Lingering Scars
Kang Tae-san felt ashamed of how naive his thinking had been.
Just hours earlier, he had viewed the note about school violence victimization as nothing more than another experience to draw from for his acting.
Since he had landed the lead in the short drama, it seemed convenient.
Experiencing the victim's psyche firsthand would surely help his performance.
He felt embarrassed that he had approached it from such a selfish, practical standpoint—purely for money and acting.
But after fully immersing himself in Yang Seon-il's life, he realized this was no longer about that.
Until now, the stalker Yoo Pil-joo and the murderer Seo Chae-hyuk had both been perpetrators.
Yet the pain Yang Seon-il endured was different.
It felt as though a corner of his chest had been hollowed out.
That sense of powerlessness, the shame, the despair that rotted away day by day—it all rooted itself deep in Kang Tae-san's emotions, as if it were his own past.
“……Jo Tae-man.”
Tae-san quietly murmured the name with bloodless lips.
He immediately turned on his phone.
Then he opened the YouTube app he rarely used and typed “Jo Tae-man” into the search bar.
Finding Jo Tae-man was effortless.
A channel with the tacky name Tae-man TV appeared first.
Its profile picture showed a thug in fluorescent pants and a tight shirt, proudly displaying his tattoos.
Even years after graduation, he showed no sign of atoning for his sins.
Instead, he flaunted his repulsive appearance with pride.
The thumbnails and titles of his uploaded videos were uniformly lowbrow and provocative.
“Hongdae Street Nerd Discipline Legend,” “Today’s Street Pick-Up Success Rate 100%?” “Illegal Toto Site Analysis Stream (For Entertainment Only).”
Though he had only a few tens of thousands of subscribers, the channel had a surprisingly solid core audience, fitting its shady nature.
Kang Tae-san scrolled down to check the recent live stream records.
Jo Tae-man went live almost every night.
Still unable to get his act together after graduation, he continued the same thuggish lifestyle he had led when tormenting Yang Seon-il in high school.
He picked fights with drunk people on the street, hit on women, and dabbled in illegal gambling—all broadcast without filter while begging for viewer donations.
Just then, a red “LIVE” indicator lit up at the top of the channel page.
Without hesitation, Tae-san clicked the live video.
The screen opened to loud music mixed with chatter.
The background flashed with colorful neon signs—it was a bar street in Gangnam.
On screen, Jo Tae-man wore the same vile smile he had years ago, joking around with his crew.
[“Ah, the quality tonight sucks. Not a single decent girl in sight.”]
When Jo Tae-man grumbled toward the camera, one of his crew members chimed in.
[“Hyung-nim, try talking to those ladies walking by. With your face, they’ll fold right away.”]
They laughed among themselves while rating the passing women’s looks.
The scene overlapped perfectly with how they had once treated Yang Seon-il like a “BJ,” forcing him into humiliating acts.
The only difference was that school uniforms had become street clothes—Jo Tae-man himself hadn’t changed one bit.
‘Demons like Jo Tae-man can’t be punished by the law alone. They need to be given back exactly what they gave Yang Seon-il—or more.’
Justice alone wasn’t enough to punish the wicked.
‘A greater evil will be necessary.’
With his resolve firm, Kang Tae-san walked toward the large metal storage cabinet in the corner of his room.
Clang—
He opened the Memorial Box without hesitation.
Inside the square metal cabinet, the horrific memories he had experienced writhed like dark red spirits.
Tae-san reached out toward the darkest, cruelest memory—Seo Chae-hyuk’s.
‘Seo Chae-hyuk.’
The serial killer who found artistic ecstasy in human death.
As he fully accepted Seo Chae-hyuk’s memories once more, the world began to look different.
His vision, once clouded by emotion, cleared. His tangled thoughts sorted themselves into cold order.
Seo Chae-hyuk’s way of thinking, the flow of his consciousness, remained intact.
It wasn’t the neatly organized memories Tae-san used for acting—it was Seo Chae-hyuk himself.
The warmth vanished from Kang Tae-san’s eyes. He was no longer an enraged victim.
