"I crawled through blood and glass to get where I am!" Jiyoung's spit flew with each word. "People broke their bones just to keep up with me, and you—" he jabbed his finger at Baeksan, fury quaking in his voice, "—you stand there like some hollow doll and act like I'm nothing?!"
He hurled a wild hook. Baeksan leaned away, his heel scraping the floor just an inch.
"Damn you!" Jiyoung's voice cracked. His teeth gnashed as he slammed another fist forward, so close his knuckles grazed Baeksan's sleeve. "Damn you and that look on your face! You think silence makes you strong? You think dodging makes you untouchable?"
Baeksan stepped sideways, his shoulders turning slightly, his eyes never leaving Jiyoung's.
"You're afraid, aren't you?!" Jiyoung barked, sweat dripping down his temple. "That's what this is. You hide behind that silence because you know if you open your mouth, if you throw one punch, you'll crumble!"
His chest heaved with each syllable, veins pulsing across his neck. "Pathetic. That's what you are. A pathetic little coward in a fighter's skin!"
He swung again, and again, each strike missing by a breath, each curse cutting sharper than his fists.
"Fight me!" Jiyoung roared, his throat raw, spit clinging to his lips. "I don't care if I tear every muscle in my arm, I'll land one, just one, and you'll break—because you're weak. That's all you've ever been. Weak!"
His fist drove forward with such force the air cracked with it. Baeksan's body shifted, almost weightless, letting the strike slip past as if he weren't even there.
Gasps burst from the crowd, a woman shrieking as she stumbled back against the wall. People clutched the poles and handles, pressing themselves away, their fear crowding the air thicker and thicker.
But Baeksan didn't move beyond that quiet dance of dodges. His eyes, wide and glassy, flickered once toward Jiyoung's face, then drifted back to the fist, then to nothing at all.
Jiyoung's fury deepened into something almost desperate. His smile broke open, wild and trembling.
"You hear me, kid?" His voice was hoarse, his words dragging. "You're not special. You're not strong. You're a mistake that people let live too long. And I'll fix that mistake myself—right here, right now—so everyone can see you for what you really are."
He cocked back his arm again, breath ragged, his entire body twisting with the promise of violence. The train rattled, lights flickering overhead as though the carriage itself strained under the weight of his rage.
And still, Baeksan's silence held.
Not an answer. Not a twitch of emotion. Just those blank, unblinking eyes.
Jiyoung's breath was loud enough for everyone to hear. A harsh, ragged drag through his throat, followed by the hot, ugly gust of air that spilled out into Baeksan's face. His body loomed too close, chest heaving, shoulders stiff, sweat rolling down his temple.
"You…" He pointed again, his finger almost trembling from fury. "You really think this is something? That you just stand there, dead-eyed, pretending nothing touches you? Pretending like my words don't crawl under your skin?"
His grin twisted. He leaned even closer, voice dropping into a growl that felt like teeth scraping bone.
"Kid, you're not strong. You're hollow. You've got nothing inside. You're just a shell waiting to crack, and I swear to God, I'll be the one who smashes it open. Do you hear me?!"
His spit hit Baeksan's cheek. Baeksan didn't even blink. His eyes just sat there—open, heavy, unreadable, like two windows that led into a room nobody had the key for.
Jiyoung slammed his hand against the rail beside Baeksan's shoulder, the sound sharp and startling enough to make the crowd flinch. But Baeksan didn't move.
"You're mocking me." Jiyoung's voice rose higher, breaking with the strain. "That silence, that blank stare—you think it's power, but it's a joke. It's nothing! People like you don't last in this world. You don't fight, you don't claw, you don't bleed—you just sit there and wait for someone else to put you out of your misery!"
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, forcing down the shake in his voice, but it only came back louder.
"You're pathetic, Baeksan. Pathetic! I'll rip that calm off your face and show everyone what's hiding underneath. I'll drag out every ounce of fear you've got buried, and I'll make you beg me to stop. That's what I do. That's who I am!"
He threw his shoulders back, chest swelling like a man about to deliver a sermon, veins standing out along his neck. His mouth opened wide, his voice breaking into a scream:
"I'll break you down until was nothing—!"
But he never finished.
Baeksan moved. Not in a rush. Not a wild swing. Just a small shift, a twist of the shoulders, his knees bent, his fists drawn in close to his face. It was a stance—tight, compact, the posture of someone who had repeated it so many times it no longer felt like a choice.
And then—an uppercut.
The crowd didn't even see it. It was too clean. One moment Baeksan was standing still, the next his fist was rising in a perfect arc, snapping under Jiyoung's chin. The sound was soft, almost swallowed by the rattle of the train, but the impact was enough to jolt Jiyoung's whole body. His eyes went wide—then black.
The arrogance froze on his face, broken mid-syllable. His jaw slackened, his knees buckled. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed backward, hitting the chair with a thud that made the metal groan. His head lolled, his chest still heaving but his body refusing to obey.
Baeksan didn't even follow up. He stood there, fist still hovering in the air for a moment, then slowly lowered it back down. His eyes, those same wide, empty eyes, stared at Jiyoung's fallen body without triumph, without anger, without even acknowledgment.
The car was silent. Nobody clapped. Nobody gasped. They just stared at the man who hadn't said a single word, who had barely even moved, and yet had dropped a monster with one invisible strike.
Baeksan exhaled once through his nose. It wasn't relief. It wasn't pride. It was just breath, the only sound he allowed himself to others.