Chapter 3: Forged in Fire

Three months passed like a fever dream—a blur of textbooks, bruised knuckles, and sleepless nights. Standing now before the imposing stone arch of Hankuk Elite Academy, Soo-jin felt a strange sense of déjà vu. She had seen this entrance countless times in the promotional materials Min-ah had proudly displayed, had witnessed it through her sister's excited descriptions. Yet the reality before her seemed more fortress than school, its manicured grounds and elegant architecture a beautiful façade concealing rot.

Just that morning, she had made her final hospital visit before enrollment. Min-ah remained unchanged, suspended between life and death, machines breathing for her, feeding her, maintaining the shell of what had once been a vibrant young woman with dreams as vast as the sky.

"I'm going today," Soo-jin had whispered to her sister's unhearing ears. "I got in. Top marks on the entrance exams, just like you." She had placed her hand over Min-ah's limp one, feeling neither warmth nor response. "I'll find them. I promise."

Their mother had waited outside the room, giving Soo-jin privacy for her goodbye. When she emerged, the older woman's eyes had been knowing, filled with a mixture of fear and grim acceptance.

"You don't have to do this," her mother had said, though the resignation in her voice made it clear she understood the futility of her words.

"Yes, I do." Soo-jin's response had been as unyielding as steel.

Her mother had pressed a key into her palm—the key to Min-ah's apartment. "Then stay there. It's paid through the semester. It might... help you understand."

Now, the key felt heavy in Soo-jin's pocket as she gazed up at the school that had broken her sister. Around her, other students streamed through the gates, their designer uniforms and casual confidence marking them as belonging to a world Soo-jin had only glimpsed from the outside. Her own uniform—the same model Min-ah had once worn with pride—felt like armor rather than academic attire.

The past three months had reshaped Soo-jin in ways both visible and hidden. Her body, already athletic from years of MMA training, had hardened. Where before she had trained for sport with rules and referees, now she trained for something else entirely.

"There are no refs in the street," her coach had growled during their first session after Min-ah's "accident." His name remained unspoken between them—a professional courtesy he had insisted upon. "No tapping out. No weight classes. No second chances."

She remembered the grueling sessions in the back room of the gym, away from the regulation mats and safety equipment. The coach teaching her how to identify weak points—throat, eyes, knees—without hesitation. How to use everyday objects as weapons. How to take a blow without showing pain. How to fall without getting hurt. How to fight multiple opponents at once.

"Why are you doing this?" he had asked her once, after she had refused to stop training despite a sprained wrist. "MMA was your ticket. This... this is something else."

"Someone hurt my sister," was all she had said.

He hadn't asked again.

Academic preparation had consumed her remaining waking hours. Min-ah's meticulous study guides became Soo-jin's roadmap, her sister's highlighted textbooks and careful notes illuminating the path to excellence. Despite her grief and rage—or perhaps because of them—Soo-jin had absorbed knowledge with frightening efficiency, her mind sharpening alongside her body.

There had been moments, sitting alone at Min-ah's desk in their family home, when Soo-jin had felt her sister's presence so strongly it was as if she stood over her shoulder, guiding her hand across the page. In those rare instances, tears had threatened to break through her carefully maintained composure. She had pushed them back each time, channeling the emotion into her studies instead.

The entrance exams had been challenging but not impossible. Soo-jin had walked into the testing hall with the calm focus she usually reserved for stepping into the ring. Five hours later, she had walked out knowing she had succeeded. The acceptance letter had arrived two weeks afterward, along with a partial scholarship—not as generous as Min-ah's had been, but enough to make attendance possible.

Their mother had wept when she saw the letter, her tears both proud and terrified. Their father, still unaware of the full truth behind Min-ah's "accident," had sent a congratulatory video message from overseas, his face beaming with the same pride he had once shown for her older sister.

Only Soo-jin remained dry-eyed, her emotions locked behind a wall of determination.

The night before enrollment, she had moved into Min-ah's apartment as planned. The space felt like a tomb—preserved exactly as her sister had left it on that fateful rainy night. Textbooks still open on the small desk. A half-empty cup of tea, long since evaporated, leaving only a brown ring at the bottom. A calendar with assignments and deadlines meticulously noted, stretching into a future Min-ah would never see.

Soo-jin had run her fingers over her sister's handwriting, each carefully formed character a testament to Min-ah's methodical nature. She had opened drawers, examined photographs, searched for any clue that might illuminate what had driven her sister to that rooftop.

Sleep had eluded her that first night in Min-ah's bed, her mind racing with questions. What had her sister endured within these walls? Who had pushed her to such desperation? How had a school renowned for excellence concealed such darkness?

The answers, Soo-jin knew, lay somewhere beyond the stone arch before her now.

A bell rang in the distance, signaling five minutes until the commencement ceremony for new students. Around her, the flow of students increased, their chatter creating a background hum of privilege and ease. They moved in tight clusters, orbiting around individuals who carried themselves with particular confidence—the children of power, unconsciously displaying their status through stance and voice.

Soo-jin observed them with a fighter's eye, noting hierarchies, alliances, potential threats. Three girls passed by, their uniforms subtly altered to enhance their appearance, their glossy hair and manicured nails suggesting wealth beyond the merely comfortable. They glanced at her briefly before dismissing her presence, their assessment swift and cutting.

A group of boys followed, their uniform jackets hung casually over one shoulder rather than worn properly. They moved with the loose-limbed confidence of those who had never faced real consequences, their laughter too loud, their gestures too expansive. One caught Soo-jin's eye and nudged his companion, whispering something that caused them both to smirk in her direction.

She met their gaze without expression, cataloguing their faces for future reference.

This world—this playground of the elite—had destroyed her sister. Somewhere within its elegant buildings and among its privileged population lurked those responsible. Soo-jin would find them. She would uncover the truth. And then...

She unclenched her fists, noticing for the first time the crescent-shaped indentations her nails had left in her palms. Unlike the day at the hospital, they hadn't drawn blood. Her control had improved.

Taking a deep breath, Soo-jin adjusted the strap of her backpack and crossed the threshold into Hankuk Elite Academy. The stone arch above seemed to watch her passage like the gateway to another realm—one where predators ruled and prey suffered in silence.

But Soo-jin had not come as prey.

The heavy wooden doors of the main building closed behind her with a sound like fate sealing shut. Ahead stretched polished hallways and classrooms filled with the children of Korea's most powerful families. Somewhere among them were those who had known Min-ah, who had witnessed her suffering, who had perhaps caused it.

Soo-jin's fingers brushed against the acceptance letter in her pocket, then drifted to the small photograph of Min-ah she kept alongside it. Her sister's smiling face, frozen in time before this place had destroyed her.

"I'm here now," she whispered to the image, too quietly for anyone passing by to hear.

The second bell rang, more insistent than the first. New students were expected in the auditorium for the welcoming ceremony. Soo-jin joined the flow of bodies moving in that direction, her face a mask of appropriate deference and academic seriousness—the perfect scholarship student eager for opportunity.

Beneath that mask, behind her carefully neutral eyes, a fire burned—stoked by three months of grief, rage, and purpose. A fire that would consume anyone who had harmed her sister. A fire that would not be extinguished until justice had been served.

Soo-jin had entered the lion's den. But unlike Min-ah, she had not come unarmed.