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KWON STARED AT THE SOFT GOLDEN HUE OF THE APPLE JUICE, swirling it in the champagne glass as the aircraft gently hummed around him. First-class offered every comfort imaginable: reclining seats, gourmet meals, and noise-canceling serenity. Yet, none of it helped. His phone and headphones were both charging in the overhead outlet, leaving him to marinate in the thick, inescapable silence. Everyone else on the flight was fast asleep. The glow of the cabin lights cast shadows that only seemed to deepen his thoughts.

Twelve hours had passed since they'd left Seoul. Two more to go before they landed in Barcelona for the Sekai Taikai. Two more hours before he'd be forced to pull himself together, fake a smile, and step into the role of the indomitable fighter everyone expected him to be. Yet here he was, swirling juice in a glass meant for champagne, letting his thoughts unspool like a fraying thread.

The night kept creeping back in. It wasn't the night of the fight with y/n or even the ones spent arguing with Tory. It was that night—the one he never spoke of. The one that had ruined everything.

Three details ran on repeat in his head, like a cruel, endless loop:

His grandmother's laryngectomy.

Yoo-mi's family.

Sensei Kreese.

He shut his eyes, leaning back into the plush leather seat, willing himself to stop the memories, but they came anyway.

***

It had been raining that night, the kind of rain that washed Seoul clean but left the air smelling like asphalt and regret. He'd been at the hospital all day, pacing the corridors outside the operation theater. His grandmother's frail voice had been taken away by cancer, and now the doctors were taking the rest—her entire larynx. He couldn't bear it. The sight of his sweet halmoni strapped to machines, her life dependent on the constant hum and beeps of monitors, was too much.

He remembered how he'd fidgeted, his fists clenching and unclenching as he stood by the vending machine in the hospital lobby. He couldn't sit still. He couldn't wait. His chest had been a swirling storm of helplessness and guilt. He should've been in that room, holding her hand before they wheeled her into surgery. But instead, he'd bolted.

He hated himself for it.

For the first time, Kwon tried something he always despised. He went home.

When he opened the door, the sharp stench of alcohol hit him like a slap. His father was passed out on the couch again, a half-empty bottle of rum still clutched in his hand. Kwon stopped in his tracks, his fists trembling at the sight. It was always like this. Always. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the man he always despised. The one who drove his mother to insanity. The one who gambled what little he earned... Now, he was still his insufferable self, drowning in a bottle while the boy carried the weight of their broken family on his shoulders.

Kwon pried the bottle out of his father's limp hand, tossing a blanket over him with a surprising gentleness he didn't feel. But as he stared at the bottle, something shifted inside him. He should've thrown it away, like he always did. Should've emptied it down the sink. But tonight... tonight was different.

His hands were shaking as he unscrewed the cap. The acrid smell of alcohol made his nose wrinkle, but he brought the bottle to his lips anyway. He told himself it was curiosity, but deep down, he knew the truth. He just wanted to feel something else—anything else.

The first sip burned like fire, making him gag. The second wasn't much better. By the third, his throat had gone numb, and the world started to blur at the edges. He didn't stop until the bottle was empty.

He stumbled back onto the couch, his head spinning and his body heavy. The numbness came slowly, like a wave washing over him, and for the first time that day, his mind was quiet. No thoughts of halmoni. No guilt. Just the faint, comforting haze of alcohol.

But it didn't last...

The next thing he remembered was the cold night air biting at his skin as he staggered out of the building. He'd made up his mind to go back to the hospital, to be there when his grandmother woke up. His legs felt like lead, his balance unsteady as he stumbled down the sidewalk.

That's when he saw him.

Sensei Kreese stood outside the apartment complex, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in Kwon's disheveled appearance. For a moment, the boy thought he was hallucinating. What was Kreese doing here? How did he even know where Kwon lived?

Kreese didn't say anything at first. He just stared, his face unreadable, as Kwon tried to stand up straight. The older man finally spoke, his voice low and calm, yet carrying an edge that made Kwon's stomach churn.

"Sensei Kim told me about your grandmother."

Kwon's blood ran cold. Sensei Kim knew everything—his family's struggles, his father's drinking, the weight he carried alone. But he never once expected Sensei Kreese to know too.

"I don't need your pity," Kwon slurred, his voice thick with alcohol and anger.

