Without strength or polished technique, but with a fierce determination, Jihyeon threw himself forward.
The first thug didn't expect a "rat" to move with such rage. In an instant, Jihyeon spat directly in his face.
"Ugh! You filthy bastard!"
The boy screamed, blinded, wiping himself desperately.
Taking advantage of that brief distraction, Jihyeon kicked him precisely in the groin.
The boy folded instantly, letting out a guttural scream.
"No… no! Ahhh! It fucking hurts!"
He sobbed, curling up on the ground while trying uselessly to cover himself.
The second one reacted immediately, swinging a punch straight at the protagonist's face.
But Jihyeon, anticipating the angle, turned his head just in time; the blow barely grazed his cheek.
In a split second, he lunged forward like a predator and drove his elbow into the thug's jaw with a sharp crack.
"Arghhh!"
The thug shrieked in pain.
Before he could step back, Jihyeon smashed a punch straight into his nose.
A wet crunch echoed, followed by a spurt of blood staining the attacker's shirt.
"My nose! Ahh! It's broken, you bastard!"
He howled, collapsing to the floor with his hands soaked in red.
The third one, shocked by the brutality, tried to catch him off guard from the side.
Jihyeon had already read him. With just a glance, he knew where the attack was coming from.
He took a short step back, dodged the blow, and buried a punch into his stomach.
"Ughhh!"
The air burst from his lungs in a ragged gasp.
The boy bent over, spitting saliva mixed with a thin line of blood.
"I… can't… breathe…!"
The leader, red with fury, lost his patience and lunged forward with a wild kick.
Jihyeon reacted coldly, grabbing the third thug—still hunched over—and dragging him as a human shield.
The impact was brutal and sharp, the boy's body receiving the kick with a sickening crack, his legs giving way instantly.
"You idiot! You broke my ribs!"
The thug stammered, collapsing without strength.
Taking advantage of the leader's imbalance, Jihyeon pressed forward mercilessly.
He feigned a strike with his fingers extended, aiming straight for the eyes, forcing the leader to shut them instinctively.
It was a trap.
In that instant, he slammed an elbow straight into his face, blood spraying in a short burst across the floor.
Right after, he drove a kick into the leader's thigh, making him stagger.
"What's wrong?" Jihyeon spat with a twisted grin, his lips stained red.
"Are you starting to feel weak now?"
The leader tried to compose himself, swaying, his mouth bleeding and his teeth stained crimson.
"You're… a fucking psycho…!"
He spat blood and saliva at once, trying to keep his balance.
But he had no time.
Jihyeon grabbed him by the neck with both hands and, with a contained roar, smashed knee after knee into his face.
Each impact was an explosion of bone and flesh, blood splattering like dark paint across the school uniform.
"Ahhh! Stop!"
The leader screamed, his voice cracking between sobs and blood.
"You're… breaking my face!"
The thug's uniform was soaked in red, and his heavy body started to collapse.
Even so, Jihyeon didn't stop.
The rage built up over years poured into every knee strike, as if punishing not just that leader, but every single one who had ever humiliated him.
The others, writhing on the floor, watched the scene in terror.
The first one sobbed, curled up.
The second barely breathed with his nose twisted.
And the third twitched with every painful gasp.
None of them dared to get back up.
The third thug, barely recovered from the earlier blow, stared at him with terrified eyes.
This was no longer a fight, it was punishment.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
He screamed with a broken voice.
"You're gonna kill him!"
Jihyeon turned toward him, his face drenched in blood and his teeth clenched.
He let it all out at once—two fast punches to the face, each one sending sharp pain through his already split knuckles.
When the thug tried to back away, Jihyeon finished him with a brutal headbutt that dropped him instantly.
Now he was surrounded by fallen bodies.
The first still writhed on the floor.
The second whimpered with a broken nose.
The third was unconscious.
And the leader lay beneath his knees with a face beaten to a pulp.
