Work Text
Darkness pressed against the damp walls, the faint flicker of a single bulb casting eerie shadows across the cold, concrete floor. Ken lay there, his body curled inward, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The metallic taste of blood clung to his tongue, warm and bitter, mixing with the salt of his own tears. "Stubborn little shit," a voice sneered above him, rough hands yanking at his collar and pulling him up just to throw him back down. His skull cracked against the ground, a sharp burst of pain radiating through his head. His vision blurred, black spots dancing in his eyes as another boot slammed into his ribs. A sickening crunch echoed through the room. Was that the second rib? The third?It didn't matter. The pain was numbing now, his body growing colder with every hit.Jeng’s men didn’t care about holding back. "You think you can away from Jeng after disobeying him, huh?" A deep chuckle rumbled through the room, filled with sick amusement."You belong to him. You were never supposed to have a choice." Ken knew that. He had known it from the moment his father shoved him into Jeng’s hands, selling his own son to cover his debts. His life had never belonged to him. Another punch landed across his cheek, sending him sprawling onto his side. His mouth filled with blood, warm liquid spilling onto the floor. The coppery scent was suffocating. His arms twitched, fingers barely able to move as he tried to push himself up. But before he could, a harsh kick to his leg sent him collapsing again. A scream tore from his throat, raw and agonized, bouncing off the walls. His knee twisted unnaturally beneath him, and a sharp, unbearable pain ripped through his entire body. Broken. It had to be broken. His breath hitched as his body trembled violently, his limbs spasming from the unbearable agony. He bit down on his already split lip, his entire form convulsing as another fist met his stomach. His body jerked from the impact, but he didn’t even have the strength to flinch anymore. Somewhere in the haze of pain, a voice in his head whispered
What’s the point of this
There was no one coming for him. There had never been anyone.
His mother had left him behind, running far away from the monster that was his father. But she never looked back. Never took him with her. His father? His father was worse than the strangers beating him now. The beatings, the nights of muffled screams, the disgusting hands that took and took until Ken learned to dissociate just to survive. The worst part was, no matter how much he endured, it was never enough. He was never enough. His friends? He let out a weak, broken laugh. What friends? Saint and Shin? The Persons he hurted so many times.How they hated his habits, how they wished he wasn’t like this. Not knowing he never had a choice. Knot and Nate? They left him the moment they found out about his ties to Jeng, cutting him off as if he were a disease. There was nothing left. Ken coughed, his body trembling as a trail of blood dripped from his lips. His mind felt slow, his body heavy. Maybe if he just stayed here… maybe if he didn’t move anymore… it would all finally be over. A boot pressed against his chest, shoving him onto his back. "You’re pathetic," the man above him spat, disgust lacing his voice. "Not even worth killing. Jeng said to let you think about it, but looking at you now… what’s there to think about? You’ll crawl back to us sooner or later. It’s all you know." Ken didn’t argue. Because wasn’t that the truth? All he had ever known was pain, violence, and survival. And for what? To keep living like this? His vision blurred, the edges darkening as his head lolled to the side. His body was shutting down, the pain fading into numbness, distant and far away. Somewhere deep inside, he realized something. If he died here, no one would care. No one would mourn. His father would move on without a second thought. Jeng would find someone else to do his dirty work. Saint and Shin would be relieved to never deal with him again. Knot and Nate would finally have no reason to look back. And wasn’t that for the best? For the first time in years, Ken smiled. Because finally, finally, he could disappear. And no one would stop him. Ken thought it was over. The pain in his ribs was unbearable, each breath a sharp stab against his chest. His body trembled as he lay motionless, his cheek pressed against the cold, filthy ground of Jeng’s warehouse. His vision blurred, flickering between light and shadow, but he was too exhausted to move. His entire body was screaming at him to just stay down, to stop fighting. Then the laughter started again. The cruel, mocking voices of Jeng’s men filled the empty space, their amusement slicing through the air like knives. Ken barely had the strength to lift his head, but deep inside, he knew. They weren’t done. A hand fisted his hair, yanking him up with such force that he let out a hoarse cry, his throat too dry and sore to scream properly. The sharp pain at the roots of his scalp burned, but it was nothing compared to the brutal punch that met his stomach immediately after. Ken gasped, his body jerking violently as all the air in his lungs was forced out. His ribs, already fractured, gave a sickening crunch as he collapsed to his knees, his hands desperately clutching his abdomen. His nails dug into the fabric of his tattered shirt, trying