Han Dae Su sat in the dimly lit basement, his back against the cold, cracked wall. A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling by a frayed cord, flickering just enough to keep the shadows alive in the corners. The room smelled of damp concrete and old iron. It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears, making your own heartbeat sound deafening.
His phone rested in his lap, the screen smeared with grime and fingerprints. His thumb hovered over the cracked glass, scrolling through a stream of social media posts that made his stomach churn.
There they were.
The Ten.
Min Seok, Jae Hwan, Do Jin, Hyun Woo… and the rest of them. The ten bastards who ruined his life. The ones who cut his finger, shoved the bloodied knife into his hand, and told the teachers it was him. Who cried crocodile tears in court. Whose parents—rich, powerful, connected—twisted every fact and silenced every witness.
"It wasn't me…"
He could still remember shouting those words. The look on his teacher's face when they asked, "Then whose knife is it, Han Dae Su?" And no one spoke for him. Not one friend. Not one adult. Not even his parents could save him.
And now, three years later, those same faces smiled on his screen. Min Seok posing in front of a new sports car. Do Jin on a yacht. Jae Hwan in some expensive club, drinks in hand and girls on his arms.
They were untouchable.
His parents…
His breath hitched in his throat.
That day in prison, when his aunt came to visit, was burned into his memory. She sat on the other side of the glass, her eyes hollow, lips trembling.
"I'm sorry, Dae Su… your parents… they… they didn't make it."
A car accident, they said. But he knew. In his gut, he knew. It wasn't fate. It wasn't coincidence. The families of those bastards made sure his parents wouldn't live long enough to fight back.
The world had turned its back on him.
Now, there was nothing left.
Except this basement.
And rage.
Weeks passed like that. He barely left the room. His aunt wired him money from the U.S., sent a message once: "I'm sorry, Dae Su. I wish I could be there, but I can't… take care of yourself." He read it once and deleted it.
He didn't need her.
He didn't need anyone.
At night, when the city quieted and the hum of distant traffic faded, the house would creak. The basement walls would seem to close in, and the air would turn heavy, thick with a metallic scent he couldn't explain.
And sometimes, a voice. Faint, like it was buried beneath the concrete.
"Mark… my… words… traitors…"
Dae Su shook his head, pressing his hands against his ears. "I'm going crazy," he whispered to no one.
But still, it came. Not every night, but enough that he started to feel it. A weight in his chest, a warmth beneath his skin. His dreams turned violent, filled with images he didn't recognize — of ancient battlefields, warriors bathed in blood, a lone figure standing against a horde, betrayed by those closest to him.
The name would echo in his mind upon waking.
Drenval.
He didn't know what it meant.
Didn't care.
He'd sit in front of that wall for hours, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, watching those ten faces on his phone. Memorizing them. Where they went. Who they met. What they bought. What they posted.
It wasn't revenge anymore.
It was survival.
Each post felt like a slap to the face, a reminder that while he rotted in a cold basement, they lived like kings.
And the more he watched, the more the voice in the walls called to him.
He ignored it. Told himself it wasn't real.
But deep down, something inside him stirred. An ember, waiting.
Then, one night, after seeing a video of Min Seok laughing about "taking out the trash three years ago," something snapped.
Dae Su's knuckles clenched so tight his nails cut into his palms. His breathing grew ragged, eyes blurring with hatred.
Without a word, he stood.
Faced the cracked wall.
And slammed his fist into it.
The basement shook.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
A hairline fracture spread across the wall.
He stared at his bleeding knuckles. The warmth in his chest flared.
And somewhere in the darkness, that voice spoke again.
"Good… finally…"