Byeoto reached into his backpack and felt the crumpled bills he had stolen earlier. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get something to eat.
He walked to a convenience store that was still open at that hour. The bright white lights hit him square in the face, making the clerk look at him with disdain the moment he stepped through the door.
His face was bruised all over, sweat mixed with blood covering his clothes… everything about him screamed "vagrant."
He grabbed a packaged bun and a bottle of water. When he went to pay, he noticed the uncomfortable stares of the few customers there. But Byeoto said nothing. He just left the money on the counter, took his change, and left.
Outside, the night air was cold and damp. He tore open the bread wrapper with his teeth and started chewing slowly.
"Ugh… it's hard…" he muttered with a bitter smile, "but at least it's food."
As he walked, he looked at the distant city lights.
"So where the hell am I going to live now?" he asked the empty air, mouth still full. He had no home, no family, no one waiting for him. Only the promise to fulfill the dream of someone who no longer existed.
He kept walking aimlessly until a dark, old silhouette covered in graffiti appeared before him, an abandoned building. The windows were shattered, the rusty door half open, and from inside came the sound of water dripping from a broken ceiling.
"This could work… right?" he whispered uncertainly.
He pushed the door carefully. The sound of metal creaking echoed through the empty hallway. Inside, it smelled of dust, mold, and forgotten memories. He went up the stairs, exploring with his phone's flashlight until he found a relatively dry room, with a half-covered window and an old mattress lying on the floor.
He dropped his backpack beside him, sat down, and looked around. The silence was heavy, but also… peaceful.
"I guess… this will be my home for now," he said with a small, tired laugh.
He lay down, staring at the cracked ceiling as the night wind slipped through the gaps.
Then he closed his eyes, exhausted from the fight.
.....
The next day he woke up with a sharp pain all over his body. His breathing was short, and blood still stained parts of his clothes. He slowly sat up, testing each movement. Every muscle ached, but he could move. He rubbed his eyes, glanced around the abandoned building he now called home, and stood up, determined to start the day.
He went through the rooms, looking for something useful, until he found a bathroom with an old wooden door. He pulled the handle, and to his surprise, the shower worked. With a grunt of relief, he left his dirty clothes aside and turned on the water. The warm water hit his skin, the cold mixing with the pain of recent bruises. Every drop washed away some of the exhaustion and blood.
While washing himself, he also carefully cleaned his dirty clothes, scrubbing hard to remove the blood and grime. When he was done, he put on the clean clothes he had kept in his backpack. Luckily, he had spare outfits.
After dressing, he left the building and began jogging through the still-deserted streets. His legs burned with every step, his body still weighed down, but he didn't stop.
He reached a nearby park and found the pull-up bar. He tried to lift his weight but couldn't move an inch. Frustrated, he dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups, forcing everything he had.
In the end, he lay flat on the grass, panting, muscles trembling, face covered in sweat.
Days passed like that. Each day was a challenge, running, exercising, testing his limits, and overcoming them. Little by little, his body changed. The fat disappeared, muscles hardened, and his endurance grew.
Time went by quickly; what started as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.
...
Five months later, Byeoto stood before a cracked mirror in the abandoned building.
His reflection surprised him. His body was much leaner, and his face still showed some pimples. He couldn't say he was handsome, his jawline was starting to show, and though his eyes looked tired, they had a livelier spark.
His skin still bore light scars, traces of acne, and small lines from sleepless nights. Not perfect, but his face was starting to look normal. Still round, but not as much as before.
After observing the results of his training, he murmured, "When I trained, I recovered fast… I feel like I lost weight too quickly, but not the way I wanted to.
Maybe because I didn't eat enough protein… still, my body has more energy, my reflexes have improved, and I feel like every part of me has changed."
Memories of street fights resurfaced, filled with thugs, punches, fear, and adrenaline. Each tiny victory gave him more experience.
He had learned to use his body as a weapon. It had never occurred to him to fight that way, but surprisingly, even without formal training or experience, he did it with unexpected efficiency.