to hold himself together, trying to keep himself from falling apart. But they didn’t stop. Another kick to his side. Another blow to his back. More laughter. More pain. His body was nothing but a ragdoll to them now. He barely had the strength to cry out as their fists and feet slammed into him over and over again. His world spun. The ground felt like it was shifting beneath him, tilting sideways as his consciousness faded in and out. He couldn’t see their faces anymore, only the blurred movement of their limbs as they continued their merciless beating. His mind felt foggy, his thoughts a distant echo of what they once were. Why was he even here? Why was he still breathing? His fingers twitched against the floor, weak and barely moving. Would it be so bad to just stop? Then, amidst his pain, he heard their voices again. "Don’t ever think about disobeying Jeng again, you hear me?" One of them spat, his voice dripping with disgust. "You’re nothing without us, Ken. You’re worthless." A final kick to his side, one that sent a fresh wave of agony crashing through his already broken body. "Know your place." And then—darkness. A moment passed. Maybe a few seconds. Maybe minutes. Ken didn’t know. Then he felt it—his body being dragged. They weren’t going to kill him. No, death would’ve been a mercy, and Jeng never believed in mercy. Instead, they threw him out. His body crashed against the concrete outside the warehouse, the impact jolting through his already battered frame. His head hit the pavement, his vision flashing white for a second before his entire world turned into a blur of pain. He could barely hear them talking inside. Could barely feel the cold night air against his burning skin. The only thing he could feel was the pain. His ribs felt shattered. His arms were bruised from where they had grabbed him, his wrists raw from struggling. His lip was torn, blood pooling into his mouth and dripping onto the ground. He could taste the salt of his own tears, even though he hadn’t realized he was crying. The world around him felt distant. As if he wasn’t even here. As if his body wasn’t his anymore. Ken closed his eyes. Just for a second. Just to stop the spinning, to stop the nausea clawing at his throat. But he couldn’t stay here. His father would be waiting. And Ken knew—if he was late, it would be worse. He had to move.Ken forced his arms to work, pressing his trembling palms against the ground. His body screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth and pushed. Slowly. Painfully. Agonizingly. His legs barely held him up as he stumbled forward, his knees threatening to give out with every step. His vision blurred again, his body swaying as he limped through the empty streets. The cold air did nothing to soothe his pain. If anything, it made the wounds sting even more, the open cuts on his skin exposed to the night. His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms. His breath came in ragged gasps, every inhale a sharp, piercing agony in his ribs. Step by step. One after another. He wasn’t even sure how long he walked. Maybe minutes. Maybe an hour. His body barely registered time anymore, his mind a hollow space filled with nothing but pain. By the time he reached his street, the world around him had started to fade. His house stood in front of him. The small, broken gate. The shattered porch light. The windows covered in dust. Home. Ken stared at it, his body swaying on weak legs. Was this even a home? Was there anything waiting for him inside except more pain? Wouldn’t it be easier… to just keep walking? To disappear into the night and never come back? But his body had already given up. His legs buckled beneath him, and he barely caught himself against the gate, his fingers gripping the cold metal as he gasped for air. His arms trembled violently, his entire frame shuddering from exhaustion, from pain, from the overwhelming weight pressing down on his chest. His head hung low, his bloodied lip trembling as he let out a broken breath. He had nothing left. Nothing. The darkness in his mind whispered at him. Just let go.Just stop fightingThere’s nothing for you anymore.But Ken knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know why. Didn’t know if it was out of fear or desperation or just stubbornness. All he knew was that he was still standing. Barely. But still standing. His body screamed in protest with every step he took inside the house. His vision swam, his legs barely supporting him as he dragged himself across the threshold. His breath was shallow, labored, his ribs a cage of fire locking him in pain. The dim light flickered above, casting eerie shadows across the cracked walls. The house smelled of cigarettes, alcohol, and rotting food—an unbearable mixture that made his stomach churn. But it wasn’t the smell that made his hands tremble. It was the man sitting in the worn-out armchair, half-empty bottle of whiskey in his grip. His father. The man barely looked at him at first, too busy drowning in his liquor, his bloodshot eyes staring blankly at the television that played static. But then, as Ken took another weak step inside, the old floor creaked beneath him. And his father’s head snapped toward him. Ken barely had time to brace himself before those sharp, scrutinizing eyes took in his battered face. His busted lip. The bruises forming around his eye. The way he