When Jihyeon returned to his apartment, the first thing he did was sit at the table, his knuckles still red. His breathing had calmed, but his mind was still vibrating with the adrenaline of the fight.
"My punches… they don't have enough power," he thought, frowning. "My jabs are fast, but they've got no strength behind them."
He rested his elbows on the table and stayed silent, replaying every move, every mistake, every instant he'd been one hit away from serious trouble. Then he got up, walked to the bathroom, and let the icy water wake him up completely. A shower, a sigh, and then the bed. His body hurt, but the worst thing was the certainty: he was still far from being strong.
The next day, at school, Jihyeon walked calmly through the halls. His uniform neat, his face serene, as if nothing was happening. He sat at his desk, pulled out a notebook, and while the others chatted, he sank into his thoughts.
Days had passed since Dowan humiliated Chulwoo. Since then, that thug hadn't shown up again.
"He must be vulnerable," he told himself quietly, eyes narrowing. "I could try recruiting him. In the original story, he never became important again… just another random thug. Maybe he's useless… but I'm short on people now. If I train him enough, maybe he'll reach a decent level. I've got nothing to lose by trying."
The idea stayed stuck in his head all day. As soon as classes ended, he returned to his apartment. He changed clothes, put on the black beanie, and went out into the alleys.
He searched. Walked among shadows and garbage, graffiti and broken lights, hoping to find Chulwoo. But he didn't. He only found more thugs, the same parasites as always.
He didn't waste the chance. Every encounter was training. A jab, a dodge, a corrected mistake. Two days passed like that: sweat, punches, bruises, dirty money pulled from torn pockets.
But of Chulwoo, no trace.
...….
That night, Jihyeon slept deeply, but his mind didn't rest. Among shadows and murmurs, the dream took shape, and there he was again.
In front of him stood the same silhouette he'd seen when he accepted his identity. This time, clearer, more real. A man with black, spiky hair combed precisely to one side. His monochrome eyes shone behind round glasses. He wore a tan Chinese-style suit with a brown tie dotted with yellow circles, and black shoes that reflected a solemn elegance.
Jihyeon opened his eyes wide within the dream and muttered, almost without realizing it:
"Ji… Jichang?"
A shiver ran down his back. The memory hit him immediately: that figure he'd seen fighting in his unconsciousness… it was him.
"So it was true… the one I saw fighting when I was out cold… but why? Why is he appearing in my dream? Why the hell is he in my head?"
He stepped closer slowly. His lips moved, but there was only silence. No matter how he tried to speak to him, Jichang stayed still, like a statue. Not a blink, not a breath.
Hesitantly, Jihyeon reached out his hand and touched him. Nothing. The contact provoked no reaction at all.
"How weird… is this just some random dream? But… why him? Even if I admire him and he's my favorite Lookism character, I've never dreamed of this before…"
The confusion gnawed at him. Then, almost on instinct, he threw a jab at Jichang's face, as if trying to test the reality of the illusion.
But the punch never landed.
The instant his fist came within inches, Jichang moved with terrifying fluidity. He dodged easily and, without hesitation, brought the edge of his right palm down on the side of Jihyeon's neck.
The impact was brutal. A wave of unbearable pain shot through his body. His knees buckled and he dropped to the ground, choking on a sensation of pain that shouldn't exist in a mere dream.
With a strangled gasp, he woke up. His body drenched in sweat, his heart pounding wildly.
"W-what the hell was that?" he whispered between ragged breaths.
The silence of his room closed in around him, but in his mind, the figure of Jichang remained etched there, like a threat and an enigma impossible to ignore.
...….
The next morning, Jihyeon could barely concentrate. The memory of that dream pursued him with the same intensity as the blow he'd felt to his neck.
"It doesn't make sense… why did Jichang appear in my head? And on top of that… it actually hurt."
He rubbed the back of his neck, still remembering the phantom pain. He closed his eyes and sighed, as if trying to push away the weight of the night.
"I'll think about it when I'm calmer."
It was Saturday, and that meant one thing: practice. He took his black beanie, pulled it snug over his head, and left his apartment. The city was alive, with its noise, with its shadows, and in those shadows he was searching for his first target.
The narrow alleys were his hunting ground. He walked lightly, eyes sharp, like a predator sizing up every corner. If he didn't find Chulwoo, there would always be the thugs: cannon fodder for his training.
Then he heard it. Murmurs, muffled laughter, the recognizable flick of a lighter and the smell of cigarette smoke drifting in the air. Jihyeon peeked cautiously around a narrow corner.
There he was.
He had finally found him: Chulwoo.
The same one who had once beaten and humiliated the body that now belonged to him. But Jihyeon was no longer the weak boy who took blows without fighting back. In front of him, sitting with two lackeys, Chulwoo smoked with lifeless eyes. He had lost that arrogant spark that defined him. His posture was dull, defeated, almost as if the loss against Dowan had emptied him out.
Jihyeon watched him silently. His breathing grew heavy, as if the memory of those past days were trying to cloud his judgment.
"So… this body remembers too. That guy hit me, bullied me… and now I see him like this."
His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. He clenched his fists under the black beanie and forced himself to stay calm.
"If I want to recruit him, I can't go in angry. I need to control myself."
With that decision, he straightened up, adjusted the beanie firmly, and stepped forward, ready to enter the alley where the past and his possible future awaited him.