An Unbroken Streak
Shaving Walker’s head turned out to be far simpler than I had anticipated.
Given the sheer size of the academy, the campus had its own hair salon. Since it only operated on weekends, the place was completely deserted on a weekday afternoon—in other words, the absolute ideal location for giving someone a buzz cut.
I rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a pair of electric clippers. Slumped in the swivel chair, Walker watched me through the mirror, his eyes trembling with naked dread.
"……Han Yoosung. Are you really going to rip them out by the roots?"
Come to think of it, I had said something along those lines. I’d told him that if he surrendered quietly, I would settle for a shave, but if he made me hunt him down, I would pluck every single root from his scalp. Reflecting on it now, that sounded like a colossal pain in the neck. How long would it even take to pull out every strand of hair one by one?
Too much work. Pass.
Naturally, being entirely honest with him wouldn't earn me any gratitude. I dragged out the silence, pretending to mull over his fate with great gravity, before offering what sounded like the pinnacle of mercy.
"Since you’re begging so pathetically, I suppose I can settle for just the clippers."
Walker’s face instantly brightened with relief.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
I flipped the power switch.
Bzzzzzz.
"Wait—"
I ignored him completely, driving the buzzing blade straight down the dead center of his crown.
"Aaaaagh!"
A cascade of shimmering golden locks rained down onto his shoulders. Within minutes, every trace of that flowing, meticulously groomed mane had vanished from the earth. The creature staring back at Walker from the mirror looked as though his entire world had crumbled to dust.
I took a step back to inspect my handiwork.
"It actually suits you better than I expected."
Regrettably, only a handful of students ever got to witness Walker’s glorious rebirth in person. Starting the very next day, he completely vanished from the academy grounds. Truly, a warrior whose spirit had been shattered beyond repair.
From that point on, the selection matches blurred into a swift, relentless march. I won my second duel, then my third, and then my fourth. Not a single bout dragged on long enough to be called a contest.
Whenever an opponent swung their blade, the trajectory laid itself bare before my eyes. Honestly, it felt less like a duel and more like they were politely holding up a sign that read, Please stab me right here. Far be it from me to refuse such hospitality.
A curious thought crossed my mind. Had I grown exceptionally strong? Or was everyone at this academy just remarkably weak?
The 7th Imperial Middle Academy had always shared a notoriously wretched history with the Imperial Capital Festival. Ever since the current tournament structure was established, not a single representative from our school had ever reached the knockout finals in the Imperial Capital. Year after year, the academy selected its champions with grand expectations, only to watch them swallow bitter defeat in the regional preliminaries.
With an outcast like me suddenly putting on such a dominant show, attention naturally began to converge. At first, the prevailing opinion was that my victory over Walker had been pure luck. When I won my second match, people claimed I had merely drawn an easy opponent. But by the time I took my third, those dismissive whispers had withered into silence.
Then, at some point, I noticed a familiar figure lingering in the stands at every single one of my matches.
Is that… the Academy Principal?
He was a man students rarely ever caught a glimpse of. Initially, I assumed he had simply dropped by out of administrative obligation to inspect the selection trials. Yet there he sat during the next duel, and the one after that, always occupying a seat in the front row, watching my bouts with rapt attention from opening stance to final blow.
Did the Principal always care this much about student qualifiers?
He certainly hadn't bothered to grace the other arenas with his presence. Something smelled distinctly unusual.
As I stepped out of the ring after wrapping up another match, an aged voice called out from behind me.
"Student Han Yoosung."
I turned to find the Academy Principal standing there with an affectionate smile.
"I thoroughly enjoyed today’s performance as well."
"……Thank you, sir."
"You continue to exceed my wildest expectations. I shall look forward to your next match with great anticipation." The old man chuckled with deep, genuine satisfaction. "It is high time our academy finally produced a contestant worthy of the national finals, don't you think?"
His words carried a heavy, suffocating weight of expectation. Still, my ultimate objective was to win the Imperial Capital Festival outright. What was the point of getting cold feet over a bit of administrative pressure?
"Leave it to me, sir."
At my calm assurance, tears welled in the old man's eyes.
A few days later, just as I stepped out of the classroom after afternoon lectures, I received a summons to the faculty office.
Before I could even take a seat, the teacher in charge of the Student Guidance Department slapped a thick document down onto the desk.
"This is regarding Student Walker."
"……Walker, sir?"
"A formal complaint was lodged against you. It states you forcefully shaved his head against his will."
So the little coward had stayed holed up in his room for days just to cook up a grievance report.
"It wasn't by force, sir. We made a wager before the duel. Walker was the one who suggested that the loser would grant the winner any single request."
"And you honestly think that serves as an excuse?" The teacher cut me off before I could finish. "Where in our academy’s code of conduct does it state that a trivial bet permits you to butcher a fellow classmate's hair?"
His tone left no room for rebuttal. This man hadn't summoned me to verify the facts; he had decided on my guilt before I even crossed the threshold.
"Do you have any idea what kind of student Walker is? He is the Vice President of the Swordsmanship Club, an active participant in school events, and a model peer beloved by both underclassmen and seniors alike."
It was almost impressive how smoothly he managed to sugarcoat Walker’s sleazy vanity.
"Just because you've won a handful of matches in the selection trials, don't assume you've become someone important around here. Wielding a sword passably well does not grant you a get-out-of-jail-free card." The teacher dragged out his condescending lecture at agonizing length before delivering his closing blow. "This incident will not be overlooked lightly. Depending on our assessment, you may be stripped of your eligibility to represent the academy at the Imperial Capital Festival."