Tae-san walked to his closet and pulled out a black hooded jumper and pants.
He also grabbed a black cap and mask to cover his face.
From the toolbox filled with miscellaneous items, he took something and carefully slipped it into his jumper pocket.
The bar street stretching from Gangnam Station Exit 11 to Nonhyeon-dong was packed with people, despite it being Sunday night.
Neon signs blazed like a sleepless city, and the heavy beats from clubs, drunken shouts, and calls from touts blended into a chaotic wave of noise.
People like Jo Tae-man swarmed the area like flies drawn to rotten water.
They called themselves “street-streaming BJs,” wandering with smartphone gimbals in hand.
“Street streaming” meant outdoor broadcasts—mainly approaching women on the street for impromptu chats, trying to get them to join for drinks, or picking fights with drunk patrons, all streamed raw.
Into this Gangnam nightlife street filled with such people, Kang Tae-san appeared like a shadow.
His appearance stood out sharply against the expensive luxury brands and flashy accessories around him.
Worn black hooded jumper, black jeans, face half-hidden by a black cap and mask—yet his presence couldn’t be concealed.
His tall frame and broad shoulders made him stand out even in the crowd. The sharp nose and deep eyes that the cap couldn’t hide drew stares like a magnet.
“Oh my, look at that guy. Is he a model?”
“Even with the mask, you can tell he’s handsome. Isn’t he a celebrity?”
Women passing by glanced at him and whispered.
A few blushed, clearly hesitating whether to approach him first.
But Kang Tae-san paid no attention to any of the gazes directed at him.
With Seo Chae-hyuk’s consciousness overlaid, Tae-san had no interest in such things.
His entire focus was on the smartphone screen in his hand.
On screen, Jo Tae-man continued his vulgar jokes during the live stream. Under the channel name Jo Tae-man TV, the live viewer count barely exceeded two hundred.
‘He should be around here somewhere……’
Tae-san compared the store signs and landmarks passing behind Jo Tae-man on screen with the actual scenery unfolding before him.
The moment Jo Tae-man on screen passed a familiar franchise convenience store, Tae-san’s head stopped.
Fifty meters ahead.
Jo Tae-man and two of his crew were smoking and laughing.
Kang Tae-san slipped his phone into his pocket and walked straight toward them without hesitation.
“Ah, shit. The stream’s not blowing up at all tonight.”
Jo Tae-man crushed his cigarette on the ground and spat out a curse in irritation.
Every woman he approached ignored him, and there were no easy drunk targets to pick a fight with either.
Viewer count kept dropping, and the chat was flooded with complaints calling it boring.
Right then—
Thud—
Someone bumped hard into Jo Tae-man’s shoulder without any apology and walked past.
Already on edge from the failing stream, Jo Tae-man immediately lowered his voice and turned around.
“Hey, you bastard. Can’t you watch where you’re going? If you shoulder-checked me, you should at least apologize.”
The camera captured both Jo Tae-man’s furious face and the back of the man he was glaring at.
The chat exploded into activity.
Kang Tae-san slowly turned around.
Jo Tae-man tried to see his face, but when he saw the masked, capped man staring back in silence, he smirked, thinking he had found an easy target.
“What, you deaf, you bastard? I said apologize.”
Jo Tae-man spat curses and jabbed Tae-san’s chest with his finger.
His crew quickly moved to block Tae-san from both sides, creating an intimidating atmosphere.
But the moment Jo Tae-man caught a glimpse of Tae-san’s eyes and the nose the mask couldn’t hide, a different calculation began in his head.
‘Huh? This guy…… he’s actually good-looking?’
Trampling a handsome, clean-cut guy in front of a crowd.
There was no better content for drawing attention and provoking viewers’ inferiority complexes.
Jo Tae-man and his crew exchanged glances.
Jo Tae-man draped an arm around Tae-san’s shoulder with a sly smile.
“Let’s not do this here. Come to a quiet spot and talk like men, yeah?”
“Sure.”
They began leading Tae-san toward a secluded alley.
The camera followed closely behind.
