinical tone.
Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally, focusing on Han Gu-reum, a quiet recognition, then a cold calculation.
A bone-chilling cold, far more profound than the chilly autumn wind that occasionally whistled through the gaps in the unfinished walls, settled in the air, radiating directly from Yeon Ha-yeon.
Han Gu-reum seemed to recognize Yeon Ha-yeon at a glance, judging by the immediate hesitation that froze her in place, the flicker of raw fear in her eyes, and her instinctive backing away.
It was the recognition of a predator, an almost primal fear.
Her decision to quickly turn and flee was swift, a raw, desperate attempt to escape the palpable threat now looming directly in front of her.
She spun on her heel, prepared to sprint back up the stairs, her expensive school bag swinging wildly. But Yeon Ha-yeon was faster.
With a predatory grace that seemed to defy the laws of physics, she moved.
One moment she was standing beside me, the next she was a blur.
She grabbed Han Gu-reum by the scruff of her neck, her fingers strong and unyielding.
Han Gu-reum struggled wildly, her limbs flailing uselessly against Yeon Ha-yeon’s unyielding grip, her previous confidence evaporating into sheer panic.
“L-let me go!” she shrieked, her voice cracking with fear and indignity, muffled by the tight grip on her collar.
Han Gu-reum, still caught like a squirming fish, was summarily dragged forward, her feet scraping against the concrete floor, sending up faint clouds of dust.
She was pulled unceremoniously, her body resisting with futile jerks, and then forcibly sat down with a jarring thump next to the utterly defeated leader of the gang who had kidnapped me.
She landed hard, her breath knocked out of her. Soon after, her large eyes, moments ago filled with haughty indignation, began to well up with tears, glistening betrayals of her composure.
Her face crumpled, a mask of self-pity replacing her earlier fury.
‘Who paid money to have me kidnapped, and she’s the one crying?’
The thought flashed through my mind, tinged with a deep, weary disbelief.
The sheer absurdity of it all was overwhelming, almost comical in its ridiculousness.
My initial fury had cooled into a dull, simmering exasperation.
This was too much, even for my high tolerance for the bizarre.
I was so dumbfounded by her sudden, dramatic tears that I couldn’t even formulate a coherent retort.
What was there to say to someone who initiated a kidnapping and then cried when caught? It defied all logic.
“What about that brat! Yeon Ha-yeon, and even Eun-hyul, it’s all that outsider, that outsider, that outsider! Eun-hyul was mine for the taking! I’ve never failed once I set my sights on someone, but she…!”
Han Gu-reum, oblivious to my dumbfounded state and her current humiliating position, finally burst out, her voice rising in a tearful, frustrated shriek.
It was a torrent of grievances, fueled by self-pity and misplaced blame.
As I stood some distance away, merely observing the unfolding spectacle with a mixture of annoyance and morbid curiosity, she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, smearing them across her already tear-streaked face.
She then bit her lip in a fit of pure rage, a furious, ugly expression contorting her features, and shrieked fiercely, her voice tight with unbridled anger.
Her eyes, still glistening, were now filled with unadulterated resentment, glaring directly at me as if I were the sole source of all her woes, the single obstacle to her supposed destiny.
“What did I do…?”
I asked back in utter disbelief, my voice flat with exasperation.
Her accusation was so preposterous it was almost comical, a testament to her inflated sense of self-importance.
Han Gu-reum huffed, panting with anger, her chest heaving, and continued, her voice gaining momentum as she worked herself into a frenzy, “Do you know how often I went to Gamseong High after my first confession? But Eun-hyul always only looked at you. As if he was going to pierce right through you! And on top of that, I heard you were flirting with Ji Gang-han at the sports festival? Leaving Eun-hyul aside? I really don’t like you!”
She finished with a furious, accusatory tone, her finger jabbing vaguely in my direction, as if I had committed a grave sin against her by merely existing, by simply being in Ban Eun-hyul’s line of sight.
No, did she seriously think that “piercing” gaze was one of affection?
My internal monologue was laced with incredulity, a mixture of disbelief and utter weariness.
Anyone with common sense could see he was glaring, right?
His expression during our encounters had always been one of profound irritation, bordering on outright hostility, not budding romance.
It was a stare of annoyance, a clear sign of his disdain for my presence, not admiration.
The sports festival incident had already spread like wildfire throughout the school, causing me no small amount of trouble.
I’d been grilled by classmates and teachers alike about it, enduring endless whispered questions and knowing glances, so I was less surprised by that particular accusation.
But the talk about Ban Eun-hyul was truly shocking.
To interpret his obvious disdain as affection?
It was a level of self-delusion I hadn’t thought possible, a testament to how deeply she believed her own twisted narrative.
Even my own friends, who were completely infatuated with the Heavenly Kings and had a romanticized view of their every action, had asked me if I had done something wrong, or why Ban Eun-hyul looked at me that way.
They, too, had interpreted his intense gaze as something profound, albeit puzzling, rather than simple irritation.
It just showed how much Ban Eun-hyul’s ‘type’ was subject to interpretation.
“Because of you, I lost my chance to be with the number one ranked student!”
Her shriek, filled with venom, pierced my ears, a high-pitched, grating sound that vibrated through the cold air of the construction site.
It was a desperate, almost unhinged cry of perceived injustice.
