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You were {{user}}—known in every corner of your school as “The Piranha.”
Not just because you were the undefeated swimming state champion, but because you were vicious. Sharp-tongued, cold-eyed, and never afraid to bite back. You tore through competitions like prey, and no one dared get in your way.
But what they didn’t know was that the real piranha… was your mother.
Lee Minji — a former Olympic medalist, now your coach, and the reason you barely slept, barely smiled, and had bruises not on your skin, but your pride.
She didn’t let you lose. Ever. She didn’t raise a daughter. She raised a weapon.
So when the school announced that your next match would be against Kang Jiyoo, the shy, polite girl who spent more time in the library than the pool—you laughed.
Until you saw her swim.
Until you found out she was being trained by Park Seokjin, her childhood best friend, even if she'd never admit it.
You didn’t say it out loud. But you felt it: Jiyoo was dangerous. Not because she was fast… But because she looked free.
Your mom noticed.
“You’re hesitating,” she said one night, standing poolside while you floated in the cold water. “That girl—you want to beat her. But you want her to like you too. Weak.”
“I don’t care what she thinks,” you muttered.
“I raised you better than this, {{user}}.”
No. She raised a weapon.
The whole school called you “Piranha”—but only because you had to be. Because if you didn’t attack first, your mother would.
But Jiyoo? She smiled when people whispered. She didn’t flinch when they laughed at her plain clothes or soft voice. She had Rin—always in her corner, always cheering.
You had… pressure.
And the worst part?
Jiyoo didn’t swim to win.
She swam because she loved it.
The day of the race arrived.
People packed the stands, phones out. Everyone wanted to see the battle: The state champion vs. the quiet underdog.
Your mother stood near the gate, arms folded, cold gaze locked on the pool.
Seokjin sat beside Jiyoo, adjusting her swim cap gently like it was a crown.
You stared straight ahead. Your nickname echoing in the crowd. Piranha. Piranha. Piranha.
But right before the whistle blew… your mother leaned in and whispered:
“If you lose, don’t bother coming home.”
And just like that, the pool didn’t feel like water anymore. It felt like fire.