As the sun began to rise, Byeoto dressed in clean clothes and grabbed his backpack.
He headed to the public pool, where the owner let him train in exchange for cleaning the place.
When he arrived, he undressed and plunged into the water, holding his breath until his lungs burned.
He swam to his limit, pushing his body to the extreme. Then he floated at the bottom, meditating silently, feeling the pressure of the water and controlling his breathing. Every second was a test of strength, patience, and willpower.
When he came out of the pool, soaked and exhausted, he put on his clean clothes.
"This doesn't end here," he said, clenching his fists as he walked into the streets. "I have to keep improving. Get stronger."
The night was cold, silent, and a little damp. The lights from street stalls reflected orange and red on the wet pavement. Among the hurried crowd, a young man walked calmly, eating freshly bought tteokbokki.
Byeoto chewed slowly, looking around with a neutral expression. The spicy flavor filled his mouth while the steam mixed with the night air.
"Nothing better than getting some energy back after training," he murmured between bites, lifting the last piece with his wooden stick.
He finished eating, tossed the container in a trash can, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His gaze turned more serious. He adjusted the hood of his jacket, partly covering his face.
"Time for my night training," he said quietly.
For most people, that phrase would mean running or lifting weights. But for Byeoto… it meant something different.
His night training consisted of confronting the thugs that infested the alleys, stealing the money they extorted, and using it for his own benefit.
In this world, the weak were crushed, and he refused to be a victim again.
He entered a dark alley where laughter and the echo of a kicked can could be heard. Four thugs sat smoking, talking with disdain about someone they had beaten up days ago.
"Tch, those idiots from school are getting more cowardly," said one.
"Cowardly? Hahaha, they should pay just for breathing the same air as us," added another, blowing smoke into the air.
Byeoto stepped forward without a word. The laughter stopped immediately. One of the thugs, tall and wearing a leather jacket, stood up with a threatening expression.
"What do you want, kid? You lost or something?"
Before he could react, Byeoto moved. His fist struck the thug's liver directly, making him grunt and double over in pain.
Byeoto twisted his hips and, in one fluid motion, drove a descending elbow into the man's jaw. The impact echoed through the alley. The guy dropped like a sack to the ground, unconscious.
"The hell…?!" shouted another, standing up furiously.
The first to react threw a punch at Byeoto's face, but he tilted his head aside, dodging by inches. As soon as he did, another thug launched a side kick.
Byeoto caught it with both hands and, without letting go, smashed several elbows into the attacker's thigh. A scream of pain filled the alley.
Then he turned his body and kicked the guy straight in the face, sending him crashing to the ground.
The third one came at him directly. Byeoto blocked the punch with his forearm, grabbed his wrist, and kicked him in the solar plexus.
The thug doubled over, gasping, giving Byeoto the chance to bring both fists together and slam them down on his head with a hammer blow. The sound of impact was sharp.
Only one was left.
The last thug, eyes burning with anger, rushed at Byeoto throwing a flurry of wild punches.
Byeoto stepped back one step at a time, moving his head, dodging with precision. Each missed punch fueled the thug's frustration.
Finally, the man threw a careless punch. That was his mistake.
Byeoto leaned forward, grabbed the thug's neck with both hands, and delivered brutal knee strikes to his ribs, one, two, three, until the man spat blood. Byeoto released him, and he fell to the ground with a dull thud.
The alley fell silent, broken only by Byeoto's heavy breathing.
"Hah…" he exhaled deeply, feeling the burn in his muscles.
He looked around at the four men on the ground, writhing or unconscious. Without hesitation, he began checking their pockets, pulling out crumpled bills and coins. He stuffed them into his jacket.
"Thanks for the contribution," he muttered coldly.
He adjusted his hood, turned around, and walked out of the alley calmly. The moon lit the path, and the distant sound of traffic filled the air.
As he walked back toward the abandoned building he called home, the money in his pocket jingled softly.
It wasn't much, but for him, it was enough. Just another night… another victory.