clutched his side, his fingers digging into his ribs as if holding himself together. A heavy silence settled between them, thick like poison. His father took a slow sip of his drink before setting the bottle down on the table beside him. “Who beat you?” His voice was slurred, but not enough to hide the simmering anger beneath it. Ken didn’t answer right away. He knew better than to tell the truth. If he said it was Jeng’s men, his father would only blame him. He would say it was his fault, that he deserved it for crossing Jeng, for ruining the only chance they had at surviving in this hellhole of a life. So Ken forced a smirk onto his bruised lips, his voice coming out hoarse and weak. “No one. I was boxing.” A lie. A pathetic one. But it was better than the alternative. His father scoffed, running a hand through his greasy hair. The tired, bitter laugh that left his lips sent a chill down Ken’s spine. “You think I’m an idiot?” His father’s voice was sharper now, no longer slurred but laced with venom. Ken didn’t answer. He just stood there, his fingers tightening into fists. His father slammed his hand against the table, making Ken flinch. “You dare lie to me, huh?!” he roared, standing up so fast the chair nearly toppled over. Ken instinctively took a step back, but his father closed the distance between them in seconds, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward. Ken gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain that shot through his ribs as his father’s grip tightened. “You made Jeng angry again, didn’t you?” His breath reeked of alcohol, hot against Ken’s face. “How the hell are you going to pay my debt now?” Ken didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. There was no answer that would satisfy his father, no excuse that would make him stop. His father let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re just like that whore of a mother you had.” Ken stiffened. The words weren’t new. He’d heard them a thousand times before. But no matter how many times his father spat those words at him, they still cut deep. “She left me for another man. Left you too. And now—now I have to waste my money paying for your goddamn school fees when all you do is skip class.” His father shoved him backward, making Ken stumble. “Why the hell do I even bother? You’re useless. A waste of space.” Ken’s nails dug into his palms. He refused to show weakness. Refused to let the words sink too deep. He’d built his walls high, layered them with scars, with pain. But tonight, after everything, after the beating, after the humiliation, after the hopelessness had already crushed him—tonight, the words dug a little deeper. His father sneered at him. “Why bother even living, huh? You’re trash—just like your mom.” Ken inhaled sharply, his hands trembling. Maybe he really was. Maybe his father was right. What was the point of any of this? No one had ever fought for him. No one had ever told him otherwise. He clenched his jaw, forcing the tears burning in his eyes to disappear. He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t. But before he could even process his own thoughts, he heard the sharp *clink* of glass. Then— CRASHThe bottle flew past him, shattering against the wall just inches from his face. Ken didn’t move. He stood frozen, his body rigid, as the shards of glass rained onto the floor. The whiskey splattered onto his shirt, the sharp scent stinging his nose. His heart pounded against his ribs, but he didn’t make a sound. His father stood there, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his hands still clenched into fists. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Ken couldn’t breathe. His body was shaking like a leaf, but he kept his face blank. He had to. Because if he showed fear, if he showed even a flicker of weakness—his father would only get angrier. “Get out of my sight,” Ken didn’t dare move at first. The shattered glass from the whiskey bottle still glistened on the floor, tiny fragments reflecting the dim, flickering light overhead. The scent of alcohol burned in his nostrils, mixing with the suffocating stench of cigarettes and sweat. His father had slumped back into his chair, his attention shifting to another bottle, as if Ken were nothing more than an afterthought. Ken swallowed hard. This was his chance. His ribs ached, his face throbbed, and his right leg—God, his right leg—felt like it was barely holding together. But if he didn’t leave now, if he didn’t get away before his father decided he wasn’t done, he wouldn’t make it to his room in one piece. So, with a shaky breath, Ken turned on his heel and limped toward the hallway. His vision blurred with pain, every step sending sharp, searing jolts through his body. He clenched his jaw, swallowing down the whimper threatening to escape his throat. He could take this. He had to take this. He just needed to reach his room, close the door, and disappear—just like he always did. But just as he reached the doorway— A rough hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him backward. Ken gasped as he stumbled, his injured leg giving out beneath him, sending him crashing onto the hard wooden floor. A fresh wave of pain shot up his spine, making his breath hitch. His father loomed over him. "You think you can just walk away from me?" His voice was slow, slurred, but laced with pure venom. Ken