"This isn't pity, boy," The old man said, stepping closer. "This is me making sure you don't ruin yourself before you've even begun."

Kwon wanted to snap back, to tell him to leave him alone, but the words wouldn't come. He felt small under Kreese's gaze, like a child caught doing something he shouldn't.

"You think you're the only one with problems?" Kreese continued, his tone harsh but not unkind. "You think drowning yourself in that poison is going to help? Grow up."

Kwon's fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to hit something, anything, but all his anger dissolved into tears he didn't even know he'd been holding back. He sank to the ground, his head in his hands, the weight of everything crashing down on him.

***

Kwon opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light of the plane cabin. The apple juice in his glass was untouched. His head ached, not from alcohol but from the memories he couldn't escape. He hated that night. Hated the boy he'd been.

But as much as he tried to forget, it was always there, lurking in the shadows of his mind. A constant reminder of how far he'd fallen—and how far he still had to go.

***

Kwon's breathing was uneven, shallow hiccups breaking the silence as his tears finally dried. He was still slumped on the pavement outside his apartment complex, his knees pressed to his chest, as Kreese crouched beside him. The hardened sensei, whose reputation was built on discipline and ruthlessness, watched the boy with an expression of rare understanding.

"Get it together, Kwon," Kreese said, his voice unusually soft. Not the harsh bark of a drill sergeant, but something quieter, something almost... paternal. "This world isn't going to wait for you to sort out your emotions. You're stronger than this."

Kwon didn't respond at first. His fingers dug into his hair as he tried to steady his breathing, but the dam had already broken. The flood of emotions, guilt, and frustration wouldn't stop.

Kreese sighed, his tone changing. "Sometimes, it's okay to fall apart. But what matters is what you do after. The people who depend on you—they need you to stand up again."

Those words struck a chord. Kwon's shoulders shook, and he finally broke down completely, sobbing into his hands as the weight of the night crushed him. Kreese didn't leave. He stayed by Kwon's side, watching the boy let it all out. This wasn't the first time he'd seen a student crack under pressure, but it was the first time he felt compelled to help beyond just barking orders.

When Kwon's tears slowed, Kreese placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You're going back to the hospital. To your grandmother. But first, you need to pull yourself together."

Kreese called an Uber, helping Kwon to his feet and guiding him into the car. The ride was silent except for Kwon's quiet breathing, his head leaning against the window. Kreese paid the driver and walked Kwon to the hospital himself. The boy had been too emotionally drained to resist.

Inside, the stark white walls and antiseptic smell of the hospital hit Kwon like a wave of reality. His stomach churned from the lingering effects of the rum, and his head throbbed with guilt and exhaustion. Kreese led him to the operation theater, where Kwon collapsed onto one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs outside. He mumbled something incoherent before his head tilted and his body went slack, asleep against Kreese's shoulder.

The old man didn't flinch. He simply leaned back, his eyes scanning the sterile hallway as he considered his next move. Kim had filled him in on Kwon's home life—the father, the drinking, the fragile grandmother. Kreese had seen plenty of fighters with broken homes, but something about Kwon's resilience struck him. The boy wasn't just tough; he was loyal, almost to a fault.

Kreese made a few calls. If Kwon's grandmother pulled through, the boy would need more than just lectures to keep him on track. The calls were short but efficient, and when he hung up, he leaned back in the chair, letting Kwon sleep.

When the boy woke up, the fluorescent hospital lights burned his eyes, and his head felt like it was being split in two. He groaned, rubbing his temples as the events of the night before came back in fragments. He turned his head and saw Kreese sitting beside him, scrolling through his phone.

"You're awake," Kreese said without looking up. "Good."

Kwon blinked, trying to piece everything together. "What... happened?"

"You had a rough night," Kreese replied curtly. "But your grandmother's out of surgery, and the doctors say she's stable. That's what matters."

Relief flooded Kwon's chest, and he exhaled shakily. His grandmother was okay. That was all he needed to hear.

Kreese didn't elaborate on the rest of the night—the drinking, the tears, the breakdown. Kwon didn't ask, too embarrassed to dig deeper. He shuffled to the restroom to freshen up, splashing cold water on his face as the ache in his head persisted.

