(Sunday, April 14 – 9:00 a.m.)
Namsoo was walking through the city with a strange idea swirling in his head. He was wearing a black cloth bag with two holes for his eyes on his head.
After all, this wasn't a joke. It was anonymity. If he was going to cross a line, he didn't want anyone to know who he was. Only that someone existed out there… who didn't play fair, but played just.
(Alley – Time: 9:16 a.m.)
Two thugs. One tall, face full of piercings. The other shorter, wearing a black beanie and smoking a cigarette. They laughed, kicking empty cans with their feet.
Namsoo approached with the bag on his head.
"What is that?" said the tall one. "Who's this idiot dressed up?"
"Ha! Look at this. Hand over your money!"
Both approached confidently.
The tall one attacked first. A straight punch, poorly executed. He just wanted to scare. Namsoo dodged just before impact, raising his forearm. Blocked the blow from the side. It hurt, yes, but he didn't give in. Twisted his wrist forcefully, lowering it. The guy screamed, dropping to his knees.
Then, without hesitation, he kicked him in the face. He fell backwards, groaning.
The shorter one didn't wait. He ran toward him and threw a right hook. Namsoo deflected it with an open palm, letting the fist slip past. Using the momentum, he drove his knuckles into the center of the chest, right in the middle of the sternum.
The air escaped. He doubled over.
Namsoo spun him by the arm and pushed him away. He staggered but didn't fall.
The tall one tried to get up. Namsoo intercepted him with a shoulder turn and projected him onto the ground with his body almost pressed against him. The impact sounded like breaking wood. The guy spat blood. He didn't move anymore.
The short one tried to attack from behind. Namsoo turned sharply. He was met with a brutal elbow to the chin. He stopped, covering his face with his hands, and fell to his knees.
Namsoo kicked him like a ball.
Then only some blood and two thugs lying on the ground remained.
Silence.
(9:36 a.m. – Empty alley)
He was panting. Scratches on his forearms. His legs trembling from adrenaline. But he was standing.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't worthy of a manga. But it was enough.
He crouched down, checked the bodies. Expensive clothes. Designer jackets. Clean sneakers. He took them efficiently. Not out of revenge. It was just what he wanted to get.
(10:03 a.m. – On the way home)
No box. Just him. A couple of clothes hidden in his backpack. No traces. No witnesses.
He wasn't a hero. But he wasn't an object either. That day, he moved forward. Took what no one would give him voluntarily.
And if he wanted to survive in that world… he had to keep doing it, better than before.
(10:30 a.m. – Home)
He entered through the back door, careful with every step, every creak. His forearms had visible scratches. His legs trembled with exhaustion, but there was something more urgent than sleeping.
(10:39 a.m. – Bathroom)
Warm water burned on each light cut, but also cleaned. He stayed under the shower longer than necessary. Not to relax, but to restart himself. After what happened in the alley, every second felt like a decision he could no longer ignore.
(11:15 a.m. – Namsoo's Room)
He turned on the computer. He opened a blank tab. Registered on a free web creation service, with simple but functional tools.
Name, description, purpose. Photos, catalog, prices...
The clothes he got were on the chair. Red varsity jacket, high-end black sneakers, a shirt with tags still intact.
He took out his notebook. Started writing in big letters:
"Name for the page."
Ideas came like dirty echoes: loose words, brand plays, strange combinations. But one stayed quiet in his mind.
DripForce
Drip for style. Force because there's no other way to get it out there. It's what you need to impose yourself when you have nothing else.
He entered the platform. Registered the local domain. Made a simple page: dark gray background, white font, clean aesthetic. Only products and a contact form with a pseudonym. No stories. No traces. Just offer and price.
Well-posed photos. Not showing the environment. Nothing recognizable.
"Discreet sales. Urban style recovered. New life for streetwear."
Published the page.
(12:03 p.m.)
He stared at the screen without blinking.
The step was small. But purposeful. And purpose… was the only thing he could control there.
He threw himself on the bed, his body still sore but satisfied. The notebook was open beside him, with the title underlined:
DripForce.
(Monday, April 15 – 7:14 a.m.)
Namsoo looked at himself in the mirror as he always did before leaving. But something was different.
He paused.
The frame's line no longer matched his usual height.
Had he grown…?
He approached. Maybe two centimeters. Nothing extraordinary. But in a body like his, every millimeter was a statement. He looked at himself carefully: the collar of the uniform fit better, the shoulders didn't seem as hunched. It wasn't a radical change, but the kind of detail no one else would notice… except him.
(8:01 a.m. – J High High School)
Classes were normal. Usual murmurs. Doo Lee laughing at something that had no context. Zack looking at Mira. Daniel responding to Zoe, Jay looking out the window.
Nothing was new.
(12:31 p.m. – Lunch)
The same table.
Daniel Park had a casual smile. Jiho Park, nervous but already familiar. Duke, eating as if he still couldn't believe he could do so peacefully. Zoe Park, orbiting Daniel like an impatient moon.
And Namsoo. Eating without rush, without haste. The only good thing was that nothing was happening, no one bothering anyone, and he appreciated that.
(5:57 p.m. – Cho Institute)
Chain block sequences, cushioned falls, step rhythm. Mr. Cho didn't praise, but corrected less. Every time Namsoo spun on his axis, he felt his body responding with more firmness. Sweat wasn't punishment. It was necessary to know he was trying.
He fell twice. He got up three times.
