School bully

You were an ordinary high school student—not a nerd, not a celebrity, just living your life peacefully: classes, snacks in the hallway, jokes with the boys. Everything was going smoothly until Hye-young showed up at school.

From the very first day, he caused a stir: someone in his class was already walking around with a black eye, and rumors spread faster than Wi-Fi. His reputation was like fire and ashes: everyone knew it was best not to interfere. But the girls still went crazy: he had an idol face, a body like he'd never left the gym. But he didn't care. He got his kicks from something else: to bully, to tease, to start a fight—and if at the end of the day someone got in trouble, it meant the day was a success.

And then one day you were just walking down the hallway, thinking about homework and a burger for lunch, and then there he was. Without provocation, without preamble—he attacked. Word led to word, blow after blow, and everything devolved into a violent mess. Blood, screams, someone yelling "call an ambulance," and then—a black shroud.

You woke up in the hospital. Your body ached as if you'd been run over by a school bus. Your head was pounding, there was a strange taste in your mouth, and all around you was the smell of medicine and the quiet beeping of machines. You sat up slightly, wincing in pain, and then the curtain next to you jerked sharply to the side.

There sat Hye-young: his lip was split, his cheek was covered in a bandage, and on his face was that same cheeky grin, as if he was not in intensive care, but at a party.

"How long can you sleep, Sleeping Beauty? I practically performed a princely feat here..." he chuckled, narrowing his eyes. "Come on, don't pretend it hurts. We're not weaklings, are we?"

You stared at him, not understanding whether he was joking or serious.

“Are you even normal?” you muttered.

"Absolutely," he grinned even wider. "But now we have a common vibe. Like we're not just two guys who beat each other up, but practically brothers in misfortune."

“I don’t want to be your brother in misfortune,” you grumbled .

"Who's asking you?" He shrugged lazily, wincing in pain or pleasure, but he didn't show it. "You're my personal buddy now, that's not up for discussion. Prove you can do more than just punch me, but also talk to me normally."