"Disqualified from the selection?"
That gave me genuine pause. Every drop of sweat I’d shed, every duel I’d fought, had been solely to secure a ticket to the Imperial Capital Festival. And he was threatening to tear that away over shaving that arrogant bastard's scalp?
"If the Disciplinary Committee deems it necessary, yes."
"……."
"Representing this academy is not a privilege earned merely through martial violence. If a student demonstrates fundamental defects in character, we must first reconsider whether they even possess the right to step onto our campus grounds."
The moment I stepped out of the faculty office, I made a beeline straight for the Principal's Office.
Help me, Wonjang-emon!
Despite the unannounced visit, the Academy Principal welcomed me with open arms, even taking the time to steep and pour a cup of tea himself. As I settled into the plush sofa and lifted the porcelain cup, the anticipated question arrived right on cue.
"Are your preparations for tomorrow's match going well?"
That was my opening. Time to set the mood just right.
"Well, sir……"
"Is something the matter?"
"I’m just not sure whether I’m allowed to keep competing."
Every trace of warmth vanished from the Principal's face.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"I was called into the Student Guidance Department earlier today."
"Student Guidance?"
"Yes, sir. Over the matter with Walker."
I offered a concise, matter-of-fact summary of the ambush in the faculty office.
"The instructor informed me that a student with character defects has no right to represent the school. He warned me that I might be disqualified from the selection tournament entirely."
The Principal remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was remarkably soft, tinged with genuine remorse.
"My apologies, Yoosung-gun. You must already be thoroughly drained from preparing for your matches, yet I have allowed petty, trivial nonsense to burden your mind."
"……Sir."
"I will personally look into this affair. Pay it no heed and direct your focus entirely toward your training." A gentle, reassuring smile returned to the old man's face. "You have another duel tomorrow, do you not? Return to your quarters and rest well for the evening."
After that day, the disciplinary teacher never sought me out again.
The atmosphere surrounding Han Yoosung across the academy grounds was shifting at a dizzying pace.
To Noel Lapis, that sudden transformation was anything but pleasant. For years, she had been the only one who truly understood what kind of boy Yoosung was—a sacred privilege reserved exclusively for his childhood friend. Watching the fickle crowd suddenly turn their heads toward him filled her with sharp irritation.
During the afternoon recess, Noel found her ears twitching involuntarily at the chatter of the girls seated in front of her.
"Don't you think Han Yoosung has been looking kind of amazing lately?"
"Oh, him? The black-haired guy?"
"Yeah! Did you see his matches? He’s ridiculously strong. He just completely dismantles the Swordsmanship Club guys like they're nothing."
"To be honest, I’ve started rooting for him too. Come to think of it, his personality is pretty hilarious. I almost died laughing when I heard he shaved Walker bald."
"Right? Walker is such an embarrassment. Who skips school just because they got a haircut? Total loser energy."
"And honestly, don't you think Han Yoosung's face is actually really cute?"
"Just between us, I've always thought he was good-looking. He has that youthful, baby-faced charm, but with a slightly exotic edge."
Overhearing their vapid conversation made Noel’s stomach churn with disgust.
Who do you think you are to talk about him like that?
Weren't these the exact same girls who had whispered the nastiest rumors when the news about Yoosung’s father first broke? Yet the moment he started racking up an unbroken string of victories, their entire demeanor reversed as if by magic.
Vain, shallow hypocrites.
Even Noel herself, his closest childhood friend, had been forced to maintain a cautious distance simply to avoid the social fallout of being associated with him. Yet now that Yoosung was sweeping through the tournament, these girls had the nerve to act as if the father’s sins had nothing to do with the son.
The chatter ahead showed no signs of stopping.
"Doesn't it feel like right now is the absolute bottom for his stock?"
"Wait, isn't he slated to face Rowell next?"
"Honestly, he looks stronger than Rowell to me."
"No way. Rowell is the Swordsmanship Club President and the indisputable top fighter in our whole academy."
The gossip naturally drifted into a debate over who would prevail between Rowell and Yoosung, until one girl dropped a remark that made Noel’s eyes go wide.
"Should I just confess to him right now? Lock him down before he blows up even more?"
"Hey, saying that makes me want to compete for him too!"
"What?! Weren't you totally indifferent five minutes ago?!"
"I changed my mind."
A chorus of giggles erupted from the desk.
Beneath the wooden surface of her own desk, Noel clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white.
What do any of you even know about him? You have no idea how hard he’s trained, or the agony he’s had to endure just to survive!
Her eyes grew hot, pricked with sudden tears.
Don't flatter yourselves.
She alone had truly understood him. Even when Brigadier General Han Dohyun was arrested in disgrace, Noel had never wavered in her faith. She had never believed that Yoosung’s father would truly collude with the Demon Tribe. She had always known that the truth would come to light someday, and that Yoosung would rise from the ashes to stand tall once more.
Granted, she had kept her distance for a brief period.
Yet in a way, wasn't it precisely because she had stepped back that Yoosung found the desperate resolve to enter the Imperial Capital Festival and hone his swordsmanship to perfection?
Noel shot a cold glare toward the giggling girls. They were throwing around talk of confessing as if it were a casual game. A wave of sharp anxiety washed over her.
Yoosung has always had a soft spot for kindness.
He was the type to feel profoundly indebted the moment someone treated him well. If a girl boldly threw herself at him, there was a real danger he might be swept off his feet before he realized what was happening.
That would simply never do.
I’ll have to watch over him myself.
Noel set her jaw, her resolve hardening into steel.