Chan glanced at his phone and saw an unknown ID.
He already knew who it was.
"Hello?"
"So… you've started walking down the dark path already. That's good. You accepted it… and now you're becoming a real man," Zack said before hanging up.
Chan slowly lowered the phone.
He walked to the river and began washing the blood off his hands.
But no matter how hard he scrubbed, the feeling wouldn't go away.
The weight of killing an innocent man clung to him.
Guilt filled his heart.
"Thought you said killing people didn't bother you," Yommy said.
"Why are you scrubbing your hands like they're cursed?"
Chan avoided looking at his reflection.
"Can't I wash the blood off my hands?" he replied, trying to hide his emotions.
"Hm… that's not what I'm seeing," Yommy said calmly.
"I think you should go home and rest. You have school tomorrow."
Chan said nothing.
He left the riverbank and headed home, his mind racing.
Memories of Uncle John flooded his thoughts—how kind he had been, how he had always looked out for him when he and Lee were younger.
Then his thoughts shifted to his mother.
Everything felt heavy.
Everything felt confusing.
By the time he got home, it was already 10:00 p.m.
The house felt the same as always—empty and cold.
Chan dropped onto the couch and drifted into sleep.
By 7:00 a.m., he was already up and prepared for school.
He stepped outside, hailed a cab, and headed there in silence.
When he arrived, he walked straight into the school with his head down.
Students around him threw cold glances his way, but he ignored them.
He entered his classroom.
Mrs. Morrison was already writing on the board.
"Good morning, Mrs. Morrison," Chan said as he walked toward his seat.
"Come back here, young man," she said sharply.
"Tell me—what's so good about this morning?"
Chan stopped and turned slightly.
"Ma'am, I'm not really in the mood for this right now. It's just ten past seven."
The classroom went quiet.
Mrs. Morrison stared at him in shock.
Chan had never spoken back before.
"Did you just talk back to me?" she asked.
"It's not like that, ma'am," Chan replied calmly.
"Not all the students are here yet. I'm early."
The shock on her face only deepened.
Before she could respond—
The door opened.
Tyson walked in with his crew.
The moment his eyes landed on Chan, a cold grin spread across his face—like a predator spotting its prey.
He walked straight over and slammed both hands onto Chan's desk.
"I just got here," Tyson said mockingly.
"Aren't you supposed to carry my bag? Looks like you still haven't learned your lesson."
Chan said nothing.
It was as if Tyson didn't exist.
"Didn't you hear him?" one of Tyson's friends snapped.
"Keep quiet, Murph. I've got this," Tyson said coldly.
Then he leaned closer. "Hey, puppet. I'm talking to you."
Chan didn't react.
"Tyson, that's enough. Go to your seat," Mrs. Morrison said firmly.
Tyson slowly turned his head toward her.
"Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?" he said coldly.
"Are you tired of your job?"
Then he turned back to Chan.
"Now listen carefully. If you don't go on your knees and apologize for ignoring me, I'll drag you to the restroom and smash your head in the toilet."
Chan slowly raised his head and met Tyson's eyes.
"I'm not apologizing."
The room froze.
Tyson's eyes burned with rage.
"What did you just say?" he growled. "You dare refuse me?"
He grabbed Chan by the collar and yanked him up.
Chan's heart pounded—but he kept his composure.
Suddenly—
A notification appeared before his eyes.
Chan blinked.
A reward?
He didn't even have time to process it.
Even without it, he had already made his decision.
He would rather get beaten again than submit.
Chan grabbed Tyson's hand and pulled it off his shirt.
Tyson froze for a second.
"Did you just remove my hand?" he said, his anger boiling over.
He clenched his fist and grabbed Chan again, dragging him out from his desk.
He slammed Chan against the wall and gripped his throat tightly.
"Say you won't go with me again," Tyson hissed.
"I can kill you and cover it up easily."
Chan struggled to breathe—but his voice remained firm.
"I'm not going with you."
Tyson snapped.
He began throwing heavy punches into Chan's face.
Chan didn't fight back.
He knew he couldn't win.
Deep down, he almost accepted it—waiting for Tyson to beat him to death.
"So you're really going to let this guy keep humiliating you… even now?" Yommy's voice echoed in his mind.
Something inside Chan snapped.
His eyes burned with anger.
He grabbed Tyson's hand again and twisted away.
The next punch came—
Chan dodged.
Tyson lost his balance and slammed into the wall.
Before he could recover—
Chan struck.
Punch after punch.
Relentless.
Tyson crashed to the ground.
But Chan didn't stop in his eyes, Tyson wasn't Tyson anymore he was Han, he was Lee.
The betrayal. The pain. The anger—
Everything exploded.
The entire class stood up in shock.
"You've got to be kidding me… Chan is beating Tyson?" one student whispered.
"How dare you touch Tyson!" Murph shouted, rushing forward.
Chan turned—
His eyes locked onto Murph.
Murph froze instantly.
Fear gripped him.
No one had ever seen Chan like this before.
Tyson sat on the ground, blood covering his face, swollen and barely able to see.
The bell rang.
Chan picked up his bag and walked out of the classroom without a word.
Mrs. Morrison stood frozen.
She didn't say a single thing.
Even the students who were usually ignored began to quietly applaud Chan as he left.
"You did it," Yommy said, pleased.
A faint, cold smile appeared on Chan's face.
Another notification appeared:
Chan paused.
"Self-defense? How does that work?" he asked.
"You'll gradually gain experience and skill in defending yourself during fights—like what just happened," Yommy explained.
Chan nodded slightly.
"Hm… I like that."
Just then, his phone rang.
He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.
Unknown ID.
Zack.
Chan answered.
"Second job. Today, 7 p.m. I'll send you the details. Be ready."
The call ended.
Chan stared at his phone—
his expression turning cold once again.