The basement was cold and silent. A faint breeze whispered through the cracks in the thick concrete walls, carrying with it the distant hum of the city outside — a world moving on without him. Han Dae Su sat hunched against the damp wall, fingers stained with dried blood from punching the rough surface. His body ached in ways deeper than bruises and scars.
The small flickering TV played muted scenes — a group of teenagers laughing, carefree, confident. The same ten bullies who had betrayed him, framed him, sent him to rot behind bars. They celebrated like kings, untouched by the shadows they cast over his life.
For three long years, Dae Su had been trapped in a cold cell, time measured only by the biting loneliness and endless torment. The days were cruel and slow, filled with whispered threats and the weight of injustice pressing down like a suffocating fog.
His mind drifted back to the day it all began—the knife, the blood, the false accusations. He remembered the teacher's eyes, filled with doubt yet ready to believe the worst of him.
"Whose knife is that?" the teacher had asked, voice shaky but stern.
Dae Su's heart had pounded. "Not mine."
But when the bullies cut his finger and pressed the bloodied knife into his palm, the truth was drowned in lies.
"No, it's him! He tried to kill me!" one of them had screamed.
The evidence was fabricated. The verdict was sealed.
His world shattered, piece by painful piece.
Three years passed. His parents fought desperately to free him, spending every last dime on lawyers and pleas, but the bullies had power — their families wealthy and influential. One day, his aunt had come to visit in prison, eyes red from crying.
"They're gone, Dae Su," she whispered, voice breaking. "The bullies... they found a way to make sure your parents wouldn't be a problem anymore."
The weight of her words crushed him more than any chains.
Now, back in his family home, the silence was deafening. His aunt had left for the United States, starting a new life, leaving only a note and a promise to help from afar.
He was alone.
The basement was his refuge — and his prison. Thick concrete walls shielded him from the outside world but trapped his pain inside like a living thing.
He stared at the cracked wall, the place where his fists had landed again and again. The scars in the concrete mirrored the scars inside him—raw, open wounds of betrayal and loss.
He flipped through his phone, scrolling through social media feeds. There they were — the bullies, laughing and living, posting pictures from fancy dinners, parties, and vacations. Their smiles were masks hiding the monsters beneath.
A cold fury welled up inside him, hot and unforgiving.
Without thinking, his fist crashed into the wall, shattering skin and stone. Pain shot through his arm, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning in his chest.
"Why am I the one who suffers?" he thought. "Why do they get to live while I rot?"
The basement grew darker as night fell, but Dae Su didn't move. He kept punching, over and over, until his hands bled freely.
And then, from the depths of his agony, a voice whispered—a voice from another time, from a soul betrayed and forgotten.
"You are not alone."
The voice was distant but filled with rage, with promise. It told of a warrior named Drenval, betrayed a thousand years ago by his closest comrades and left to die in darkness. His spirit lingered, waiting for a kindred soul to share his hatred, to rise and claim vengeance.
Dae Su's breath caught. The rage inside him was not just his own—it was the echo of a thousand years of betrayal, a dark power coiling deep within.
He staggered back, clutching his chest, the walls seeming to pulse around him.
Outside, the bullies laughed, oblivious to the storm rising beneath their feet.
Dae Su closed his eyes and whispered, "I will make you pay."
The basement was silent again — but inside him, something ancient had awakened.