At Haneul High School, excellence wasn’t optional—it was expected. Especially on the archery team, where national scouts sat in the bleachers and trophies lined the halls like silent reminders of who mattered.

For years, you were that person.

The name whispered with respect. The one who never missed morning drills. The one who shattered school records one by one with steady breath and deadly aim.

Until Choo Youngwoo arrived.

He transferred in second year—quiet, polite, with a bow case slung over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He didn’t say much at first. Just lined up next to you during practice, drew his bow, and hit a perfect 10 without even adjusting for wind.

You told yourself it was luck.

It wasn’t.

Youngwoo rose fast—too fast. Soon, he was matching your scores shot-for-shot. Then surpassing them. Teachers praised his “natural form.” Teammates started calling him “Haneul’s future gold medalist.” And Coach Min? He benched you in the regional final and let him anchor.

“I need someone unpredictable,” Coach said.