Chapter 2
Like black ink spreading, his vision was completely submerged.
A sensation like walking deep underwater enveloped his entire body.
He didn't know anything else, but he distinctly felt like he was being pulled somewhere.
He was being sucked in. Far away, into a very deep place.
*This must be the road to hell.*
As that thought crossed his mind, the pitch-black world turned white, and then, colors began to fill it.
Simultaneously, he felt his senses slowly returning to his body.
"Hey! *Fuck*, I think we're screwed! This bastard isn't breathing!"
He opened his eyes again.
He rolled his eyes, scanning his surroundings.
"...?"
It was unfamiliar.
Yet, it was incredibly vivid.
So much so that it felt unreal.
"What are you talking about, you idiot? His eyes are wide open and perfectly fine."
"Huh?"
At his friend's words, the curly-haired boy turned his head.
Where his gaze landed, a boy in a dirt-stained school uniform was looking around with a dazed expression.
"W-what? He definitely wasn't breathing...?"
They had been happily beating him up, but then accidentally stomped on his head too hard.
So he hit the hard concrete floor with excessive force.
At first, they thought he'd just passed out, so they waited, figuring they'd have a smoke break, but he didn't wake up even after ten minutes.
Just in case, one of them put a hand to his nose, and sure enough, he wasn't breathing.
The thought 'we're screwed' had made his mind go blank, but seeing him get up perfectly fine, he felt both relieved and annoyed.
Whack!
"Songtan, you son of a bitch! You scared me! I thought you were dead!"
The curly-haired boy, holding a three-striped slipper he'd been wearing, smacked Number Twenty-Eight—no, Songtan—on the head.
With a dull thud, his vision blurred. Simultaneously, someone else's memories flooded into his mind like a tidal wave.
As if two gears, long misaligned, were forcibly meshed together.
Two distinct sets of memories converged into a single point.
The vivid scent of blood, as if he'd just smelled it moments ago.
The cold stone floor, rusty chains, and various blood-caked Torture Chamber devices.
Even Strategist Je Galgeon, who had met a gruesome end, reduced to a handful of bloody pulp.
*Am I Number Twenty-Eight, or am I Songtan, a second-year High School Student at Cheongsol High School?*
His face involuntarily contorted in pain, as if his head would explode.
The darkness of the Torture Chamber and the shadows of the School Grounds gradually overlapped.
The forms of pain were different, but their conclusions were similar.
The two memories did not swallow each other.
Nor were they erased.
They simply layered, one over the other.
The monster who had lived hidden in the shadows of the Murim Alliance, and the boy who had met his death crushed by School Violence.
Those two beings opened their eyes within a single body.
Number Twenty-Eight's cold composure quelled Songtan's fear, and Songtan's rage awakened Number Twenty-Eight's apathy.
He didn't know why such a miraculous event had occurred, but one thing he did know.
One had died, and the other had also died.
Therefore, what remained now was neither one nor the other, yet also both.
"This bastard, he's completely lost it."
"This son of a bitch, he could be an actor! When he was gasping for breath, I really thought something bad was going to happen."
"Now he's pulling out all the stops with his bullshit."
His vision sharpened even further.
The three of them, cackling as they looked down at him.
Their expressions held a familiar sense of superiority.
Information about them spontaneously surfaced in his mind.
The bullying had started in first grade.
There was no reason. The violence, which began simply because he was an eyesore, repeated like breathing, and had now become a daily routine.
Songtan's emotionless gaze swept over each of their faces.
The curly-haired boy scowled roughly.
"Where are you staring, you idiot bastard?"
He was the lowest-ranking of the three.
That's why he had been particularly vicious in tormenting him, seeking to prove his worth.
"Oh, really? Not looking down humbly, are we?"
As if to make an example of him, the curly-haired boy approached.
A crooked smirk, slumped shoulders, a swaggering gait.
It was perfect *carelessness*.
However, his opponent was burly, while he himself was so scrawny his bones were visible.
But it didn't matter. He prided himself on knowing better than anyone how vulnerable the human body was to pain, and where to strike to make it instantly collapse.
"You son of a bitch. You're really dead. Let's just finish this today."
The curly-haired boy came right up to him.
Just as Songtan's foot was about to move.
"Hey, punk. Stop it. That bastard's been hit too much today."
At his friend's call, the curly-haired boy paused.
Then he turned and yelled.
"Ah, why?! My emotions are really flaring up right now!"
"What if you beat him so badly he ends up hospitalized? *Fuck*, that Hyukjin bastard will raise hell, can you handle that?"
