Fighter || Lookism x Reader

12

It was finally time for the school retreat, and the whole class had been looking forward to it for weeks.

You struggled with your too-heavy suitcase as you made your way to the school. "Let me help you with that." You turned to see the multi-colored-haired boy from the beauty department.

"Oh, it's okay, I got this," you said, offering a smile, but he walked alongside you anyway, watching as you wrestled with the bag.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and took your suitcase from your grip, carrying both his and yours with ease. "Are you sure?" You asked, feeling a little guilty.

You had exchanged a few glances before, but this was your first real conversation. "You're from the beauty department, right?" You asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.

"Yeah, I'm a hairdresser," he replied. You nodded, prompting him to add, "My name's Eli." He narrowed his eyes at you, anticipating a surprised reaction.

"Nice name! I'm (Y/N)," you introduced yourself, your smile brightening his expression.

Eli couldn't believe he hadn't recognized you before. Maybe it was for the best, he thought.

You arrived at school, and Eli handed your suitcase back. "Thank you so much!" you said, your voice cheerful. "I'll see you around at the retreat!"

He returned your smile and walked toward the bus for the beauty department. You couldn't help but glance at him, realizing how much he had changed. You barely recognized him now and you hoped that he didn't recognise you, or what was left of you.

With a sigh, you thought to yourself that maybe you had really picked the wrong school to enroll in.

"Hey (Y/N)!" Zoe called out, jolting you from your thoughts. You quickly made your way to your friends, your eyes scanning the crowd for Zack, who stood a short distance away.

Zack looked particularly good today, and you couldn't help but notice it. From his hair to his outfit, he was looking sharp. When he caught your gaze, he glared back at you.

"What are you looking at, weirdo?" he scowled, and you felt a flutter in your stomach.

You sighed at his question. As much as he irritated you sometimes, Zack was undeniably perfect when he kept his mouth shut. "Just thought you looked horrible today," you shot back, and the two of you bickered playfully until it was time to board the bus.

You found a perfect seat to yourself, grateful for the solitude.

"(Y/N), come sit with us!" Mira called from the back of the bus, but you just smiled and shook your head.

"No thank you, Mira. I'm gonna sleep," you replied, and Mira chuckled, accepting your choice.

Just as you were about to doze off, your phone buzzed with a message from Goo.

Goo
About that date offer, are you free tonight?

You chuckled at his straightforwardness. Since your appointment, you and Goo had been texting often—mostly bickering about your days or Goo venting about how stuck-up Gun was, which he did often.

You
No
I'm gone for a few days with school :p

Goo
Boooring

You turned on do-not-disturb, not wanting to be interrupted during your nap, especially not by Goo.

You fell asleep even before the bus left the school, your mind wandering back to your first encounter with Gun.

——————-——————

You had never been one to rely on anyone. The streets, the fights, the endless survival—every brutal moment had shaped you into someone who didn't need a hand to guide you, much less save you.

That was until he appeared. Gun.

You didn't notice him at first, just another shadow in the alley, another face in a city you were still learning to navigate. But as you fought off the thugs, feeling your knuckles crack against their jaws, you became aware of his presence. The air around him felt different, heavier.

When the fight ended, you sensed him drawing closer—not like a predator, but with a calm, controlled energy that somehow felt even more dangerous. He approached with an unshakable confidence, his gaze cool and assessing, as if he'd already seen everything you were capable of.

"You fight well," he said, his voice low and steady.

You wiped the blood from your lip, eyeing him warily. Who was this guy? You'd seen plenty of fighters, plenty of so-called tough guys who thought they ran the streets. But there was something different about him, something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"I manage," you replied coldly, not bothering with pleasantries. You didn't need anyone's validation, least of all from a stranger.

He took a step closer, his eyes sharp and piercing, and for the first time, a flicker of unease crept through you.

"There's potential in you," he said, almost as if talking to himself. "Raw, but untamed. You fight with instinct, but no discipline."

Your fists clenched. "I don't need advice," you shot back, irritation lacing your voice. "Especially not from someone who just stood there and watched."

His lips curved into a faint smirk. "I wasn't offering advice," he said. "I was offering an opportunity. I can make you my successor."

Your eyes narrowed. "I don't need opportunities either. I'm doing just fine."

"Are you?" His tone was almost mocking but held a note of something more—a challenge. "Fine is surviving. Fine is scraping by in a world that could crush you any moment." He paused, letting his words sink in. "What I'm offering is more than that. Power. Control. The strength to not just survive, but to dominate."

You stared at him, irritation flaring. You didn't like the way he looked at you, like you were some puzzle he needed to solve. But there was an undeniable truth in his words. You had been fighting all your life, but where had it gotten you? It was always the same struggles, the same endless cycle.

Maybe he had a point.

But you shook the thought off. "Why me?" you asked bluntly. "Why not leave me to fight my own battles?"

His smirk faded, replaced by a serious expression. "Because I see something in you. You're like me, in a way. Strong, but alone. You think you're the only one who knows how to survive, but you're just scratching the surface of what you're capable of."

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze head-on. "And you think you know better?"

"I know what it's like to be underestimated. To be angry at the world. I know what it takes to rise above it. And I know you have that same fire." His voice was low, but there was a strange intensity behind it. "If you want more than this, you'll need someone who can show you the way."

Your mind raced. You didn't trust him, not fully, but there was something in his words that resonated with you—a truth you'd always felt but never acknowledged. Were you really just surviving? Was this all you'd ever be?

Why should I trust him? You thought, glancing at his calm expression.

And yet... there was no denying that Gun wasn't like anyone you'd met before. He wasn't flashy or cocky. He was just... sure. Sure of himself, sure of his strength, and somehow, strangely, sure of you.

"I don't need a teacher," you said, though your voice had lost some of its edge.

He didn't flinch. "You don't need one," he agreed. "But you could use one. Or," he added, his gaze softening just slightly, "you could stay right where you are. Fighting small-time thugs in back alleys. Your call."

His words hung in the air like a dare. You hated being told what to do, but you hated being stagnant even more.

Finally, you exhaled. "Alright. Show me what you've got. But don't think for a second that I'll be some obedient student."

Gun's smirk returned, this time with a glint of satisfaction. "Good," he said. "I wouldn't want you to be."