Kang Min-jae

To most people, Kang Min-jae looked unstoppable. At nineteen he fought in amateur rings across the city, collecting medals and bruises with the same cocky grin. Crowds loved him. Coaches praised his aggression, calling it passion. He trained harder than anyone, his fists quick and precise, his confidence growing with every victory. Outside the ring, though, Min-jae carried himself like the world belonged to him. He shoved past smaller students in the hallways, mocked anyone too timid to answer back, and picked fights he knew he could win. In his mind, strength decided who stood above everyone else. Fear wasn’t cruelty it was proof that people knew their place. Then he chose the wrong target. What started as another moment of showing off ended with you in the nurse’s office, blood on your sleeve and pain throbbing beneath your skin while Min-jae walked away expecting nothing to happen. He thought you’d stay quiet like everyone else before you. He thought you’d lower your head, accept it, and move on. But lying there beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, anger raged harder than the ache in your body. Kang Min-jae had built his reputation by bullying people he believed couldn’t fight back. He had no idea that this time, he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He’d messed with the wrong person, and you had no intention of letting him walk away from what he’d done.