(8:22 p.m. – Namsoo's Room)
He turned on the computer. Opened the website.
DripForce.kr "Urban style. Real prices."
He had two notifications. One visitor from an Android phone. Another from an institute PC, from the IP.
No purchases. But one visitor left a question in the form:
"Where does the red varsity jacket come from? Looks like a collector's item."
He closed the browser carefully. He hadn't responded yet. He wanted to think about how to handle each word. Because the way mattered more than the product. Especially if what he sold didn't come from storefronts… but from alleyways.
(Tuesday, April 16 – 10:36 a.m.)
School day was normal. Teachers talking without anyone listening, students pretending to be interested. Namsoo calm while pretending to pay attention in class but his mind was elsewhere.
Nothing indicated that the day would go off script… until he entered the second-floor bathroom.
(10:49 a.m. – East wing bathroom)
The sound of unpleasant laughter and a trembling voice broke the routine. Namsoo approached the bathroom door and opened it.
Jiho Park was on his knees on the floor, in front of Doo Lee and his two henchmen.
"Come on, Jiho…" said one. "Where's the money you promised today?"
"Didn't you say you'd get it today?"
Jiho lowered his head, clenching his teeth.
"Sorry… I…"
"Again with that? You're so pathetic I wanna cry," said Doo Lee, mockingly, lighting a cigarette. "Want us to give it to you? Or are you going to sell your shoes?"
Everyone laughed.
Namsoo stayed in the entrance. Still. Watching.
Doo saw him.
He exhaled smoke calmly. He looked him over from top to bottom.
"Oh, look who showed up."
"Why don't you join Jiho? You two are cut from the same cloth. Short stature, zero presence… hahaha."
The henchmen giggled. One even made hand signs, provoking.
Namsoo said nothing. He just closed the door calmly and locked it.
There was a pause.
"What are you doing?" asked one.
"Do you think you're going to scare us like that?"
Doo smiled.
"What's wrong? Gonna give us a motivational speech?"
The first henchman tried to intimidate with a careless punch.
Namsoo moved a step to the side. The henchman's punch missed the air. Namsoo countered with a dry kick to the thigh, just above the knee. The balance broke. The pain was obvious. He grabbed his arm as he staggered, spun his body, and forcefully threw him.
He fell backwards. Hard. No air. Namsoo remained firm.
Doo Lee swallowed his saliva. His cigarette fell to the ground unnoticed.
He looked at him.
Frightened… without confidence.
"Alright, alright… no need to continue. It was a misunderstanding…"
But it was too late.
Namsoo approached. He hit him with his palm on the jaw.
His body bent. The ground welcomed him like the others.
Now they were all kneeling. Jiho still behind him. Pale and silent.
The only sound was their breathing.
Namsoo sighed, thinking about what to do now. Honestly, he had escaped. If he had been another thug like Vin Jin, he would have run away, but it was only Doo Lee and his henchmen. In the Webtoon, Doo Lee is good in the future, but that's much later. Remembering what he did before, an idea came to him.
"Get up," he ordered.
Doo Lee and his henchmen stood up, staggering.
"Pull down your pants."
There was no resistance. Only shame. They obeyed.
Namsoo took out his phone. Took pictures. One by one. Slowly.
"You guys did this to Jiho before, right?"
No one answered. No need.
"I hope you don't talk about this. I don't want Zack Lee to suspect. I have your photos. So don't say anything. And you, Jiho… don't say anything either. Okay?"
The four nodded without looking up.
He smiled.
"See? It's easy to get along."
He put his phone away.
"Now you'll leave normally. Nothing happened here. And I don't want to see you bothering Jiho anymore."
Silence.
The four's footsteps receded. Jiho stayed still. Said nothing.
But something had changed.
Jiho still remained there, motionless, as if his body didn't know what to do now that the danger was gone. His hands trembled slightly, and his gaze wandered between the tiles on the floor and Namsoo's back.
Finally, he slowly approached.
"Thanks… Namsoo," he muttered in a low voice, barely audible.
Namsoo sighed with a smile, relaxing his shoulders.
"Let's go. It was nothing."
He didn't look directly at him. No need. After all, Jiho was also a character who had a terrible fate.
(1:42 p.m. – Fashion Department classroom)
The rest of the day was… normal. Selective silence. Empty comments. Hollow laughs.
Doo Lee and his henchmen acted as always.
But that was expected. After all, they weren't smart, but not fools either. Superficial, yes, but socially intelligent enough to know when not to dig further. What happened in that bathroom wasn't mentioned. Not out of respect. But out of fear that someone else might mention it.
(6:03 p.m. – Cho Institute)
The training was demanding. Double projections, cushioned sequences, defense from disadvantaged positions. Mr. Cho asked Namsoo to try blocking with one hand while spinning. The technique didn't come out perfect, but his body didn't fail. It responded. He fell twice. Got up three.
(8:22 p.m. – Namsoo's Room)
He turned on the computer. Opened the site.
DripForce.kr "New life for stories with clothes. Urban clothing, with style and silence."
And there were the first three purchase requests.
Another student from another high school wanted the red varsity jacket, offering 50,000 won and discreet pickup.
Another asked about the black sneakers, proposing 70,000 won if the shipping was anonymous.
A third requested additional images of the inner lining of the shirt with tags still intact.
Namsoo leaned toward the screen.
So, it works. Clothes have value. And anonymity… has a market.
He saved addresses and tags in an encrypted file. His breathing remained steady.
He turned off the room's light.