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SLAPPED WITH A WEEK-LONG SUSPENSION, Kwon Jae-sung found himself wide awake in his room, practicing at the crack of dawn before he'd head for the weekend training at his dojang. Through the days, he'd be throwing himself into training with a relentless intensity. The hours stretched long as he pounded the heavy bag, his fists aching, body drenched in sweat, but nothing seemed enough to quiet the restlessness gnawing at him.

He didn't fight for y/n. 

He fought because he enjoyed the rush, the control, the satisfaction of breaking someone else's confidence, especially those arrogant enough to mess with him. But now, something wasn't adding up. Every kick, every punch was just a failed attempt to beat back the memory of her bruised face and swollen lips, lying on the ground, looking more defeated than he'd ever seen her. The way she'd looked at him after he'd ignored her... it was like she'd wanted to beat the shit out of him, and hug him at the same time.

It was as perplexing as it was infuriating.

It wasn't like she meant anything to him. She was just his tutor, the one person he put up with because he couldn't stand how easily she let people walk over her. Strong? She wasn't. Not in his book. The y/h, y/b/t girl with the y/h/c hair and y/e/c eyes (help- why does this lowkey look like a periodic table in a sentence😭) was something he'd categorize as weak. If anything, she was more of a bother—a reminder of everything soft and fragile he tried to ignore. But the image of her on the ground, struggling to regain her footing while his mind replayed every cold remark he'd made, every time he'd turned his back on her... it lingered.

He wasn't sure if it was because over the past couple of months, a part of him actually learned to care for her feisty ass... or the fact that the one who threw the ball was someone he'd once considered a friend. Sure, it was a long time ago, and they'd grown apart when Kwon quit the school's taekwondo team to focus on his own dojo, a few years back. But Jae-chul and him were never exactly on bad terms. Well, not until Kwon's ex-girlfriend cheated on him with that guy. The worst part is that they were still together, in the same class, all three of them, and the girl never once stopped flirting with the raven.

That disgusted him. Not because he felt guilty for hurting her... He could ignore her, mock her, call her weak all he wanted. But the fact that she was a target of his extremely jealous ex made him a bit uneasy, for he wasn't sure if he could've unintentionally fueled the already raging fire. 

The loud thud of his fist meeting the punching bag echoed in the empty room, his breath coming in hard, teeth gritted in frustration. He should not be thinking about any of it. He should just leave her to deal with her own mess. But somehow, he couldn't. Not until he'd see that she was fine once again. And maybe, just maybe if she'd continue tutoring him after everything that'd happened between them, he too could teach her a few self-defence tricks.

But anyway, now was not the time to think about it, for he still had to head to the woods. He had already packed up everything he'd need for the weekend last night.

The woods were shrouded in a dull, overcast haze as Kwon made his way through, indifferent to the dimness. The air was thick and cool, heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, and it grounded him, calming the turbulence he'd been carrying. These trees and shadows were familiar, predictable, unlike the chaotic stir his mind. Here, he could simply focus on training.

Ahead, a figure already loomed—Yoon, predictably warming up under the hawk-eyed supervision of Sensei Kim. A model student, one who would probably break under real pressure, Kwon thought, casting a glance of faint disdain. Yet he couldn't deny that Yoon's movements were precise, disciplined, the product of years of strict training.

Kwon lingered, hidden in the cover of the trees, watching as Sensei Kim moved from one demonstration to the next, critiquing Yoon's stance, redirecting his weight. The boy was formidable, strict, unyielding. Kwon didn't really care about that though, knowing that he was probably superior. But just as his gaze swept back to the clearing, his eyes caught on someone else—the American. Dressed in a gi identical to Sensei Kim's, his form was undeniably solid even if he was old, but what threw Kwon off was his familiarity with the space, his ease, as if he'd already been part of this for years. 

How was it that this outsider could command the same respect?

But those questions faded as the rest of the students gathered, joining the warm-ups under Sensei Kim's quiet command. Today's drills were intense, beginning with controlled but lethal combinations meant to incapacitate an opponent in seconds. They moved in quick succession, launching strikes with ruthless precision, each blow calculated to devastate. And after combinations, Sensei Kim's voice cut through the air, ordering them into psychological drills.

They were instructed to focus on their stance, their gaze, the mere presence they projected. They moved in synchronized steps, their bodies becoming weapons of both strength and fear. Kwon took particular satisfaction in this, his features hardening, every movement a calculated menace. It was a game he played all too well: the silent intimidation, the aura that spoke volumes without a word.