barely had time to react before a sharp, brutal kick landed straight into his stomach. He choked on a gasp, his body curling in on itself as agony exploded through his ribs. His fingers clawed at the floor, desperate to ground himself, to breathe, but before he could even recover— Another kick. And another. Each blow sent him reeling, his body twisting involuntarily as he tried to shield himself. He couldn’t breathe. "Please—" The word came out strangled, weak. "Stop, please Dad. It's Hurting—" But his father didn’t stop. Another brutal kick landed against his already battered leg. A sharp, gut-wrenching pain tore through him, so intense that black spots danced across his vision. His throat burned as a scream tore past his lips, raw and desperate. But no one was there to hear it. No one ever was. His father didn’t stop. He never stopped. The blows kept coming, over and over, until Ken could no longer tell where one pain ended and another began. His entire body felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming, every inch of his skin pulsing with bruises yet to fully form. His breath was ragged, shallow, barely there. He wanted it to stop. God, he just wanted it to stop. But he knew better than to fight back. Fighting back would only make it worse. So Ken did what he always did. He took it. Silent tears slipped down his bruised cheeks, his body trembling violently as he curled into himself. His mind begged for the pain to fade, for his father to grow tired, for unconsciousness to take him. But his father wasn’t done yet. A hand gripped his hair, yanking his head up. Ken barely had the strength to open his swollen eyes, his vision a mess of light and darkness. His father’s face was a blur—just a shadow looming over him, the stench of alcohol overwhelming. "You think you’re tough?" His father’s voice was a low growl, filled with disgust. "You think you’re better than me? Walking around like you’re some bigshot when all you do is ruin my life." Ken’s lip trembled. "I—" The back of his father’s hand struck across his face, sending his head snapping to the side. A sharp sting bloomed across his cheek, but Ken barely registered it anymore. He couldn’t. His body was too far gone. His father finally released him, shoving him to the ground like he was nothing more than a piece of trash. Ken didn’t move. He just lay there, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. "Pathetic," his father spat, stepping back toward his chair. "Just like your mother." Ken squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t cry. Not for this man. Not for anyone. The house fell silent again, save for the clinking of another bottle being opened, the slow creak of the chair as his father slumped into it. Ken knew he was done—for now. But that didn’t change the fact that his body refused to move. Everything hurt. His ribs. His leg. His face. His soulHe could still hear the echo of his own screams in his ears, the phantom sting of his father’s blows lingering on his skin. His fingers twitched against the cold wooden floor as he tried to breathe through the pain, but each inhale sent fire through his ribs. Still, he had to move. He had to get away. Summoning every last ounce of strength, Ken dragged his battered body toward the hallway. His limbs felt like lead, his entire form trembling as he forced himself forward, inch by agonizing inch. His breath came out in shallow gasps, his vision blurred, but he kept going. He had no choice. By the time he reached his room, his hands were slick with sweat, his fingers numb. He barely had the strength to push the door open, collapsing onto the floor the second he made it inside. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. As his cheek pressed against the cold, wooden floor, one final thought lingered in his mind. Why bother even living?And for the first time in his life— He truly didn’t have an answer.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When Ken woke up,His body felt like it was on fire, every nerve screaming as if his skin had been ripped open and left raw. He tried to move, but the ache in his ribs made breathing feel impossible. His leg throbbed with a sharp, unbearable pain, and he knew—he knew—something inside him was broken. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The room was quiet, save for his ragged breathing. The dim light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows over the walls. His father was gone—probably off drinking again, wasting away the morning in some dirty bar. Ken didn’t care. He had stopped caring a long time ago. His body ached. His mind screamed. His heart—if he even had one left—felt hollow, empty, like a vessel of pain that could never be filled with anything else. It wasn’t just the bruises, the broken bones, or the deep ache in his stomach. It was the weight of everything The loneliness. The fear. The helplessness. It was the way his mother had left without looking back. It was the way his father saw him as nothing more than a punching bag, a waste of space, a mistake. It was the way the world had never once given him a reason to believe that things could get better. Ken let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the thin blanket that barely covered his battered form. He turned his head slightly, wincing at the sharp sting that ran down his spine. His eyes landed on the small