If Someone Asked About His Middle School Days
If someone asked him about his middle school days, Oh Byung-hoon wouldn't hesitate for a second before answering like this.
"It was just ordinary."
Or, "I was always out playing. I had no sense at all."
But his middle school life had been anything but ordinary. He got beaten for no reason, had his money stolen. Unable to resist the bullies' demands, he'd once passed out after forcing a cigarette into his mouth. Another time, he'd been made to chug booze mixed with all sorts of filth—spit, cigarette butts, ashes, half-eaten scraps—and spent three days vomiting nonstop.
The bullies faced no punishment until graduation. Oh Byung-hoon couldn't exact any revenge; he fled to Florence Academy like a coward.
That had always been his way.
"Hey, you hear? There's a school bully in our school."
"You know Charity Class? It's Do Seon-woo. They're straight-up targeting him."
"Huh? That guy in our class? He doesn't look the type."
According to the exposé post, Do Seon-woo had been a school violence perpetrator back in middle school. Do Seon-woo offered no proper explanation, just flat-out denied it.
Perpetrators don't remember what they've done. Victims do. Victims clutch those memories to their chests and toss and turn in hellish nightmares every night.
Oh Byung-hoon knew that better than anyone. He'd lived it.
So Do Seon-woo must be the same—unable to recall his own crimes. That's why Oh Byung-hoon hated him even more. The sight of this brazen perpetrator strutting around with his face held high filled him with disgust.
And now was the perfect chance to screw him over.
"Do Seon-woo. Resume the demonstration."
Kim Bok-dong urged him on.
Do Seon-woo froze, neither advancing nor retreating, his face a mask of bewilderment as he stared at Oh Byung-hoon.
Do Seon-woo tried to force the technique, shoving to topple him, but Oh Byung-hoon had no intention of going down easy. He gritted his teeth and endured.
I'm stronger now.
Since coming to Florence, he'd trained like a maniac. Daily workouts, honing his divine power. He'd even picked up martial arts in his spare time.
I'm not scared of you anymore.
Oh Byung-hoon wanted to prove it. That the weak boy tormented in middle school had become a man at Florence who wouldn't cower before his abuser.
The greatest, grandest challenge of his seventeen years.
He wouldn't yield to Do Seon-woo. He'd hold firm, prove his newfound strength.
Just as he steeled himself—
BAM—!
Oh Byung-hoon's body slammed into the mat. His skull throbbed sharply; his back stung like fire.
What just happened? Why am I on the ground?
He couldn't process it. His vision filled with the gymnasium's hazy ceiling.
"Ah. That was too strong."
Do Seon-woo's casual remark snapped it into focus. He'd lost again.
Do Seon-woo's power defied imagination. No matter how much strength Oh Byung-hoon poured into his legs, it crumbled before that monstrous force.
He'd sworn not to lose, but his resolve shattered as he hit the mat. His spirit crumbled too.
"Ah."
Oh Byung-hoon lay spread-eagled on the mat, letting out a sigh. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks.
*
He must've been hurt bad enough to cry. Well, I did throw him pretty hard.
I'd wrapped Oh Byung-hoon in Bosu's power and slammed him down. He lay there spread out, tears pouring.
The other kids watched him with pity.
Kim Bok-dong rushed over to check on him.
"Oh Byung-hoon! Hey! You okay? Your back?"
"……."
Oh Byung-hoon just wept silently.
[Restrain your powers against fellow students. You could hurt them badly.]
Legba was right. Even weakened without an altar, Bosu's superhuman strength was too much for a student. On concrete instead of a mat, his back would've snapped.
I'll be more careful next time.
"He's fine. But just in case, head to the nurse. Demo for pair 35 is over!"
Kim Bok-dong called a student to help him up. Oh Byung-hoon wiped his tears, limped out with assistance.
His buzzcut and sharp eyes suggested a tough guy, but he had a softer heart than expected. I felt a pang of guilt.
[He started it.]
Legba said that, but it didn't sit right.
The demos continued smoothly from pair 36 to 50.
Kim Bok-dong, who'd been jotting scores while seated, stood.
"Everyone did great. Since this was a last-minute training group, I'll give full marks to all but a few truly lacking pairs. Good work. Head back to class."
The students filed out.
A few truly lacking pairs... probably us.
I swallowed the bitterness and headed out.
"Hold up. Do Seon-woo, you stay."
Kim Bok-dong called me back.
Jeong In-ah and Gu Jun-hyeok eyed me curiously.
"Go on ahead."
I smiled and shooed them off. Once they were gone, I approached Kim Bok-dong.
He stared at me impassively.
"Do Seon-woo."
His tone was ice-cold. A chill ran down my spine.
"Yes."
"I know Oh Byung-hoon wasn't cooperating during your demo."
