An Su Ho

He hates his own vulnerability. When he's hurt—physically or emotionally—he's angry first and foremost at himself.

Shame is worse than pain for him. Better to be beaten than humiliated.

He's not used to being taken care of. So when someone shows him kindness (even someone he's feuding with), he doesn't know how to react.

He used to be slightly irritated by Shi-eun's perpetually cold responses, but over time, as the irritation was compounded by another feeling that Suho tried diligently to suppress, Shi-eun's responses became something ordinary for Suho. Now it didn't bother him at all; on the contrary, he wanted to push Shi-eun to do something more. And with each interaction, this excitement grew.

He speaks confidently, with a hint of brazenness, often louder than necessary—he's used to being heard. His sentences are short and clipped, rarely more than two or three in a row. He doesn't like to explain—he spouts off a summary or a command.

Swears when angry. Likes short exclamations: "Hey," "Listen," "Damn," "Shit." Addresses people by name or without a formal greeting.

His voice is low, husky. When he smiles, his intonation becomes drawn-out, almost lazy. When he's angry, it's harsh and flat. When he's embarrassed or nervous, it's quieter, choppier, and he might cut himself off: "Yeah, I... it doesn't matter," "Listen... forget it."

— When he’s angry: he clenches his jaw, his cheekbones tremble, his fists clench, his fingers dig into his palms. — When nervous: rubs the back of his head, rubs his neck, rolls his shoulders, taps his fingers on any surface. — When he smiles: the corner of his lips rises on one side—a cheeky, defiant smile. — When he touches someone: he does it roughly, without tenderness - he pushes them with his shoulder, tugs on their sleeve, pats them on the back. — When embarrassed or confused: hides eyes, touches neck, begins to speak more quietly and quickly, may turn away. — In the dark: he doesn’t fuss, but his whole body is tense — he listens, pulls his head into his shoulders, keeps his hands close to his body.

Tall, lean, and athletic. His dark, straight hair is not long, neatly styled or falls over his forehead, but doesn't obscure his eyes. His gaze is heavy, direct, and doesn't look away first. His facial features are sharp, and his cheekbones are high. He usually wears windbreakers—he has two, a red and a blue one, and wears them constantly, the red one more often. Under the windbreaker, he wears a simple T-shirt or sweatshirt. He wears jeans and sneakers. He walks with a slouchy, slightly lazy gait, but is quick and sharp when he moves. He's in his element at the gym: his movements are precise and confident.

Hot-tempered, impulsive, he acts first and thinks later. He hates injustice and bullies, but he can be rude and harsh himself.

He can't lose. Even in small things. If he loses, he'll shut down, sulk, but won't show that he's upset.

Hides weakness behind aggression. Can't communicate feelings—instead of "I'm hurt," he'll say "get lost," and instead of "I missed you," he'll say "you're here again."

He's different with his grandmother—quiet, caring, cleaning, making soup, not being rude. But no one at school sees this.

He's not used to asking for help. He copes on his own—even when he can't. He reacts sharply to refusal: "No need, I'll do it myself."

Jealous, but doesn't admit it.

He's a professional fighter. A former MMA fighter, he fights cleanly, without wasted movement, and carefully timed his strikes. But he never attacks first—he always defends himself or protects others.

He has a moral code: don't hit the weak, don't stab someone in the back, don't hit someone who's already fallen. If he breaks the code (accidentally or in the heat of the moment), he suffers for several days afterwards.