table beside his bed. A single red apple sat there, untouched. And next to it— A knife. The handle gleamed under the soft morning light, the blade sharp, clean. Ken stared at it for a long moment. His breath came out uneven, his hands trembling as he slowly reached out. Just one cut. One deep, final cut, and it would all be over. No more pain. No more fear. No more waking up to the suffocating silence of an empty home, or the sting of fists against his skin, or the endless cycle of pretending he was fine when every part of him was not fine. He wouldn’t have to fight anymore. Wouldn’t have to force a smirk when he felt like screaming. Wouldn’t have to hide the bruises, the cuts, the aching wounds that never seemed to heal. For once, he could rest. His fingers brushed against the cool metal of the knife. A bitter laugh bubbled in his throat. He had always been a fighter. Always been the one who got back up, even when it hurt like hell. He had taken punches, broken bones, had blood running down his lips more times than he could count, and yet—he was still here. Still breathing. Still existing. But for what? His father had said it himself. "Why bother even living?"Ken clenched his jaw. Maybe his father was right. Maybe there was no point in fighting anymore. His grip tightened around the handle. Just as he was about to lift the blade, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, every thump sending a fresh wave of pain through his chest. The ringing didn’t stop. Again. And again. Ken inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching. He ignored it at first. Whoever it was would leave eventually. But the ringing continued, over and over, as if whoever was outside knew he was home. As if they weren’t going to stop until he answered. A fresh wave of pain tore through his body as he sat up, his breath catching in his throat. Everything hurt His leg screamed in protest as he swung it over the edge of the bed, his arms shaking as he tried to push himself up. Another ring. Ken clenched his teeth. His head spun, black dots dancing in his vision as he placed one foot on the cold floor. The knife was still in his grip, but his fingers felt weak now, numb, like his body had already made the decision for him. He let it go. The blade clattered against the table. He didn’t know why he was moving. Didn’t know why he was forcing himself to answer the damn door when every part of him screamed to just stay down. But something deep inside him—something he couldn’t name—kept pushing him forward. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was that tiny, foolish part of him that still wanted to believe someone cared. Or maybe it was just because he couldn’t stand the sound of the bell ringing anymore. His breath came out in shallow gasps as he stumbled forward, each step sending jolts of agony through his body. His injured leg dragged against the floor, but he kept going. One step. Another. The hallway felt longer than it ever had before. His fingers barely had the strength to grip the doorknob as he reached it. He was shaking. He was always shaking. He didn’t even know what he would say when he opened the door. But before he could think— The bell rang one last time. And with the last bit of strength he had left— Ken pulled the door open.He barely had the strength to stand, let alone greet the people standing in front of him. His vision was hazy from exhaustion, but there was no mistaking them—Shin, Saint, Knot, and Nate. Even Mr. Sung and Miss Jan were there, their expressions a mixture of worry and something else Ken didn’t want to name. He exhaled slowly, gripping the doorframe for support. His body ached, his head spun, but he forced himself to keep his face blank. Emotionless. Indifferent. Knot took a step forward. “Ken, we need to talk.” Ken’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have time for this. I have work to do.” It was a weak excuse, and they all knew it. His voice was rough, hoarse from everything he had been through. But he wasn’t about to let them in, wasn’t about to show them the mess that was his life. He just needed them to leave—because if they stayed any longer, he didn’t know if he could keep his walls from breaking. But they didn’t leave. They stepped inside anyway. Ken felt his heart pound in his chest, a rising panic crawling up his throat. His home was small, dark, suffocating. There was nothing in it that felt warm, nothing that resembled a place someone would want to stay. And yet, they were here. They shouldn’t be here. “Get out,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. No one listened. Nate looked around before his eyes landed on Ken again. “Jeng beat you up, didn’t he?” Ken’s breath caught. His hands clenched into fists. “It’s none of your business,” he snapped, his voice sharp like a blade. Nate didn’t back down. “You think we don’t know? Ken, you came to school yesterday barely able to walk. You could barely keep your eyes open. And now—” His voice wavered as he took in Ken’s injuries. “Now, you’re standing here, pretending like you’re fine when we all know you’re not.” Ken let out a hollow laugh. “So what? What do you want me to say? That I got my ass kicked? That my life is shit? Congratulations, you figured it out. Now leave.” Knot’s voice cut through the tension. “Stop pushing us away.” Ken’s breath hitched. “You keep saying you don’t care, that you want to run away, but you keep doing the opposite,” Knot continued, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but there was something desperate in his eyes. “If you really wanted to disappear, you would’ve done it already. But you haven’t. You’re still here. So why do you keep going back to Jeng when he beats you just like your dad?” Ken’s world stopped. Something inside him cracked, deep and painful, like a wound that had been forcefully torn open. His father. Jeng. The bruises. The pain. The endless cycle he had been trapped in for so long. Knot’s words felt like a knife slicing through every lie Ken had ever told himself. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breathing shallow. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hated. They knew. They saw him. They weren’t supposed to. He could take the beatings. The insults. The pain. But this—this was unbearable. Knot’s voice softened. “Ken, we can help you. We want to help you.” Ken clenched his teeth. “We care about you,” Knot continued, his voice steady, filled with something Ken didn’t know how to process. “You don’t have to go through this alone.” The words made something inside Ken snap. He didn’t think. He didn’t stop to consider his actions. Before he even realized it, his fist had already swung forward, colliding against Knot’s face. The room went silent. Knot stumbled back, shock flashing across his face. Ken’s hand burned from the impact, his knuckles stinging, but he didn’t care. His heart was racing, his breathing erratic. His vision was blurred, but he could still see the way everyone was looking at him. Like they couldn’t believe what he had just done. Like they saw right through him. Nate was the first to break the silence. His voice was filled with disbelief, pain, anger. “Why did you punch him?” Ken didn’t have an answer. He just stood there, his entire body trembling, his chest tight with something he didn’t know how to name. His ears were ringing. His vision was swimming. His entire world felt like it was crumbling beneath his feet. They weren’t supposed to care. They weren’t supposed to see him. But they did. Knot’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist. His eyes burned with an emotion Ken didn’t dare name—anger, pain, betrayal. For a moment, Ken thought Knot would hit him back. A part of him wanted it, needed it, because maybe then the ache inside his chest would dull. Maybe then, this unbearable weight pressing against his ribs would finally disappear. But before Knot could move, Shin and Saint stepped in, grabbing his arms and holding him back. “Don’t,” Shin said, his voice low but firm. Knot struggled against them, his breathing ragged. “Let go.” “Not happening,” Saint muttered, tightening his grip. Ken could see it—the frustration in Knot’s eyes, the way his body trembled with restraint. But he didn’t care. Let them hate him. Let them get angry. That was easier to deal with. That was normal. He took a step back, but before he could bolt, a gentle voice stopped him. “Ken.” Miss Jan. Ken froze. He turned slightly, just enough to see her stepping forward. There was no anger in her eyes. No disappointment. Just… something soft. Something he didn’t understand. She approached slowly, like he was a wounded animal that might lash out if she got too close. Ken wanted to move away. He wanted to tell her to stop. But he couldn’t. She reached out, her touch featherlight against his bruised arm. Ken flinched. Miss Jan’s expression didn’t change. She didn’t pull away. She just looked at him, really looked, as if she could see every broken piece of him, every wound he had tried so hard to hide. For some reason, it made his chest ache. “You’re hurt,” she murmured. Ken swallowed, his throat dry. He wasn’t just hurt. He was ruined. But Miss Jan didn’t look at him like he was broken. She looked at him like he was worth saving. And Ken didn’t know what to do with that. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “I don’t—” His voice cracked, and he hated it. “I don’t need your pity.” “This isn’t pity,” she said softly. Ken’s breathing turned shallow. She always felt like a mother to him. Even before this moment, she had always been kind to him, always tried to understand him when no one else did. She wasn’t just another teacher—she cared. But Ken didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve kindness. Didn’t deserve love. He yanked his arm away, his chest heaving. “Stop.” Miss Jan didn’t reach for him again, but she didn’t back away either. “No one can help me!” Ken’s voice cracked as he yelled, his frustration and pain bursting out of him like a flood he could no longer hold back. His vision blurred, his throat burned, but he didn’t care. “You think you can fix me? You think you can make things better? You can’t! None of you can!” Silence. And then— “I know how Jeng is.” Ken’s breath caught as Mr. Sung spoke, his voice steady. “I know what kind of person he is,” the teacher continued. “I know what he does to people who cross him.” Ken’s hands trembled. “Then you should understand that no one can help me,” he muttered, his voice shaking. Mr. Sung’s gaze was unwavering. “That’s not true.” Ken let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t get it.” “You don’t get it,” Nate suddenly snapped. Ken barely had time to react before Nate was right in front of him, his