The sound of birds chirping came in through the small window. Dae-chul blinked awake, rubbing his face slowly. His bed was just a thin mattress on the floor. The walls were cracked, and the sink in the corner dripped constantly. He sat up, yawning, then scratched the back of his head.
It wasn't much. Just a rented room above a small noodle shop. Strange, maybe, for someone like him. Most people in the EDC tought he bathed in gold every morning. Ironically, he never tought about his dillema in a Bad way, rather he was happy with the new path he chosed.
He pulled on a hoodie, stepped into his sneakers, and walked out. The alley was alive with different aroma from the shop below, fresh bread from the bakery down the street. A few elders nodded at him as he passed. He smiled and bowed his head. "Morning, Sung-Lee nim!" he waved. "You're up early again, boy."
"Trying to be responsible," he grinned.
He walked toward the small market square. Just as he was about to turn the corner, something zoomed past him. A kid. Thin, fast, wild eyes, and a loaf of bread clutched in both hands. Two men were running after him. "Stop him! He stole from the bakery!"
Dae-chul didn't even think. His body moved. He turned quickly and ran after the boy, catching up easily. He slipped around a corner, then lunged forward and scooped the kid off the ground.
They both fell into a narrow alley, hidden behind some trash bins. The boy tried to squirm out. "Shh. Stay still," Dae-chul whispered, covering the boy's mouth gently.
The angry voices passed by, not noticing them. After a few minutes, the alley was quiet again. Dae-chul slowly moved his hand. "You okay?"
"Let me go!" "No. First, tell me why you stole."bThe boy stayed quiet. He looked around, probably searching for an escape.
"I said, why?" "My mom's sick. My little brother's hungry. We got no food." Dae-chul looked at the kid carefully. His eyes were swollen. Clothes torn. He didn't look like a liar.
Dae-chul sighed, then pulled out his phone.
"Yeah, it's me. I need a favor. Urgent." He ended the call without explaining, "Just what I tought I was fully independent," he sighed. "Come with me. We're returning the bread." "What? But I need it!" "Just trust me okay. I just don't want you to grow up thinking stealing is normal. Come on."
Reluctantly, the boy followed him back to the bakery.
The lady behind the counter looked up, surprised. "Ohh my!" "Yeah, he would like to say something," Dae-chul nodded, pushing the little boy forward. The boy staggered then regained his composure and held out the bread. His hands were shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to, but... we haven't eaten." The lady looked at him for a long time, then smiled and ruffled his hair.
" You can keep it, next time, just ask, alright?" The boy blinked. "Really?"
"Really. But promise me you won't steal again." The lady smiled. "I promise." They walked out. The boy still looked confused.
"Why did she give it back?" "Because some people are kind," Dae-chul said. He took the boy shopping. Bags after bags, instant rice, snacks, medicine, even a few toys. The boy looked overwhelmed. They reached the boy's house, which was more like a shack, almost worse than where Dae-chul was living. Inside, a woman lay on a thin mat. Her breathing was weak. "Mom!" the boy rushed over.
Dae-chul couldn't help but feel pity for her condition, he placed the bags down and stepped outside. Not long after, a small van arrived. A doctor stepped out. "She'll be fine," the doctor said after checking her. "Just needs rest, medicine, and food."
The boy looked up at Dae-chul. "Why are you helping us?" Dae-chul leaned against the wall, looking at the dusty road. "Let's just say I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. So now, I help when I can."
"But you're so nice. What could you have done that was bad?" He smiled weakly. "That's the thing about sins. They don't always show on the face." The boy stayed quiet. He looked at his mom, then at the bags, then at Dae-chul. "Will I see you again?" "Maybe. But even if you don't, remember what I said. Never stop seeing good in people, not all are Bad. He smiled."
He ruffled the boy's hair and stepped away. The mother, weak but grateful, managed to stand and bow slightly. "Thank you," she whispered. Dae-chul turned and waved.
As he walked back to the main road, he looked up at the sky. The clouds were soft, sunlight breaking through. He smiled. "One small right, against a pile of wrongs," he said to himself. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in soft orange and purple, Dae-chul walked away with a quiet smile on his face. The city seemed so beautiful, and for a moment, he looked at the sky like he was thinking about something far away.
Meanwhile, across the city, Inside a deep, locked training vault of the EDC, the air felt heavy. The place was dark. Cold walls. Thick silence. No sunlight, no noise, nothing, just the hum of the training field that surrounded the room like an invisible cage.
Seo-jun stood in the middle. His hair was messy, his shirt soaked with sweat, sticking to his skin. His fists were clenched. Breathing rough. There was no one else around. Just him and his thoughts. Then, like a knife, it came. A memory. "You call that a punch?" His father's voice echoed in his head. Loud, sharp, angry. "Again."
Seo-jun shut his eyes tight. But it was too late. The memories started flooding in like water breaking through a cracked dam. A younger version of him, kneeling on the cold floor of their private dojo. Bruises all over his arms. Blood on his lips. Chest burning from hours of sparring. His father stood above him, face blank, hands behind his back. "You think effort is enough? You're my son. You're not allowed to be weak." "Now again."
The words stabbed deeper than any wound. Back in the vault, Fire danced around his shoulders now, flickering and wild. He took a deep breath and shouted. A wave of fire burst out from his feet, cracking the floor. The air changed. He ran forward, flames coating both fists, and slammed into another steel wall. CRASH!. The steel dented. Smoke rose. He didn't stop. Each hit was faster. Each breath heavier. Sweat dripped from his face.
Then he stopped. Chest heaving. Shoulders tense. Eyes burning. He looked down at his hands, red from heat but still steady. "Why was nothing I did enough?" he muttered.
He lowered his hands. More memories flashed, times he came first in training, and still got ignored. Times he won fights, only to be told it was "barely acceptable." No praise. No pride. Just silence. He took a shaky breath and stepped back. Then let out a soft, bitter laugh.
"I'm not doing this for you anymore," he whispered. "I'll become stronger. But not for your approval." He looked up at the ceiling, flames fading slowly from his arms. "For me," he said. "This time, I Will reach the top, for my own pride." Then he turned and walked out of the vault, the broken floor behind him still smoldering.