CAPTURING REDEMPTION

CHAPTER 2: MEMORIES OF THE PAST

TRIGGER WARNING: CONTAINS EXPLICIT DESCRIPTION OF BULLY. THE AUTHOR DOES NOT CONDONE BULLYING OR ANYTHING THAT MIGHT CAUSE HARM TO ANY LIVING BEING.

"Taekjoo-ah, can you really hit the target?" Cha Seunghwan taunted, his sadistic grin stretching across his lips as he lounged against the cool concrete floor, his back pressed against the imposing water tank. Despite his youth, the red-haired boy exuded an aura of intimidation, a formidable presence that dared anyone to challenge him. His soft features mixed with conventional pale skin were a plus for the kind of charm he would use, before resorting to brute force.

Cha Seunghwan's words carried a challenge, laced with a hint of mockery, as he dared Kwon Taekjoo to prove himself. With an air of arrogance, the red-haired boy seemed to revel in the power he held over others, his confidence unshakable as he waited for the boy's response. It was a test of both skill and nerve, a moment where the boy's mettle would be put to the ultimate test against the backdrop of Cha Seunghwan's dominance.

"What? You wanna bet?"

"Should I? Okay, hit him wherever you want, and I'll buy you lunch for three weeks." Cha Seunghwan chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of amusement as he casually sipped on his strawberry milk. With a nonchalant demeanour, he tilted his head back, allowing the gentle breeze to tousle his silky hair as strands danced in the wind. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun with his free hand, he exuded an effortless coolness, unaffected by the sweltering heat bearing down on them.

Despite the intensity of the moment, he maintained an air of relaxed confidence, his posture exuding a sense of ease and control. It was a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air, his calm demeanour serving as a subtle reminder of his unyielding presence in the face of any challenge.

"You sure you won't back out? I mean, I'm gonna bleed you dry."

"Yah, we'll see. Just hit him."

Twenty minutes had passed since the end of the fourth period at Moorim High. While the majority of students congregated in the bustling cafeteria, enjoying their lunch, a select group of six boys from the twelfth grade sought refuge on the rooftop of the tallest building on campus.

Clad in their summer school uniforms, the four boys sat in hushed silence, their eyes fixed on a brown-haired figure standing several feet away. This enigmatic individual held a baseball bat with a confident grip, his stance poised and ready as he eyed the target before him. His stature was that of a beast ready to tear apart his prey—his eyes glowered with the sadistic glare that mimicked Cha Seunghwan's gaze; it was the only thing that similar between the two individuals.

The atmosphere on the rooftop was tense, yet charged with anticipation, as the group prepared for what was to come. Each member carried a sense of determination, their unified focus evident in the way they held themselves. In this secluded setting, away from the prying eyes of their peers, they were free to indulge in their chosen activity, united by a shared purpose that bound them together in secrecy.

"Yah, you fatso, throw the ball," Kwon Taekjoo pointed the bat at one of the boys sitting in a row, before prepping himself, his eyes set dead on the target—Yevgeny Bogdanov. The boy that intrigued him since his arrival, "Seunghwan-ah, just watch me."

With swift precision, Taekjoo's eyes locked onto the ball as it materialized before him. Without hesitation, he swung his bat with expert timing, the satisfying crack of impact echoing through the air. The ball soared through the sky, propelled forward by the force of his swing, exceeding all expectations with its speed and accuracy.

In a split second, the ball found its mark, striking Yevgeny Bogdanov's left eye with a resounding thud. The sound reverberated across the rooftop, a testament to the dark haired boy's skill and determination. With a mixture of satisfaction and relief, the group watched as their collective effort culminated in success, the momentary thrill of victory coursing through their veins.