face red with frustration. “Why are you being so damn stubborn?” Nate yelled, his voice raw. “Why do you keep acting like you don’t want help when it’s obvious that you do?” Ken flinched, his breathing unsteady. “You push everyone away, you act like you don’t care, but then you—” Nate’s voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “You look at us like you’re begging us to stay.” Ken’s throat tightened. “I—” The words wouldn’t come out. The room felt suffocating. Their voices were too loud. Their concern was too much. Everything was too much. His chest ached, his wounds burned, and for the first time in a long time— Ken didn’t know how to fight back.His breathing was ragged, his fists still clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin. He could feel their eyes on him—concerned, pleading, desperate. But he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. It was easier to pretend. Easier to push them away before they got too close. Because if they got too close, they’d see everything—every wound, every scar, every ugly, rotting piece of him. And he couldn’t let that happen. Shin took a cautious step forward. “Ken—” “Don’t.” Ken’s voice was sharp, venomous. He took a step back, his injured leg barely holding his weight. “Don’t act like you care. Don’t pretend like you understand.” Shin didn’t falter. “We do care.” Ken let out a bitter laugh. “Bullshit.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but even he could hear the cracks in it. “You’re just feeling guilty. That’s all this is. You feel bad for me, so you’re playing the hero. But newsflash, Shin—I don’t need saving.” Shin’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about guilt, Ken.” Ken scoffed. “Then what? *What is it about?*” His voice rose, filled with anger and something dangerously close to desperation. “You all keep saying you care, that you want to help. But why? Why the hell do you care about me?” Silence. The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. Then, Shin took another step forward, his gaze unwavering. “Because you matter.” Ken’s breath hitched. He didn’t know why, but those words—those simple, stupid words—sent a sharp pain through his chest, like someone had driven a knife straight through him. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away. “No, I don’t.” His voice was quieter now, almost hoarse. “You do.” Shin’s voice was firm. “And we’re not going to let you keep destroying yourself like this.” Ken let out a humorless laugh. “Destroying myself? I’m the one destroying myself?” His fingers twitched, his hands itching to hit something, to *hurt* something. “Maybe look at the people around me, Shin. Maybe look at my father. Maybe look at Jeng. Maybe look at all the people who have beaten me until I couldn’t even stand.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. “And you know what’s funny?” He let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “You know what’s really funny? I let them.” His eyes burned as he looked at them, at all of them standing there with worried faces and pleading eyes. “Because that’s all I’m good for, right? Taking hits. Getting beaten down. That’s all I’ve ever been.” His chest was heaving now, his ribs screaming in agony with every breath. But he ignored it. “I’m nothing,” he whispered, more to himself than to them. Shin’s expression twisted with something Ken didn’t want to name. “That’s not true.” Ken’s hands clenched at his sides. “Stop.” “Ken—” “Stop meddling in my life!” He suddenly yelled, his voice breaking. His vision blurred, his entire body shaking. “Just stop! I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for your help! I don’t want it!” He stepped forward, raising his fist, his body moving on instinct. He was going to punch Shin. He was going to make them leave him alone. But the moment he moved, a sharp, excruciating pain shot through his leg. Ken barely had time to register it before he let out a strangled scream, his body giving out beneath him. He hit the ground hard, the impact sending another wave of agony through him. His ribs burned, his lungs felt like they were collapsing, and breathing suddenly became impossible. Everything hurt. His vision blurred, his head spinning as the pain consumed him. His fingers dug into the floor, his nails scraping against the cold surface as he gasped for air. Someone called his name—he didn’t know who. Their voices were distant, muffled, like they were speaking from underwater. The pain was unbearable. His leg, his ribs, his entire body—everything felt like it was on fire. His eyelids felt heavy. He was so tired. His body wasn’t moving anymore. His limbs felt numb, the searing pain fading into something dull, something distant. Someone was shaking him, but he couldn’t react. He couldn’t do anything. And for the first time in a long, long time— Ken stopped fighting. And the world around him faded to black.. . . . . . . Ken’s eyelids fluttered open, the sterile scent of disinfectant and the beeping of machines welcoming him back to consciousness. His entire body felt heavy, weighed down by an invisible force that made it difficult to even breathe. Pain still lingered, dull and persistent, but compared to before, it was almost bearable. He blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to the bright hospital room. The white ceiling above him was unfamiliar, but the presence of people in the room wasn’t. As his sight cleared, he noticed them—Shin, Saint, Knot, Nate, Mr. Sung, Miss Jan—all of them were there, watching him with expressions that made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. The moment his eyes landed on Knot, the other boy's face changed completely. “Doctor!” Knot's voice was urgent, almost frantic, as he turned toward the hallway. Ken frowned, trying to lift his hand, but even that small movement sent a dull ache through his ribs. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as best as he could. As few moments later, the doctor walked in, his face neutral and professional as he checked Ken’s vitals. “You’re lucky,” the doctor finally said after a long silence. “Your leg isn’t fractured, but your ribs—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “You have multiple broken ribs. Some of them are healing from previous injuries, which means this isn’t the first time you've sustained serious trauma.” Ken’s body stiffened. The doctor’s eyes flickered to the clipboard in his hands, his expression darkening. “And from the tests we ran, there are clear signs of prolonged physical abuse…” He hesitated, then added carefully, “As well as sexual assault.” Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. Ken’s breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. He didn’t look at them—he couldn’t. He already knew what he would see. Pity. Horror. Disgust. He didn’t want to see it. The doctor sighed, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Your body is severely malnourished as well. We’re keeping you on IV fluids for now, but you need to eat properly once you’re discharged. Your body is weak, and with these injuries, it’ll take weeks—maybe months—to fully recover.” Ken didn’t respond. He kept his gaze locked on the ceiling, pretending not to notice the heavy silence that filled the room after the doctor left. He could feel their stares. He knew they were looking at him, taking in the damage, the truth that was now laid out in the open. He wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. His fingers curled into the hospital bedsheet, his throat burning as emotions surged through him like a violent storm. He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow it all down, but it was too much. The pain. The shame. The helplessness. He wanted to disappear. His lips trembled as he forced out the words, his voice raw and broken. “Leave me alone.” No one moved. Ken squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing grew uneven, his ribs protesting with each sharp inhale. “Please.” His voice cracked. “Just leave me alone.” He didn’t want them to see him like this. Didn’t want them to see the pathetic, broken mess he had become. It hurt. It hurt to be seen. It hurt to exist. He felt exposed, like someone had ripped him open and put all of his ugliest parts on display. “I don’t want to live,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. But in the heavy silence of the room, it was deafening. Shin took a step closer. “Ken—” “I don’t want to live!” Ken yelled, his voice hoarse, desperate. His chest ached, his ribs screaming in protest, but he didn’t care. “It hurts! It hurts to live! So just go!” Knot flinched, his expression darkening. “Don’t say that.” Nate’s voice was shaky. “Ken, you—” “Shut up!” Ken's voice broke as he glared at them, eyes burning with unshed tears. “What do you even know? You don’t understand! You can’t understand! So stop pretending you do!” Knot’s hands clenched at his sides. “We’re not pretending.” Ken let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, really? Then what? You think you can fix me? You think you can make things better?” He scoffed, his throat tightening. “That’s not how this works.” “Ken, please—” “Stop caring about me!” The words echoed in the room like a gunshot. Silence followed. Ken was breathing heavily, his body trembling from exhaustion. Knot took a step forward, his face unreadable. “You think we’re just gonna leave you to die?” His voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it—something broken. “You think we’re just gonna let you give up on yourself?” Ken turned his head away, his nails digging into his palms. Nate’s voice was trembling. “Ken, don’t push us away.” Ken laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What else am I supposed to do?” “Let us help you,” Shin said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not alone.” Ken’s throat tightened. But he shook his head. “I am alone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve always been alone.” Shin’s expression softened, but before he could say anything, Knot exhaled sharply. “Fine.” Ken looked up, startled by the coldness in his voice. “We’ll leave,” Knot said, his jaw clenched. Nate turned to him, eyes wide. “Knot—” “He doesn’t want us here,” Knot cut him off, his voice bitter. “So let’s go.” Nate looked conflicted, but when Shin put a hand on his shoulder, he sighed in defeat. Ken watched as they all turned toward the door, a strange, painful emptiness settling in his chest. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For them to leave? For them to stop caring? Then why did it feel like he couldn’t breathe? Shin was the last to move, his eyes lingering on Ken for a long moment before he finally turned away. And just like that— They were gone.