After an intense hour of relentless sparring, filled with the satisfying sounds of blows landing and opponents succumbing, Kwon stood victorious. He'd earned this break, even if his spirit was still restless, his gaze drifting back toward the trees where he'd seen the American earlier. There was something unsettling about him, a kind of silent authority that didn't sit right with Kwon. But before he could dwell on it, Sensei Kim called the group to attention.

Once the class had gathered, she signaled to the figure who now stepped forward into the light, his face finally visible. His presence was commanding, his posture unbreakable, and he looked at them with an expression that bordered on disdainful pride.

Sensei Kim's voice cut through the tension. "I'm sure you are all curious as to who our visitor is." She turned to the man beside her, eyes sharp with respect. "Sensei Kreese is one of the strongest senseis to ever train in this dojang," she announced. "He brings an invitation for us to test our strength against the best fighters in the world. You will give him your full respect and attention. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sensei!" the group responded, their voices carrying a mixture of awe and curiosity.

Kwon's eyes narrowed, an eager but cautious flame lit within him. This wasn't just another teacher. This was someone with a reputation, a history—a real test. And for Kwon, none of that mattered until he saw him in action. 

Kreese took a slow, deliberate pace, letting the weight of his words hang in the cool morning air, his voice a low, controlled growl that commanded every ear and froze every gaze. "A long time ago, I had a student," he began, studying each face as if he could already see the failures and weaknesses etched into their expressions. His steps were measured, each one a reminder of the authority he wielded. "I trained him to be the best of the best—he dominated every opponent he faced, mercilessly, without hesitation. He was destined to be a world champion... until one day, it all changed."

He paused, letting the anticipation of his words coil tightly around the students, who remained rapt, caught in his narrative. "He lost," the man continued, his voice dropping to a disdainful sneer, "to an insignificant, scrawny little runt with maybe six weeks of training." The man's lip curled as he scoffed, barely concealing his contempt. "And why did he lose?" He glanced around at the students, letting the question hang.

"Because this opponent had more heart," he spat, mocking the very idea, as if the concept itself was laughably weak. His gaze shifted over the crowd, settling like a predator's on each individual before flicking to the next. Kreese took his time, basking in the silence that his story had instilled, his words sinking into each mind like poison.

"So, class," he finally said, with a deadly calmness that promised nothing short of brutality, "how do we defeat an opponent who has more heart?"

Silence held for a heartbeat, and then one student spoke up, "More practice, Sensei." Kreese's expression hardened. "No."

Another voice ventured, "More offense, Sensei." But his rejection was immediate, sharper than the edge of a blade. "No."

At last, Yoon, ever the eager student, seemed to find the courage. "Have heart yourself... Sensei," he said, and Kreese's eyes gleamed briefly with approval, a dark twist to his smirk that suggested he saw potential. But before the moment could settle, Kwon, from the back, interjected with his own jibe. "Or kill their heart with strong kick to ribs."

A murmur of unease went through the students. Sensei Kim's face darkened as she snapped in Korean, her voice laced with sharp, cold reprimand, "You do not speak!" She barely finished before Kreese raised a hand, stopping her. His gaze locked on Kwon, and an unsettling smile began to spread across his face, serpentine and sinister.

"Kwon... is it?" Kreese murmured, taking a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing with something between intrigue and malice. Kwon merely nodded, his expression unflinching, his posture challenging. He held his ground, meeting the man's cold gaze with an unbroken defiance.

"It seems you don't take me seriously," Kreese whispered, his smirk fading, eyes growing hard as steel. The intensity in his voice felt like a blade, sharp and dangerous, as though he could cut Kwon down right where he stood. There was something dark, almost sinister in his tone that chilled the students who looked on, sensing that the young man had crossed an unspoken line.

Kwon felt the tension, but instead of recoiling, he straightened, his spine rigid with insolence, jaw set with grim determination. He was up for whatever challenge Kreese would throw his way, unwilling to back down. And Kreese could see it, the unbreakable will that flickered in the boy's dark gaze. For the briefest moment, he looked almost amused, as if he'd finally found a worthy adversary to shape and manipulate.

In that instant, the cobra had found its kin, ready to mold the boy into something unbreakable—and perhaps, unforgivable...

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