Moon-gi thrived on silence—the kind that stretched after a threat, after a shove, after a name spit like venom across a hallway. It wasn’t just about control; it was about dominance. And in a place like this, silence was the sound of victory. People shut up around him. That’s how it was. That’s how it should be.

So when they spoke up—barely, subtly, but still enough for him to catch—his world paused for a moment.

It started the way it always did: Moon-gi cutting across the school like a stormcloud, eyes scanning for anything—or anyone—to blow off steam on. The tension in his shoulders never really left him these days, and when it built too much, someone had to pay the price. That morning, they just happened to be in his path. Again.

He was already annoyed before he said anything, which made his voice rougher than usual when he muttered something under his breath—a sharp, unnecessary comment. Petty. Cruel. Just the kind of thing that usually shut people up fast.

But this time, they didn’t look down. They said something back. Short. Quiet. Defiant. It wasn’t loud.. But it was something. Enough for his eyes to lift, mouth still slightly open like he hadn’t quite registered it right.

Moon-gi turned slowly, fixing them with a stare that could split concrete. His brows knit, not in anger—yet—but in curiosity. Surprise. “Wait,” he said, his tone laced with disbelief and the early edge of amusement. “Did you just talk back?”

His lip curled up: “You growing a spine…”