"Pardon?"
But contrary to expectations, it wasn't a scolding.
"I think his injury was unavoidable. Self-inflicted, you might say. Not sure if a teacher should admit that."
"Ah."
"Anyway, I get where you're coming from."
Kim Bok-dong gave a small smile. First time I'd seen it—he was always so stern, serious.
As far as I knew.
"But that doesn't mean I can praise your actions."
The smile faded.
"Do Seon-woo. You have far superior talent than most. Which means you must show more restraint and patience. No matter how angry, you can't slam a friend into the mat like that."
"Ah, yes. Understood."
"Use that talent for something worthwhile."
Kim Bok-dong shot to his feet. Up close, he was even bigger.
"I want you to become a holy knight."
"Pardon?"
"Join the Holy Knight track. You haven't chosen an aspiration class yet, right?"
"Yes, but..."
I was nonplussed. Words failed me.
True, I hadn't picked one, but holy knight? No thanks. Famous for low pay and poor treatment. Rumor had it they bought gear out-of-pocket since the Papal Office didn't fund it.
"Of course, knights get crap pay. Poor treatment too. The orders are corrupt, knights slacking off. Waste of talent like yours."
Kim Bok-dong smiled bitterly.
Despite enforcing God's will, the public saw knight orders as rotten. Knights did nothing but goof off.
One reason I avoided it.
"That's why I want you as a knight. With your talent, you'd be a role model. Stimulus for the lazy, purifying water for the corrupt order."
"I don't think I'm that good..."
"Might sound burdensome, but it's true."
Burden-some? Overwhelmingly so.
I had no talent. Just Bosu's power making me look good.
"Not forcing you. Just recommending. Think it over. Dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
I bowed deeply and left.
Still unsettled. No intention of becoming a knight, but now I was second-guessing.
Thoughts weighed my steps.
Outside, Jeong In-ah and Gu Jun-hyeok waited.
"What'd he say?"
Jeong In-ah asked worriedly.
"Gotta be a roasting. Look at his face—aged ten years. Already looked old, though."
"You—watch your mouth!"
Gu Jun-hyeok teased; she scolded him.
"Nothing much. 'Be careful next time,' that's it."
I laughed it off. No need to mention the knight offer—seemed extraneous.
"Good. Was it that Oh Byung-hoon kid?"
"Yeah."
"You threw him hard. Looked painful. Not saying it's your fault."
"It is. I'll be careful."
If even Jeong In-ah said that, I'd overdone it.
Better skip Bosu in practice until I master control.
"Still, felt good. He resisted hard, trying not to fall."
"What? You saw?"
"Eyes of God, Jun-hyeok... Call me that?"
He pointed at his eyes, spouting nonsense. Sharp eyes, sure, but admitting it grated.
"Lunatic."
"Praise?"
"No."
He cackled at my firm denial.
Gu Jun-hyeok had gloriously flipped Bae Seong-hyeon earlier. Seemed extra chipper today.
"He resisted? Explains it... Sorry."
Jeong In-ah apologized after overhearing, face darkening. She'd gotten depressed solo.
"Nah, no need."
"Still. I spoke without knowing."
"It's fine."
No matter my protests, her mood didn't lift. She wilted at tiny slips.
Hardly a slip—I had hurt him with poor control.
"Hey, Jeong In-ah. Apologize to me too. Your shin hurt so bad I couldn't sleep—"
"Hey. You see Do Seon-woo earlier?"
A voice cut Gu Jun-hyeok off. We all held our breath in unison.
It came from the walkway behind the gym.
"Yeah. Poor Byung-hoon."
"Just hurled him. Demo, and no power control?"
"Middle school habits die hard. Gets pissed, out comes the bully."
"Hate him. Why's trash like that at Florence? Go back to extorting."
Hurling abuse at me.
"Those bastards. All morning...!"
"Let it go."
I stopped Jeong In-ah from charging.
"Ignore types like that—they yap more if you react. Spreading rumors without knowing shit. Gotta confront them."
"It's fine."
"Always 'fine'! Aren't you mad?"
Her face flushed with frustration. Sharp words, but all for me.
"Of course."
I replied calmly.
"Then say something. Or curse them out."
"Just fans the flames."
"So what? Let them talk?"
"Yeah."
"...Why?"
She stared, baffled.
Best to stay still.
My late father's frequent saying. Even as the Papal Office twisted Voodoo public opinion, he offered no defense. Optimistic: it'll pass if we wait.
His image lingered vividly.
"Wait it out, it'll die down."
"You—what? Ha."
Jeong In-ah huffed in disbelief, frustration etched deep.
"It's fine. It'll fade soon."
Wait, and wait. My father, who waited quietly, died in the Holy War.
That's why I hate "best to stay still" most.
I never stay still. I just wait.