Jihyeon breathed heavily, his chest heaving violently.
Blood ran down his face and his knuckles burned like open embers.
But he was standing.
Wounded, yes.
Exhausted, too.
But stronger than ever.
This hadn't just been a fight: it had been revenge.
A demonstration that he was no longer Samuel the weak, nor the rat they could trample.
Now he was Jihyeon.
And from this moment on, no one would walk away unscathed after daring to humiliate him.
The kneeling leader finally collapsed, his face swollen and bleeding.
Blood dripped from his chin, staining the floor red.
He gasped through spasms, eyes swollen shut, unable to keep his gaze up.
Jihyeon let him go with contempt.
"Get up. Come on, say it again—tell me I'm a rat."
The leader only whimpered, clutching his face.
He couldn't.
He didn't dare.
The second, with his nose bent and bleeding profusely, tried to crawl backward.
"S… stop… no more…"
He stammered, his voice broken.
Jihyeon looked at him, his knuckles still dripping blood.
"Every time you breathe and feel how much that broken nose hurts… you'll remember me."
The thug screamed when Jihyeon kicked him in the side, spitting more blood that stained his uniform.
The third, still hunched, trembled as he tried to stand.
His shirt was soaked in saliva and blood, and the pain made him gasp like a dying fish.
"I… can't…" he muttered.
Jihyeon leaned over him, bringing his lips to his ear.
"You're going to feel that emptiness in your stomach every time you eat. That burning won't go away. And every time you feel it, you'll think of me."
The boy sobbed, unable to look at him.
Finally, he turned to the first, the one with the ruined groin, who cried curled up on the ground.
"Please! That's enough!"
He screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Jihyeon stared at him coldly.
"You'll be my example. Everyone who laughs at me will see your face. And they'll know what's waiting for them."
He dropped him suddenly, leaving him sprawled.
The thug didn't move anymore, only trembling, whining in pain and shame.
Jihyeon breathed violently, his chest heaving, his fists bloodied.
Around him, the four broken bodies didn't dare to rise.
This wasn't just a defeat—it was a mark.
A scar they would carry forever.
"Burn it into your skin," he finally said with a twisted smile.
"The 'rat'… just became the predator."
After the battle, Jihyeon could barely stand.
His clothes, torn and covered in dry blood and dirt, hung from his body like miserable rags narrating the price of his resistance.
Every wound burned like fire, but what kept him moving wasn't the strength of his body, it was the fierce stubbornness now burning inside him.
He bent down, picked up the backpack that had been thrown on the ground, and began to stagger toward his apartment.
The pain grew with every step, his legs felt heavier, but he didn't allow himself to stop.
School was out of the question in that state: all he needed was to get home and stay on his feet one more day.
The streets accompanied him with a sinister air.
Shadows stretched along the dirty walls, as if trying to devour him.
The piled-up trash in the corners gave off a rancid stench that would once have made him gag.
But not now.
As he walked, he realized that, for the first time, that barren and hostile neighborhood didn't seem so repulsive anymore.
Maybe it was because, little by little, he was starting to accept this as his new life.
When he reached the building, he leaned against the entrance wall for a moment, panting.
The sun filtered through the cracks of the broken windows, painting a mosaic of light and shadow on the filthy floor.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting that rough, dry air cool his face.
It wasn't pleasant, but it was enough.
In his mind, the images of the fight replayed over and over again.
Not just the blows.
Not just the blood.
But that sensation of power that had burst out between desperation and rage.
That instant when he had stopped being a rat and dared to fight like a predator.
He smiled faintly, with split lips and a distant gaze.
He knew he still had a long way to go.
Today's wounds were a cruel reminder: fighting dirty wasn't enough, rage wasn't enough.
He had to become stronger.
Not just in body, but in mind and in will.
As he opened the door to his apartment, he made a silent promise to himself.
He would heal, he would rise, and he would find a way to transform into someone no one could ever call weak again.