The basement was dark, silent, except for the faint hum of the old refrigerator in the corner. Outside, the world moved on without care, but down here, time seemed frozen. Han Dae Su sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor, eyes closed, breathing steady but tense. The memories that plagued him didn't rest — the faces of the ten bullies laughing, the suffocating prison walls, the cold silence when his aunt told him his parents were dead.
He opened his eyes slowly, staring into the dim light filtering through the single basement window. On his phone, a video played—a clip of the bullies celebrating somewhere far away, smiling and living freely. His fists clenched tightly. The rage simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to sit still.
It was easy to hate them. Easy to curse their names over and over in his head. But that fire alone wouldn't change anything. Not yet.
For three years, Dae Su had done nothing but survive — in that cell, in the silence, in the cold. No one believed him. The knife, the finger cut, the accusation — all a lie crafted by those who wanted to bury him alive. His hands trembled, remembering how the guards ignored his cries, how the world abandoned him.
Tonight, though, something was different.
His skin prickled with an electric tension. It wasn't just anger now — it was something ancient. Something deeper.
He shook his head, trying to push the feeling away. "It's just… stress," he told himself. But the voice wasn't his own. It was low, gravelly, a whisper beneath the noise of his thoughts.
"You're not alone."
Dae Su's breath caught. The basement grew colder. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He stared at the cracked wall beside him — the same wall he had punched countless times in his rage. The one that never broke.
"Not alone," the voice repeated.
He forced himself to stand. His legs felt heavy, but as he moved, a strange strength pulsed through his muscles, a vibration that seemed to awaken something inside.
He looked down at his hands, scarred from years of punishment and self-hatred. The skin glowed faintly, as if touched by a fire no one else could see.
"You're ready."
Memories flashed like lightning — a warrior clad in ancient armor, betrayed and killed a thousand years ago, his last breath filled with curses and promises of revenge. Drenval. The name rolled on Dae Su's tongue like a bitter pill.
"I'll show them," the voice promised. "Their descendants will fall."
But Dae Su was trembling now. Was this power a curse or a blessing? Could he control it, or would it consume him as it did the warrior before?
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His mind sharpened, every pain and memory focused into a single point of determination.
Outside, the bullies laughed again — unaware that their reckoning was just beginning.
Dae Su cracked his knuckles and punched the wall once more.
This time, it cracked.