The chat had already turned into a frenzy.
Kang Tae-san followed their lead without any resistance.
A dark back alley untouched by Gangnam’s bright lights.
Even the streetlamp glow was dim here, and the air reeked of cigarette smoke and food waste from the bars.
Jo Tae-man handed his smartphone to one of his crew and adjusted the live stream angle.
“Get the camera angle and lighting right. I’m pulling a legendary stream tonight.”
He turned his gaze back to Kang Tae-san.
Already, the provocative title “Disciplining a Clueless Drunk” and the exploding view count were playing in his mind.
“Last chance. Kneel and beg properly right now, and I’ll just slap you ten times and let you go.”
Jo Tae-man smiled arrogantly, convinced his opponent was completely intimidated.
But Kang Tae-san didn’t move an inch.
“You’re the one who should apologize.”
The eyes beyond the mask were so calm they revealed no emotion.
“This bastard’s still acting tough. Fine. Let’s do it our way. You know the ‘Yacha Rule,’ right?”
“Never heard of it.”
Jo Tae-man spoke as if granting a great mercy.
“From now on, whatever happens here—no reporting to the police, no whining about compensation later. Just a straight man-to-man fight with no rules. How about it? Deal?”
Violence with no consequences.
It was Jo Tae-man’s favorite method for creating provocative content.
Normally, the opponent would either get scared and run or get cocky and end up brutally beaten.
But Kang Tae-san’s answer was unexpected.
“Fine.”
His voice was so calm it even carried a hint of interest.
“But let’s add one condition.”
“Condition? You’re making demands in this situation?”
“The loser properly apologizes to the winner.”
Jo Tae-man burst into laughter at that.
His crew doubled over laughing too. This guy still didn’t understand what situation he was in.
“Puhaha! Hey, did you hear that? This bastard’s talking about apologies? Yeah, sure—by the end of tonight you’ll be crying and begging after getting your ass kicked! I like it!”
With the stage properly set, Jo Tae-man grew excited.
He cracked his neck and knuckles as he strode toward Tae-san.
He was confident in fights.
He had been in enough brawls since school days, and after graduation he had kept up with boxing at the gym.
He could turn a scrawny guy like this into a cripple in under a minute.
But he didn’t know—he wasn’t facing an ordinary person.
Through Seo Chae-hyuk’s eyes, things that hadn’t been visible before began to appear.
‘Height around 178 cm, weight about 80 kg. Boxing stance. Guard is sloppy, footwork unstable. Likes to show off, so he probably swings big.’
The original Kang Tae-san wouldn’t have known techniques for harming people, but Seo Chae-hyuk was an expert in this field.
He knew exactly where to strike for maximum pain with minimum force, and which tools would subdue an opponent most efficiently.
Above all, Seo Chae-hyuk had not a single ounce of mercy or hesitation when it came to hurting others.
“Here I come, you bastard!”
Jo Tae-man swung his fist with a shout.
With a heavy whoosh, his punch flew toward Tae-san’s face.
Whoosh!
The fist nearly caught the edge of the mask, but Tae-san quickly tilted his chin and barely avoided having his face exposed.
‘We’re live. I can’t let my face show no matter what.’
While fixing his mask, Tae-san dodged Jo Tae-man’s punches left and right. The live chat exploded.
The positive reactions made Jo Tae-man smile even brighter.
While Jo Tae-man glanced sideways at the chat for a moment—
“Kuhk!”
Tae-san slipped in and drove his elbow straight into Jo Tae-man’s solar plexus.
Jo Tae-man’s upper body folded from the suffocating pain.
Tae-san didn’t miss the opening and drove his knee hard into the side of Jo Tae-man’s abdomen, right where the liver was.
“Aaaagh!”
Jo Tae-man screamed as his insides twisted in agony.
While Jo Tae-man staggered, Kang Tae-san pulled something from his jumper pocket.
It wasn’t sharp—just a solid, heavy piece of metal.
The detached head of a hammer he had taken from the toolbox.
He brought it down on Jo Tae-man’s ribs without hesitation.
