The remaining three gangsters and the loan agent froze in place, eyes stretched wide in disbelief.

  For a breath… the entire room fell silent.

  No whisper.

  No movement.

  Not even the sound of shifting air.

  Jihan finally spoke, his gaze cold and sharp as a blade.

  "Why the hell did you all stop?"

  His voice was calm — too calm.

  "Come at me already… or should I come to all of you?"

  Their throats tightened.

  The scar-faced gangster was the strongest among them — and yet what just happened wasn't a fight… it was execution.

  One-sided.

  Effortless.

  Hopeless.

  Their fighting spirit shattered like glass.

  The loan agent panicked.

  "H-Have you all gone stupid!?" he screamed, voice trembling despite his anger. "Don't just stand there — attack him! All at once!"

  But none of the three moved.

  Their instincts already understood what their pride refused to accept.

  This boy was not someone they could fight.

  Jihan tilted his head slightly, as if bored.

  "Don't worry," he said, voice still frighteningly calm, "I'll attack first this time."

  And he ran.

  His footwork didn't sound like footsteps — it sounded like cuts in the air.

  "Move already, you fools! Did I pay you to stand there!?" the loan agent yelled, desperation overtaking fear.

  The three gangsters finally snapped back and charged…

  but by then, it was already too late.

  Jihan reached them first.

  He leapt — not high, but perfectly measured —and his body rotated with smooth precision.

  His first kick slammed into the tattooed gangster's stomach.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  A sharp exhale burst out of the man — "Gah!" — as he was launched backward and crashed to the floor.

  Still mid-air, Jihan rotated again, faster this time, and his other leg whipped forward.

  His heel crashed into the chest of the second gangster — the impact sending him flying like a rag doll.

  Then, while still airborne, Jihan spun one final time — a full, sharp rotation — and brought his heel across the third man's cheek.

  The man's body shot sideways, smashing into the wall with a heavy thud.

  Jihan landed lightly, as if gravity had greeted him gently instead of pulling him down.

  Only one gangster remained conscious — the one who fell earlier.

  He scrambled up, grabbed a wooden chair, and swung it down toward Jihan's head.

  Jihan's body shifted a fraction to the side — effortless — and the swing cut through empty space.

  A tap — just a tap — to the man's right foot.

  His balance snapped.

  He fell hard.

  By the time he looked up… Jihan was already standing in front of him.

  Expressionless.

  And then—

  A clean kick struck his jaw.

  His body went limp.

  ***

  Two days had crawled by since the incident, and I was still unconscious.

  Somewhere in the distance — muffled, floating through my half-sleep —

  "No…! No…! No…!"A familiar, annoyingly playful voice echoed.

  Right after that— tap tap tap… the rapid sound of someone furiously tapping a phone screen.

  "Not again! Why is this game so hard?!"

  I tried to open my eyes.

  Slowly.

  My eyelids felt heavy, like weights were tied to them.

  I forced them apart and blinked — once… twice… again — as the blurry shapes around me struggled to become clear.

  The voice continued complaining.

  The game noises continued too.

  Beep… beep… blip… tap tap…

  It took a moment for the world to stop spinning.

  When my vision finally settled, I realized I was lying on a bed.

  A hospital bed.

  Not the sort of hospital bed ordinary people used — this one looked… luxurious.

  Snow-white sheets.

  Soft pillows.

  Furniture that looked far too polished, far too expensive to exist anywhere near my life.

  No—not just expensive.

  Very expensive.

  Where am I?

  Why am I in a place like this?

  I don't have that kind of money…

  I turned my head toward the direction of the voice.

  And there he was.

  Sitting beside the bed, legs crossed, a lollipop in his mouth, completely absorbed in his phone —

  Jihan Navraan.

  Still tapping away at the screen like the world around him didn't matter.

  I just stared at him quietly.

  No words.

  No sound.

  Just… watching.

  A little surprise stirred inside me — small, but real.

  Because the boy sitting there, pouting at his phone with a lollipop in his mouth…was nothing like the boy who stood in my bloody doorway two days ago.

  Back then, his expression had been dark.

  Colder than anger.

  So sharp it made the whole room freeze.

  Why did he help me?

  We barely knew each other.

  We had spoken only a handful of times.

  Nothing that should make him—

  No.

  He shouldn't have looked that emotional.

  But he did.

  He looked furious.

  Pained.

  Like someone was trying to take something precious from him.

  Tap… tap… tap—"Argh, man… I lost again," he groaned, tossing his head back in annoyance.

  The sound was so pathetic — so purely, stupidly frustrated — that something in me moved.

  I didn't know why.

  But…

  I smiled.

  Just faintly.

  Barely there.

  My first smile since my father's death.

  Jihan suddenly froze mid-tap.

  His head snapped toward me.

  The lollipop nearly slipped from his mouth.

  "WAIT. WAIT—did you just SMILE!?"

  I blinked. "…No."

  "LIAR! I SAW IT! YOU SMILED! YOU TOTALLY SMILED!" He jabbed a finger at me like I'd committed a crime. "Do it again! I need to take a picture—"

  "No."

  "If you do it again, I'll give you snacks."

  "…Still no."

  "Two snacks."

  "…No."

  "Ten."

  I turned my head away, trying to hide the faint tug at the corner of my lips.

  Jihan gasped. Loudly.

  "There it is again!! AAAA!! STOP BEING CUTE WHEN YOU'RE INJURED, DAMMIT!"

  I sighed softly.

  He was loud. Childish. Annoying.

  …but for some reason—

  I didn't hate it.

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