Chapter 14 : A Reputation Untarnished

The next day, Jinhyuk met with one of his professors. A middle-aged man with round glasses, who—despite looking worn out from grading endless student reports—still welcomed Jinhyuk with a professional smile.

"How's your thesis coming along?" the professor asked without preamble.

Jinhyuk nodded slightly and took a seat.

"It's going well so far, sir."

But that wasn't why he had come today.

"There's something I want to ask you, sir," he said hesitantly. "How do you fix... a reputation that's never been tarnished?"

The professor frowned. "What... do you mean?"

"I don't even know how to explain it," Jinhyuk exhaled. Then he recounted everything that had happened.

The professor's face turned serious. His first reaction, however, was disbelief. "That's... completely absurd."

Jinhyuk nodded slowly.

The professor fell silent for a moment, arms crossed as he pondered. "I've heard about the incident, and I had no idea you were involved. That means your personal image didn't really impact the university's reputation. If anything, the university itself might've made things worse by mishandling it."

"Exactly..." Jinhyuk massaged his temples. "I don't know what to do, sir. It's all so ridiculous."

That was what disturbed him the most. Not just the accusation, but the absurd way everything unfolded—as if logic and facts could be ignored with a single command from above.

"So... do you have any advice on what I should do?" Jinhyuk asked quietly. "I'm a final-year student. If I get expelled now, all my efforts will be for nothing."

The professor shook his head. "Right... you're on a scholarship, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And you've been living in the dorms since you started school?"

"Yes, it's part of the scholarship requirements. It's been nearly eight semesters."

"That means both the university and the scholarship foundation have closely monitored you. The school should have your records—academic and disciplinary. Try using those. If there's no record of misconduct and your grades are solid, then at the very least, it's something you can use as leverage."

The professor paused, then continued in a lower voice. "If this is about reputation... then the best way to fix yours is simple—just show them a better one."

Jinhyuk looked at him. The sentence was simple, but something about it struck a chord.

Show them a better reputation.

"Thank you, sir," he said. He didn't know how to do it yet. But for the first time in days, he felt like he had something to stand on.

---

Afternoon approached.

Campus matters were starting to settle, and it was time for Jinhyuk to begin his part-time job.

The sky over Seoul was a pale gray. Faint sunlight filtered between tall buildings. On the lower level of the Shinryu Martial Arts Complex, the atmosphere was still quiet. Only a few people passed by. The sound of cleaning equipment scraping across the floor echoed in a strangely calming rhythm.

Jinhyuk was in his janitor's uniform, complete with a contract employee ID card. He stood in front of the cleaning lockers, nodding politely to a few people changing their clothes. Some nodded back briefly; most ignored him.

"I'm Jinhyuk. First day on the job," he said softly with a smile.

No one really cared. In a high-class place like this, the janitorial crew kept to themselves, creating a quiet, closed-off environment. Most of them were older men or laborers with limited options. Cheerfulness was considered odd here.

A middle-aged man with a hard face and a scar across his chin approached and gave him a cold look.

"This place runs tight. Don't make mistakes, kid. We don't want to get dragged down by anything you mess up."

Jinhyuk gave a small nod.

"Yes, sir."

The day moved on. Jinhyuk swept, mopped, and organized training equipment for the afternoon and evening sessions. Though just a janitor, he kept a sharp eye on everything happening in the different parts of the dojo—basic training rooms, body conditioning areas, and the mixed-technique section. Unfortunately, the Advanced Martial Arts section was off-limits.

While working, Jinhyuk occasionally glanced at the students practicing. Their movements were swift, disciplined, precise—a sharp contrast to his own life, which felt like it was unraveling. Some instructors were strict, yelling and correcting stances without hesitation.

He didn't know why, but watching them focus and train without distractions made him feel a little inspired. Amid the chaos in his mind, at least one part of the world was functioning the way it should.

As he mopped near the central training room, a student accidentally stepped on the freshly cleaned floor. Dirt reappeared. It was a high school girl, likely a teenager, with a good physique, a beautiful face, and long, glossy black hair.

"Ah... sorry," the student said quickly before hurrying off.

Jinhyuk just nodded silently and returned to mopping the same spot.

"I see you've been enjoying the view of the pretty girls here. I noticed you peeking in."

A raspy voice came from behind. He turned to see the scarred man leaning on his own mop handle, not far away.

"Oh, no... I was just curious about how they train," Jinhyuk answered quietly.

"No worries. You're young—it's normal to get distracted by pretty girls. Just be careful. Most students here are kids of powerful people. One wrong move and you're finished."

Jinhyuk nodded and swallowed hard at the warning.

The man walked away, leaving Jinhyuk alone with his thoughts.

Time dragged on. His hands kept working, but his mind replayed the conversation from that morning. The professor's words echoed in his chest. Show them a better image.

But how could he show a better image when his presence barely registered at all?

He tried answering that question by working more thoroughly. Cleaner. Faster. Better.

So what method can I use to improve my image? I don't have anything particularly impressive to show that would make people at school see me as a decent person...

As evening fell, fatigue began to weigh on him. His arms and back ached. His work shoes were soaked with mop water and sweat. But he kept going—rearranging scattered sparring gear, wiping sweat stains off the floor, making sure every corner looked spotless again.

He returned to the locker area, changed clothes, and packed up. His first day was done. No issues. No chaos.

After receiving his daily wage in a brown envelope, he gave a slight bow to the scarred man.

The man didn't say anything but gave him a short nod.

Not exactly a warm welcome. But not rejection either.

In this small world, maybe that was the most realistic form of recognition.

---

Night fell.

After ensuring all the rooms were clean and the supplies returned, Jinhyuk stepped out of the building with his pay in hand. It wasn't much—but enough to cover basic needs for the week.

As he was about to head home, a chill ran down his spine. Someone was watching him—from the basement parking structure.

He froze and stared into the shadows.

"Hello?" he called out.

The figure bolted.

Jinhyuk gave chase, weaving between a narrow alley and a concrete divider. But the figure was faster and vanished into the darkness. Jinhyuk stopped and clicked his tongue.

"Probably just a prankster…"

But as he turned to head back to the main road—

Swish!

A cold sensation slashed across his neck. He didn't have time to react. Something struck the back of his head.

His vision went black.

He lost consciousness.

---

He woke up cold, with a throbbing head.

His eyes squinted under the dim ceiling light. The sound of dripping water echoed in an empty space. His hands were tied. His legs, too.

An old warehouse. The smell of rusted metal. And he had no idea where he was.

Jinhyuk tried to recall what happened—and who had brought him here.

But as the heavy iron door at the far end of the room creaked open, Jinhyuk realized one thing:

He had been kidnapped.

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