Crack!
With a dull thud, Jo Tae-man’s body arched like a bow.
In extreme pain, Jo Tae-man foamed at the mouth and collapsed, convulsing on the ground.
“Y-you bastard……!”
The situation reversed in an instant. The crew members who had been watching rushed at Tae-san in shock.
But the moment they met Tae-san’s eyes, they froze in place.
Those eyes above the mask radiated the chilling killing intent of a predator.
They were Seo Chae-hyuk’s eyes—seeing the person in front of him as nothing but material for his art, devoid of any emotion.
The pure, 100% killing intent radiating from the serial killer made the crew instinctively feel their legs go weak.
“Hic……!”
Leaving the worm-like Jo Tae-man crawling on the ground and his terrified, frozen crew behind, Kang Tae-san casually picked up Jo Tae-man’s smartphone.
The “LIVE” indicator was still on, and hundreds of viewers had witnessed everything.
“Hey. If you don’t want to die, stop making that face and relax it.”
“Listen, I-I’ll apologize. Just give me back the phone, okay?”
“I never expected a proper apology from trash like you in the first place. Relax your face, or I’ll break the other side of your ribs too.”
After unlocking the phone by scanning Jo Tae-man’s terrified face, Kang Tae-san opened the YouTube app, went into the account settings, and without hesitation pressed the “Delete Channel” button.
Warning messages popped up several times, but he confirmed every single one without pause.
Just like that, Jo Tae-man’s entire world—his channel—vanished into digital dust.
“You called it the Yacha Rule, right? No reports, no responsibility, no compensation. Keep your word. Or else—”
Kang Tae-san pressed the smartphone against Jo Tae-man’s broken ribs and whispered so only he could hear.
“I’ll come find you again.”
After that, Tae-san tossed the phone aside and walked out of the alley without looking back.
Only after emerging from the alley into the crowded plaza did Tae-san finally let out the breath he had been holding.
‘Went better than expected.’
He had protected his face with the mask until the end, so there was no risk of retaliation from Jo Tae-man.
This didn’t mean Jo Tae-man had fully paid for what he had done.
Compared to what Yang Seon-il had suffered, it was barely a scratch.
But at least he wanted to give him this much pain—losing his channel and having his body broken.
After the mysterious man disciplined street-streaming BJ Jo Tae-man, the internet communities erupted into chaos.
Hundreds of viewers who had watched Jo Tae-man’s final live stream in real time recorded the explosive scene and spread the clips across various online forums within minutes.
Quick-witted issue-chasing YouTubers didn’t miss this golden content.
Among them, the most notorious tabloid channel “Lekka King Park Reporter” moved first.
He stitched together clips uploaded by various viewers, added provocative subtitles and sound effects, and uploaded a video.
【Legendary Cathartic Justice】 Trash BJ Gets Disciplined by Mysterious Masked Man in the Heart of Gangnam!
The video surpassed 200,000 views within just a few hours of upload.
Most people found it satisfying to watch the thug BJ get his comeuppance.
The comments were filled with praise for the mysterious handsome man and speculation about his identity.
Kang Tae-san, however, remained unaware of the commotion as he returned to his studio apartment.
After arriving home, Tae-san immediately opened the Memorial Box.
Clang—
As the door opened, Seo Chae-hyuk’s consciousness was sucked into the cabinet like a vacuum.
Only then did Tae-san feel his body and mind returning to normal.
‘Feels refreshing.’
Of course, this kind of revenge couldn’t heal Yang Seon-il’s wounds.
But at least Kang Tae-san, who had shared his pain, felt as though he had untangled one small knot in the tangled thread.
The next morning.
Kang Tae-san moved busily from early on.
He stopped by the supermarket near his house and filled a cart with fresh vegetables, meat, various seasonings, instant rice, and daily necessities.
Carrying black plastic bags in both hands, Tae-san’s destination wasn’t his own home.
It was the old villa belonging to Yang Seon-il—the one he had cleaned a few days ago.
After taking a short breath, Tae-san carefully knocked on Yang Seon-il’s door.