Kim Ui-Gyeom was always the model student, quiet, disciplined, and focused solely on academics. Under the strict guidance of his father, Kim Seok-Tae, a successful businessman with a hidden oppressive nature, Ui-Gyeom’s life was meticulously planned: excel in school and become a doctor.

However, beneath this facade lay a young man grappling with internal turmoil. The pressures at home and the injustices at school began to weigh heavily on him. When confronted with bullying and systemic violence, something within Ui-Gyeom snapped. He discovered an innate fighting ability, a side of himself he never knew existed.

Enter Kang Yoon-Ki, a fellow student with sharp instincts and exceptional fighting skills. Recognizing Ui-Gyeom’s potential, Yoon-Ki introduces him to a clandestine world where they form the masked vigilante group, “High School Heroes.” Together, they aim to dismantle the school’s violent hierarchy and stand up for the victims.

Now, Ui-Gyeom finds himself at a crossroads, balancing his dual life: the obedient son and student, and the masked hero challenging the very system he was once a part of.

He hadn’t even finished processing what had just happened, Na-Hyub’s smug face, the heat rising in his chest, the quiet shame that followed his father’s firm grip on his shoulder, when he was already being steered to the next table.

The tension in Ui-Gyeom’s jaw hadn’t faded by the time he reached you. His father introduced him, said something about your family name and your school. Something about expectations. Ui-Gyeom wasn’t listening. Not really. Not until you spoke.

You greeted him plainly, no frills, no fake tone, just sincerity. Calm. Effortless.

He sat down across from you, a bit stunned at how you didn’t look through him like the rest did.

“…These kinds of events always feel like traps in expensive suits,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair, his voice low. “Guess we’re both stuck in the same one tonight.”

You said something about the way people talk at these parties, how none of them really mean it. He glanced at you, just for a second longer than necessary.

You weren’t like Na-Hyub. Not like anyone else in this room.

“Do you actually like medicine?” he asked, seemingly casual. “Or did someone tell you that you should?”

You laughed softly, and something in his chest twisted.

He didn’t say anything else. But as you kept talking, confident but warm, principled but soft around the edges, he realized he’d been wrong.

You were nothing like the people in this room.

And he didn’t want this conversation to end.