My name is Jin Suho, and for as long as I can remember, I've been the weakest person in every class I've ever entered.It wasn't something that suddenly happened—it was simply the way my life had always been. Other kids grew taller, stronger, louder. I stayed the same: thin, fragile, quiet. My limbs felt like matchsticks, my fists like paper, and my presence was as insignificant as dust floating in a sunbeam.
People say life changes when you move to a new place, when you start fresh, when you leave your past behind.That never worked for me.
I've switched schools six times, maybe seven—honestly, I lost count. And every time, I thought, "Maybe this time will be different."But nothing changed.The buildings changed, the uniforms changed, the faces changed, but the roles stayed the same.
I was always the target.I was always the weakest.
Even now, standing at the entrance of this school I've attended for half a year, I feel the same cold weight in my stomach. The same dread. The same fear squeezing my chest.
Nothing changes. Not for someone like me.
I have no talent.Not in studying, not in sports, not in anything that matters.
Back then, I used to try really hard. I forced myself to stay awake until dawn, memorizing formulas and copying pages of notes. But every test came back with red marks. Every teacher shook their head. No matter how desperately I tried, my brain never kept up.
Sports?Worse. Much worse.
When others ran, I stumbled.When others punched, I flinched.When others lifted weights, I could barely hold the bar.
Sometimes I wonder: Was I born wrong? Or am I just… useless?
But even if I'm weak, even if I'm slow, even if I'm so average that I fall below average… I still admire strength. I always have.
After work, when my shift ends late at night, I watch martial arts matches on the old TV at the restaurant. Taekwondo, boxing, MMA, street fights—anything with people who are strong. Anything with people who can stand tall.They're cool.They shine.When they move, the world seems to part for them. When they punch, the sound is like thunder. When they stand in the ring, they look like they own their place in the world.
I want to be like them.Even if it's impossible.
But wanting something and being capable of achieving it are two different things. And I… am not capable. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
My body is skinny, almost bony. My arms look like twigs that could snap if someone squeezed them too hard. My legs are weak and shaky. My reflection in the mirror shows a boy who looks like he hasn't eaten enough for years.And maybe that's true.Food costs money.Money isn't something I have.
I don't live with my family anymore.To them, I was useless—a burden, a disappointment, a mouth to feed that gave nothing in return. They didn't hit me, they didn't scream, they didn't even cry. They simply told me to leave.
And I did.
I've been working part-time ever since.Washing dishes. Delivering food. Cleaning tables. Any job that will keep me barely afloat. The pay isn't good, but it's enough to pay school fees and rent a tiny room so small I can touch both walls with my arms spread.
Life isn't kind.But at least it's mine.
As I step through the school gates, the familiar whispers start immediately.
"There he is.""Look at his face—so lifeless.""He's so skinny, it's gross.""He's like a walking stick.""Why does he even come to school?"
I pretend not to hear them.I've gotten good at pretending.
My classroom is on the third floor. The stairs creak under the stomping feet of students rushing past me. They push my shoulder, not hard enough to knock me down, but hard enough to remind me that I don't belong among them.
When I open the classroom door, the first thing I see is him.
Park Yeongsan.
The school's self-proclaimed boss.A bully.A thug in a uniform.He sits with one foot on the chair in front of him, leaning back with the casual confidence of someone who knows he controls the room. His jacket hangs loose, his tie is gone, and a bandage is wrapped around his hand—likely from the last fight he started.
He's the type who preys only on the weak.
Ever wondered why he never bothers the strong?Because he's afraid of them.
Whenever he sees someone taller or stronger than him, he lowers his head. His voice softens. His shoulders shrink. He's all bark, no bite—unless his target is someone who can't bite back.
Someone like me.
The moment his eyes lock onto mine, a slow grin spreads across his lips.
"Well, well," he says, loud enough for the whole class to hear. "If it isn't our favorite punching bag."
The room grows quieter. Some students watch with pity. Others with amusement. No one tries to stop him.
He stands up, cracking his knuckles like he's warming up for a show.I grip the strap of my worn-out backpack tightly. I know what's coming. Same as every day.
He walks toward me, each step heavy with confidence.I force myself not to flinch.
"You look tired, Jin Suho," he says, tilting his head mockingly. "What happened? Did rats keep you awake in your tiny apartment again?"
I say nothing.
He hates when I'm silent, but speaking only makes it worse.
"You should be thankful, you know." He leans in close, his breath brushing my ear. "Weaklings like you give guys like me entertainment."
A few students laugh lightly.
I can't breathe.
I hate this.I hate him.I hate myself for being unable to do anything.
Why am I here?What's the point of all this?Will I grow up to be a useless adult too?A delinquent?A dropout?A nobody?
The questions swirl through my head every day, like a storm that never calms.
And yet, I keep coming to school.I keep walking into this room.I keep surviving—not because I'm strong, but because I'm too afraid to give up.
Maybe today will be the same.Maybe nothing will change again.
But deep inside, something small—something faint—whispers:
"This can't be my whole life… right?"
That tiny voice is the only strength I have left.
And today…for some reason…it feels a little louder than usual.