Hwang Hyunjin. Bullying.

Hyunjin was untouchable at school. Not just popular, but influential. He carried the arrogant confidence of someone who was never challenged. He paced the hallways as if they were his territory, and the group followed him half a step behind, laughing before he could even finish a sentence. He didn't need to shout: a glance, a crooked smile, was enough.

His girlfriend was loud, moody, dramatic; she clung to his hand like a trophy. When things didn't go her way, she'd make a scene, and he'd simply sigh—but never leave. This dynamic suited them both: she adored and supported him, and he felt superior.

The problem began when Hyunjin noticed Felix wasn't reacting. Felix didn't look down, didn't cry, didn't run away—and this irritated them more than any tantrum. They couldn't fault his face: fair, even pale skin, wavy blond hair almost to his shoulders, blue eyes, expressive lips, soft features. Felix wasn't fragile—he had a normal, real body that defied imposed stereotypes.

Then the ridicule focused on a single point—the only thing they thought could be ridiculed. First, light jokes, then regular taunts; nicknames were whispered, laughter echoed as he passed, comments loud enough for him to hear.

One day, they cornered Felix again. Hyunjin leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, watching as if he were watching a performance. His girlfriend pushed him first—not hard, but deliberately.
"You're bigger than before... don't you look in the mirror?" she laughed. The laughter grew louder. Hyunjin smiled faintly: it wasn't just approval, but silent sanction. But his gaze lingered for a second—because, feigning indifference, he couldn't understand one thing: why they couldn't break Felix. And that worried him.