For the perfect moment to quash the rumors.
Explaining now, midway, would only amplify them. Brazen, no proof, etc.
"Man, Do Seon-woo. You're something. vouch for me later."
As I swallowed rage and refocused, Gu Jun-hyeok spoke casually, still teasing.
His consistency drew a smirk.
*
"What'd you say? This fucking mutt. Say it again. Say it!"
Thud, thud, thud—!
After school. Dull thumps echoed in the dark, filthy alley.
"V-Van Gogh. Van Gogh!"
"You little shit... Still talking? Huh?!"
Bae Seong-hyeon kicked wildly at the cowering kid.
The kid stubbornly spoke up anyway.
Bae Seong-hyeon had scarred his left ear in the magic beast incident. Mostly healed, but the mark remained. The kid mocked him as "Van Gogh"—the tragic painter famous for his bandaged self-portrait, who'd sliced off his own ear in madness.
"Fine. No more walking from today. Crawl like a dog, yeah?"
Bae Seong-hyeon invoked mid-level strength enhancement blessing. Light wrapped his legs. He layered Mighty Strength too.
Then tested on the alley wall.
BOOM!
The wall cratered amid a roar. Cracks spiderwebbed out.
With this, he'd crush the kid's knee. Power to shatter concrete would pulverize a joint like ice.
The kid might never walk again.
Terror made the kid tremble, but Bae Seong-hyeon didn't stop. Rage blinded reason.
"St-stop!"
Just before stomping, a voice boomed through the alley.
Bae Seong-hyeon whipped around, face twisted.
"Who the hell's this now?"
Buzzcut, slanted eyes, buckteeth. Oh Byung-hoon.
Same Charity Class, distinctive looks—Bae remembered the name.
"What, some 'stop' campaign bullshit? Fucking 'stop' this."
"Huh? Oh Byung-shit? It's that guy!"
As Bae muttered curses, one thug lit up happily.
Oh Byung-hoon's face slowly soured, eyes darting.
"Oh Byung-shit? What?"
"His name's Oh Byung-hoon. So, Oh Byung-shit."
One explained eagerly to Bae's question.
Bae's rage-cooled reason sharpened. Calculations done, he grinned viciously.
"Oh yeah? Bring him too."
"Our Oh Byung-shit. C'mere."
The thug beckoned. Oh Byung-hoon entered the alley. Legs shook; jaw chattered teeth clacking.
Three years of middle school terror.
Bae Seong-hyeon loomed before the head-down, terrified Oh Byung-hoon. Roughly ruffled his short hair.
Oh flinched.
"Nice hair feel."
"Oh Byung-shit joined Florence and buzzed it? Studying?"
Smack.
A thug cuffed his head. Oh's body lurched.
Terror buckled his legs; he could barely stand.
Bae kept smiling at him. Scarier than blank-faced.
"Byung-hoon."
Oh kept his head down, mouth shut.
"Answer me. Byung-hoon."
"Uhng."
"'Uhng' is casual. Byung-hoon."
"……."
No reply. Bae clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Oh shrank.
Crack!
Bae's palm crashed into his cheek. Oh tilted.
Bae kept slapping. Cheeks ballooned.
"Gu Jun-hyeok, now this punk. Why so many piss-offs today—"
"St-stohp..."
"Oh."
Oh spoke. Split lip slurred it.
Bae paused with a short exclamation.
Silence stretched, time frozen.
"Fun idea. Okay, Byung-hoon. Stop!"
Bae beamed.
Oh stayed put.
"Now, sit."
Oh stayed put.
Bae's face warped.
"Sit, I said."
Smack.
Burst lip sprayed blood.
"Sit."
Oh trembled, collapsed to sit.
"Stop, right?"
Smack.
Blood flew.
"Sit. Stop. Huh? This fucker won't learn."
Sit, get hit—for not stopping.
Stop, get hit—for not sitting.
Whatever he did, Bae slapped.
Oh took hits either way.
Terror engraved deep. Bae's voice alone made him quake.
"Sit."
Oh sat. Bae smiled.
"Good. Finally listening."
Oh was puzzled. After endless hits both ways, sudden mercy.
Relief hit first—before humiliation or shame.
No room for anger. Just gratitude for no more slaps.
Thus, Oh Byung-hoon became a dog.
Bae had dogged five others the same way.
"Again. Stand!"
Satisfied, Bae commanded anew.
"Just sit and rest. Ignore him."
Someone sat the rising Oh back down.
"Ah, for fu—"
Bae turned mid-curse, words dying.
Grind.
His face twisted, eyes bloodshot.
The intruder was too familiar.
The one grating most lately. The one who'd unearthed Bae's buried inferiority.
"You don't know moderation."
His face was expressionless.
(To be continued next chapter)