So, to summarize Han Gu-reum’s elaborate, self-serving explanation, it essentially went like this:
As someone treated like a princess at school, enjoying all the privileges and attention that came with her self-proclaimed status, she naturally deserved to date the number one ranked student in the country.
It was her birthright, her destiny, a preordained conclusion.
But I, through my mere, unwitting presence, had somehow ruined that for her, had interfered with her grand, self-written narrative.
‘Her self-love is off the charts.’
The thought was accompanied by a mental groan.
It was truly an astonishing level of self-love, a delusion so grand it was almost awe-inspiring.
That “princess” treatment, that constant validation of her ego by those around her, had utterly ruined the girl, twisting her perception of reality into something completely warped.
It was a pathetic, yet dangerous, byproduct of unchecked arrogance and privilege.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
At that moment, Yeon Ha-yeon came to my side, her arm casually linking through mine, a silent offer of support, a quiet acknowledgement of my exasperation.
“Dana, what would you like me to do?”
Yeon Ha-yeon’s voice was calm, almost soothing, a stark contrast to the dramatic wails and accusations of Han Gu-reum.
The power to decide their fate, to choose their punishment, was now handed to me.
I had already planned to punish these guys again myself, in my own way, a more precise and less flashy retribution, no matter how Yeon Ha-yeon dealt with them.
But now, with the decision in my hands, a strange sense of responsibility settled over me, along with a flicker of satisfaction.
As I pondered what would be an appropriate response, a thoughtful, considered punishment that would fit the crime, a new commotion erupted among the remaining Sanggo guys.
Someone else was coming up the stairs.
Footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoed in the cavernous space, each one resonating with an unseen power.
“Do Yi-hyun?”
The man’s silhouette appeared against the pale light of the stairwell, then his face fully revealed itself, framed by the dust motes dancing in the air, a striking figure even amidst the grime.
I involuntarily murmured his name, my voice barely a whisper of surprise.
His calm, intense gaze immediately fixed on me, a rare, unnerving focus that sent a strange prickle down my spine.
I flinched, pressing my lips together tightly and looking away, caught off guard by his unexpected appearance.
‘Why is he here?’
The question reverberated in my mind, a persistent echo.
Was this place perhaps a regular meeting spot for the number one and two ranked students, a secret rendezvous point for the elite of the Awakened world?
It seemed improbable, almost ludicrous, given the dilapidated setting.
How did Yeon Ha-yeon know I was kidnapped and get here so quickly?
Her information network was clearly extensive.
And what was Do Yi-hyun doing showing up after all the Iljin Sanggo guys had already been thoroughly dealt with?
His timing was bizarrely theatrical, as if he’d been waiting for the curtain call.
I quickly flicked my eyes in his direction, a furtive glance.
He was slowly walking towards the kneeling Iljin Sanggo guys, his steps unhurried, almost lazy, yet radiating a profound sense of authority.
With each deliberate step he took, I could see the guys visibly tremble, their already defeated postures sinking further into despair, their eyes wide with renewed terror.
Their fear was palpable, a stark contrast to their earlier arrogance.
“Kidnapping is bad.”
His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it resonated with an undeniable authority that seemed to ripple through the very foundations of the building.
It was a simple statement, delivered with a chilling matter-of-factness that implied severe, almost inevitable consequences.
His calm gaze swept over me and Yeon Ha-yeon once, a quick, assessing glance, then returned to the villainous-looking leader, who was now barely daring to breathe, his face a mask of terror.
Taking advantage of the moment, Han Gu-reum, seeing a new potential threat, tried to quietly escape again, making a desperate, scrambling dash towards the stairs.
But Yeon Ha-yeon, still effortlessly holding my arm, casually reached out with her free hand, grabbed Han Gu-reum by the back of her uniform, and pulled her unceremoniously towards where I was standing, re-securing her beside us with a firm, inescapable grip.
Han Gu-reum let out a small whimper of despair.
Do Yi-hyun silently stared down at the Iljin Sanggo guys for a moment, his presence radiating an almost oppressive aura that seemed to press down on everyone in the vicinity.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his fist flew out, a blur of motion, striking the face of the leader who was kneeling right in front.
The sound was a sharp, sickening crack, followed by a muffled groan.
At the cold, merciless flash in his eyes that accompanied the blow, even I, accustomed to violent encounters in dungeons, got goosebumps.
It was a predatory gleam, utterly devoid of mercy or hesitation.
After that, it was a scene of one-sided violence.
Do Yi-hyun’s movements were precise, efficient, and brutal.
He moved with an almost balletic grace, each strike perfectly placed.
Even though it was clear he was controlling his strength, careful not to kill them since they were all non-Awakened (though he certainly could have with a single serious blow), the guys who had carried out the kidnapping were repeatedly hit and thrown back helplessly, their pathetic cries echoing in the dusty space.
They simply took the blows, unable to defend themselves, collapsing over and over again, their bodies forming a growing pile of defeated youths.
The languid, almost bored look in his eyes from when he was coming up the stairs had completely transformed into that of a predator hunting its prey, sharp and merciless.
His whole demeanor shifted, becoming intensely focused and dangerous.
I had heard countless times that his demeanor was 180 degrees different when he fought compared to his usual self, a true transformation from calm student to terrifying combatant.
But seeing it with my own eyes now, witnessing the sheer cold power, the calculated brutality, left me so surprised that I couldn’t even speak.
My mind, despite itself, was genuinely impressed, a grudging admiration for his overwhelming strength forming within me.
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