At those words, the curly-haired boy roughly ran a hand through his hair.
"This is *fucking* annoying, seriously. How long do we have to keep watching that bastard's every move?"
"Bullshit, you idiot. You can't even make a peep in front of him."
The square-jawed boy, who had been cackling, walked forward and put his arm around Songtan's neck.
"Hey, *Dumb-tan*. You better get the money by tonight, no matter what. *Fuck*, three hundred thousand won is nothing, right? Huh?"
The swaggering square-jawed boy whispered into Songtan's ear.
"If you don't get the money, you'll be beaten until you really die. Got it? Your hyung trusts you, okay? That our *Dumb-tan* can do it?"
The square-jawed boy, releasing his arm from Songtan's shoulder, looked at the other two and said.
"Hey, let's go. We're out of cigarettes."
"Tsk, my hands aren't even warmed up yet."
The curly-haired boy, who had been licking his lips while looking at Songtan, finally turned and left.
And so, the three School Bullies departed.
...
In the silent Abandoned Factory, Songtan was left all alone.
His school uniform was caked with dirt everywhere.
Songtan, who had been standing blankly like a statue for a while.
Thump-thump-
He picked up his school uniform jacket, which was lying on the floor, and quietly left the Abandoned Warehouse.
***
*Below the wealthy village of Seongbuk-dong, in a neighborhood dense with multi-family homes.*
As Songtan climbed the stairs, he looked down at the school uniform he was wearing.
The bloodstains had already dried to a dark reddish-brown, and the fabric was stiff with ingrained dirt.
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-
Click-
As the front door closed, a silence descended, as if he were cut off from the world.
Songtan silently took off his school uniform.
He shoved his shirt, pants, and even his underwear into the washing machine all at once and pressed the start button.
With a dull thrum, the washing machine began to spin.
He then immediately went into the bathroom.
As the water poured down, blood-tinged dirty water flowed into the drain.
After finishing his shower, Songtan looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.
The face in the mirror was still that of a youthful seventeen-year-old, but his eyes were different.
They were the eyes of the Blood Interrogator, who had instilled terror in countless Martial Artists.
Having finished his shower, Songtan changed into comfortable clothes and headed towards the refrigerator.
A yellow Post-it note was stuck to the door.
[Sorry, Tani. I have to go on an urgent business trip with Mr. President today, so I won't be home for about two days. Don't wait up for me, there's dinner in the fridge, so warm it up and eat it. Love you.]
Rough handwriting, short sentences.
But strangely, his eyes stung, and a heavy feeling settled somewhere in his chest.
After staring at the Post-it note for a long time, Songtan went into his room and threw himself onto the bed.
Creak-
With the squeak of compressing metal springs, the faded ceiling came into view.
*What exactly happened to me...?*
It definitely wasn't the feeling of having entered a completely unfamiliar person's body.
Because the memories of living as Songtan were also incredibly vivid.
*This isn't a dream, is it?*
He pinched his cheek, just to be sure.
A sharp pain was clearly felt.
The life of Songtan, a seventeen-year-old High School Student in the Republic of Korea.
And the life of the Blood Interrogator, who had lived as a Torture Technician in the shadows of the Murim Alliance, without even a name.
Clearly, neither was a lie.
There wasn't even a speck of incongruity.
Songtan slowly closed and opened his eyes, then raised his hand.
A scrawny hand, devoid of tendons or muscles, hardly a man's hand.
He didn't know what had happened or how, but one thing he felt certain of.
*A new opportunity has been given.*
Both as Songtan and as Number Twenty-Eight.
He pushed himself up.
A terrible pain radiated throughout his entire body.
Funnily enough, this pain felt like proof that he was still alive, and a smile formed on his lips.
"This time, he would definitely..."
Live differently.
Not foolishly moving only according to someone else's orders.
Not selling himself out for words like 'justice' or “the greater good”.
Never again would he be swayed like an idiot.
Songtan firmly resolved.
"Hoo..."
He took a deep breath in, then slowly exhaled.
His heated mind cooled down a little.
He quietly closed his eyes.
This time, it would be different. He would live a life where he made his own choices and bore their responsibilities.
And he would make his father, who had dedicated his entire life to him, happy.
He would achieve it, no matter what.
Songtan continuously repeated these words to himself, like a mantra.
***
*The next day, Songtan, wearing his neatly washed school uniform, arrived at school.*
"This crazy bastard dared to ignore my calls? Don't even think about going home alive today, got it? You dog-faced punk?"
From early morning, he was subjected to an indiscriminate barrage of insults from the School Bullies who swarmed him like a pack of dogs.