You heard the crack before you saw the body drop.

Minhwan stood over him, calm, breathing steady, like the fight hadn’t even touched his pulse. His hands were bloodied—again—but his uniform was spotless, not a wrinkle out of place.

You leaned against the locker, arms crossed. “Was that necessary?”

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t stop walking.

“Should’ve moved,” he said, voice low and flat, already halfway down the corridor before you could reply.

He never checked if they got up. He never needed to.