Later that day, after pulling himself together, Kwon decided he owed Yoo-mi a proper thank-you. Her family's quiet charity had been a lifeline for him more times than he cared to admit. His mother and Yoo-mi's mother had been best friends growing up, and even after his mother's death, the connection remained. Their generosity had been subtle—small things like covering school fees, dropping off groceries, and helping with his grandmother's hospital bills.

But the thought of thanking Yoo-mi brought a different kind of weight. After all, he had yet another favor to ask. Their breakup had been messy, and her betrayal was something he hadn't forgiven, but he couldn't deny the debt he owed her family. He figured if he couldn't give them anything tangible yet, the least he could do was keep their daughter happy, no matter what it cost him.

When Kwon arrived at the party, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. The thudding bass from inside the building was deafening, and the flashing lights spilling out from the windows felt almost suffocating. He had barely taken a step toward the entrance when two boys lounging by the door blocked his path.

"Invitation only," one of them said, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

Kwon's jaw tightened. "I'm just here to talk to someone."

The second boy smirked, his tone dripping with mockery. "Doesn't matter. No invite, no entry. Unless..." He gestured toward a tray on a nearby table, where an ominous-looking glass of liquid sat. "Take the mystery shot. That's the price for party crashers."

Kwon's eyes flicked to the shot glass. The liquid inside was an unnatural shade of green, bubbling slightly at the edges like something straight out of a science experiment. He hesitated for a moment, the sensible part of his mind telling him to walk away, but the pressure of the moment—and the nagging sense of obligation to Yoo Mi—pushed him forward.

"Fine," he muttered, grabbing the glass without hesitation.

The boys exchanged amused looks as Kwon brought it to his lips and tipped it back in one swift motion.

The burn hit instantly, sharper and more intense than anything he'd ever experienced. It clawed its way down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste that made his stomach churn. He winced, coughing slightly as the boys laughed.

"Welcome to the party," one of them said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door.

Kwon barely heard him. The world had already started to shift around him, the edges of his vision blurring as the alcohol—or whatever it was—kicked in. His head felt light, his thoughts sluggish. Every sound seemed amplified, every light too bright.

What happened next was a haze, like a dream he couldn't quite grasp. He remembered stumbling through the crowded room, bodies pressing against him as the music pulsed through the air. Colors swirled around him—neon blues, vibrant reds—and the smell of alcohol and sweat filled his nostrils. He couldn't focus on anything.

Voices blurred together, snippets of conversations he couldn't piece together. He thought he saw familiar faces in the crowd, but when he turned to look, they were gone. He moved through the room like a ghost, untethered and aimless, until suddenly, she was there.

Yoo-mi.

She stood before him, her face illuminated by the dim party lights, her expression unreadable. Her perfume wafted toward him, a mix of something floral and sharp that made his head spin even more.

"What are you doing here, Jae-sung?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with surprise.

He struggled to form words, his tongue heavy in his mouth. "I... I wanted to thank you," he mumbled, the words slurring together. "For... for everything. Your family... the help. I'll repay you... after the tournament... but please, l-look after halmoni."

Yoo-mi tilted her head, a small, almost amused smile playing on her lips. "You don't have to wait. You can repay me now."

Her words made his foggy mind stumble. "What do you mean...?"

Before he could finish the thought, she stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. He felt her hands lightly brush against his arms, and before he could react, her lips were on his.

The kiss was soft but insistent, pulling him into a moment that felt both surreal and intoxicating. The sounds of the party faded into the background, replaced by the rapid beating of his heart. Her perfume, mingled with the scent of the party air—cigarettes, alcohol, and something sweet—clouded his senses.

He didn't push her away. For the first time, he didn't recoil at her touch, didn't think about the history between them or the betrayal that had shattered their relationship. He just let himself get drawn in, his mind too numb and his body too tired to resist.

The world around them spun, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows, and Kwon couldn't tell how much time had passed or how the kiss had even ended. He only remembered the feeling of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and the heaviness in his chest that lingered long after.

When Kwon finally stumbled out of the party hours later, his memory was blank. He couldn't recall what had happened between the kiss and the moment he found himself leaning against the cool brick wall of the building, his head spinning and his legs barely holding him up.

***

The only thing he knew for certain—the one detail that haunted him as he wandered home—was that, for the first time, he hadn't pushed her away. And the last thing he'd said was...

"...You're not her."

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