Jiyoung's words kept echoing—King of Rookies. Seventeen. The one who broke them all.
The name, the titles, the shadow of a boy Baeksan could not see in the mirror anymore.
Baeksan didn't answer. He didn't even blink.
His body stood firm, arms still loose but ready, shoulders angled in a stance that had been carved into him long ago, yet his mind was nowhere near the train.
Inside, he was back in that room.
The dark one. The one where he sat as a child with knees pulled to his chest, forehead pressed into the fabric of his sleeves, the cold biting at his skin though no air ever moved.
A single spotlight burned above, casting him in pale isolation. Beyond that circle of light was nothing. No walls. No ground. Just an infinite black void curling into his eyes.
His head lifted. His voice whispered, but only in thought.
Is this really it?
The train noise faded. The crowd's murmurs bled away. Even Jiyoung's towering frame in front of him became a blur.
Is this what I'm made for? To fight, to throw fists until people fall, until names are given to me that I never asked for? Is that strength? Is that all strength is?
He remembered the gym floor when he was seventeen. Blood on the tiles. Broken teeth scattered like stones. Boys who had screamed, begged, cursed his name. He remembered the silence after—the way no one would look him in the eye, not out of respect, but out of fear.
Was that victory? Or was that just loneliness with a different mask? Why… why can't I even remember their faces? Why can't I even remember my parents' faces? Why does everyone blur, except for these fists?
The spotlight shrank. His knees pressed tighter against his chest. The space grew smaller, darker, until even his breath felt like an intrusion. A child locked in a cage that had no bars, only memories repeating like broken film.
Outside, his body didn't move.
His eyes stayed locked on Jiyoung's, but they were hollow, glassy—the eyes of someone who had long ago stopped believing the outcome mattered.
And in that silence, in that stillness, one thought rose like smoke.
Is fighting the best I can do? Or is it just the only thing I was ever allowed to have?
Jiyoung's lips curled back, teeth bared in something between a snarl and a grin. He stepped forward, towering over Baeksan, breath hot and wild.
"You think this is funny?!" His fist snapped forward, quick and brutal.
Baeksan shifted. The blow cut air where his head had been a breath ago.
Jiyoung's veins bulged across his temple. "Don't you dare—don't you dare look at me like that with those dead eyes!" He swung again, a hook screaming across the narrow space. Baeksan tilted, body folding backward just enough for the knuckles to miss by a hair.
"You cowardly little bastard! Always hiding—always running—what the hell are you?!" His shoulders heaved, spit flying with each word. "Stand there and fight me like a man!"
The next punch came lower, driving toward the ribs. Baeksan's torso turned, his heel pivoting, and the fist cut through empty air once more.
The crowd around them shifted uneasily. Gasps, sharp intakes of breath, the nervous shuffle of feet against the floor. But Baeksan didn't hear it. His gaze was locked, steady, as though Jiyoung wasn't even there, as though he wasn't even part of the world thrashing violently in front of him.
Jiyoung's curses got louder. "You think you're better than me?! Huh?! Just 'cause you've got that damn stance—just 'cause you've got that look—everyone thinks you're untouchable, but I'll break you!" Another fist, wild, a blur through the air. Baeksan stepped sideways, quiet, unreadable, and the blow cut empty again.
Jiyoung's breath rattled, chest heaving. "What are you—some kind of ghost?! You're standing right here and I can't touch you, not once, not even once?!" His laugh came sharp, broken. "I'll smash that face in! I'll drag you out of whatever hole you've buried yourself in and crush you right in front of all these worthless people!"
His arm lashed out in a savage uppercut, fast enough to snap a jaw clean. Baeksan bent just slightly, the arc grazing past his cheek. No panic. No sound. Only stillness behind his wide, blank eyes.
"Look at you! Look at you!" Jiyoung shouted, voice cracking under the weight of his fury. "Silent, pathetic, empty! You think dodging means you've won? You think moving out of the way makes you stronger than me?!"
He swung again and again, each punch wilder than the last, each curse heavier, until sweat poured down his face and his breath came ragged.
Baeksan's shoes shifted, one step left, one step back, each dodge so small it looked accidental. His frame remained loose, unflinching, like a shadow moving just out of reach.
Jiyoung's eyes burned. His fists trembled with rage. He leaned in, his spit flecking against Baeksan's cheek as he screamed, "Answer me, damn you! Do you even know who I am?!"
But Baeksan said nothing. The silence stretched, thick as smoke.
Jiyoung's roar filled it. "I'll rip that silence out of your throat myself!"
His fist cocked back again, veins pulsing in his arm, shoulders surging like a drawn bowstring. The air between them trembled as he prepared to let it loose.
The train rocked gently on the tracks, but in that cramped section of the carriage, the world had narrowed down to just two figures: one roaring with fury, the other locked in silence.
Jiyoung's shadow fell over Baeksan, his frame so tall it swallowed the lights above. The man's breath came out in hard bursts, filling the narrow air with heat. Veins throbbed across his forehead, and his lips peeled back in a snarl that showed more gum than teeth.
He lunged again, fist whipping forward with a brutal snap. The crowd scattered back, a ripple of gasps spilling from their mouths.
Baeksan's head tilted—just enough. The knuckles hissed past his cheek, close enough that the breeze of it brushed his skin. His gaze didn't waver. His face didn't move.
That only fed the fire.
"You bastard…" Jiyoung spat, his voice low at first, almost a growl. "You think you can stand there, all quiet, all blank, and make a fool out of me?" He sucked in air through his teeth, chest swelling, and then barked so loud the carriage seemed to shake: "Do you know who I am?!"
Another punch cut the space between them. And it was another miss.