Chapter 6: “Those Who Gaze Too Long”**

**"He doesn't just exist outside the system.

He *warps* it.

Seo Jungho is the kind of monster stories whisper about.

The kind of silence that drowns even the loudest chaos.

You don't fight someone like that.

You pray he never looks your way."**

— Kim Suhyeon, Journal Entry (Redacted)

---

### ***\[1] — Echoes of Blood***

It had been four days since the Cage Incident.

The city didn't sleep anymore.

Whispers followed me in the hallways like moths drawn to a corpse.

"That guy... he beat up a *kill squad,* right?"

"I heard they sent actual assassins after him."

"No, no—he fought their commander. The one with the *sword.* And won."

"He's not even part of any crew. What the hell is he?"

I kept walking.

Hoodie up. Earphones in. Music off.

I didn't need to hear the whispers.

I *felt* them.

They bounced off my skin like dust.

Empty. Meaningless.

Unless someone touched me.

Then it wasn't dust anymore.

It was gasoline.

And I had a match.

---

### ***\[2] — The Flinch***

Kim Suhyeon watched from afar, arms crossed, leaning on a stair railing just above the second-floor balcony.

He watched Jungho walk past a trio of third-years—famous for bullying younger students.

Normally loud, always cracking jokes, puffing chests.

But today?

They stepped aside.

Eyes down.

One of them—Chulsoo—*flinched.*

No threat. No word. No glance from Jungho.

Just his presence.

**Fear by proximity.**

It wasn't learned.

It wasn't taught.

It was *cellular.*

Suhyeon narrowed his eyes.

"…You're not human, Jungho."

But Jungho just walked into the vending machine room like nothing mattered.

Bought his drink.

Sat on the rooftop.

And *stared at the clouds.*

---

### ***\[3] — An Invitation from an Emperor***

That evening, when Jungho returned to his apartment, he found someone waiting.

Not inside.

Outside.

Leaning against the wall of the stairwell.

White blazer.

Black pants.

Slick hair and sharp cheekbones.

A name he recognized immediately.

**Eugene of Workers.**

The brains behind the strongest underground organization in Seoul.

Not just power—but *influence.*

Eugene smiled politely and offered a sleek, white envelope.

"Mr. Seo. It's rare for someone to *disrupt the food chain* so completely without aligning themselves. I'm offering... perspective."

Jungho didn't take the letter.

He just tilted his head.

Eugene continued anyway.

"Let's not pretend you care about the gangs. You don't. But sooner or later, you'll want *space*. Quiet. Resources."

Jungho didn't respond.

Eugene sighed. "Join Workers. We'll give you the shadows you like so much. In return, all you have to do... is not destroy anyone else."

A long pause.

Jungho finally spoke. Low. Quiet.

"If you want peace, stay out of my way."

Then he brushed past Eugene.

Without touching him.

And yet—

Eugene broke into a sweat the moment Jungho passed.

"…Monsters like him shouldn't exist."

---

### ***\[4] — Training Room: Daniel vs. Mirror***

Meanwhile, Daniel trained with his second body late into the night.

Kicks. Pushups. Weights. Sparring simulations.

But it wasn't enough.

Every punch he threw, he imagined Jungho catching it with a single hand.

Every dodge, he imagined Jungho standing still, letting the hit land—only to *not move.*

Daniel finally collapsed on the floor, panting.

His friend Jay offered water. "You okay?"

Daniel nodded.

Then whispered, "Jay… do you think someone could be born stronger than the system?"

Jay blinked. "Stronger than fate?"

Daniel nodded slowly.

Jay's face turned serious.

"…Then they weren't born, Daniel. They were *created.*"

---

### ***\[5] — Rumors: A New Order***

By the weekend, the rumors stopped being rumors.

They became doctrine.

A new rule passed between delinquents, gang leaders, and street crews.

**"Don't provoke Seo Jungho. Ever."**

He wasn't feared like a tyrant.

Tyrants could be killed.

He was feared like a *natural law.*

Like gravity.

Or death.

Some even started calling him by a nickname in whispered tones:

**"The Passive Demon."**

Because he didn't chase you.

But if you got in his way?

You'd vanish.

---

### ***\[6] — A Moment of Humanity***

One rainy Sunday, Jungho sat inside a small comic café near school.

A hot drink in hand.

Manga on the table. *Berserk*, volume 17.

It was peaceful.

Until someone sat across from him.

He looked up.

**Daniel.**

Wearing a hoodie, eyes nervous.

He didn't speak at first.

Just waited.

Jungho raised a brow.

"You want something?"

Daniel shook his head. "I just wanted to thank you. For not hurting people… who don't deserve it."

Jungho blinked once.

Then said something that made Daniel go quiet:

"I *don't* care who deserves it."

Daniel opened his mouth, but Jungho cut him off.

"I just don't feel like moving most of the time."

Daniel left shortly after.

But he didn't feel fear.

Not anymore.

Just… pity.

---

### ***\[7] — The One Who Dares***

But not everyone feared Jungho.

Some took his silence as insult.

Enter: **Ryu Gibaek.**

Third-year. Ex-Yakuza affiliate. 192 cm of pure violence.

He wasn't strong enough to be top dog—but he had pride.

And pride hated silence.

Gibaek watched Jungho walking to school one morning and made his move.

A metal pipe in hand.

Three goons beside him.

He swung hard.

But didn't hit.

Jungho *caught* the pipe without turning around.

Held it loosely.

Then *crushed* it.

With a sound like thunder, the steel crumpled like paper.

Gibaek staggered back.

Jungho turned finally.

No expression.

Just those *dead eyes.*

"Don't make me move."

And with that, he walked off.

The three goons quit school that week.

Gibaek was hospitalized.

And the pipe?

It stayed on school grounds.

Bent like a pretzel.

A warning no one needed translated.

---

### ***\[8] — The Higher-Ups Watch***

In a luxurious hotel far from Seoul, a meeting took place.

Lookism's major players—elite-level bosses—sat around a massive circular table.

On-screen: a photo of Jungho walking casually out of the wreckage of the Culling Unit facility.

One voice, deep and annoyed: "We can't let this continue."

Another, colder: "He's not interfering. Let him burn out."

A third: "Burn out? That *thing* isn't burning. He's *waiting.*"

Then silence.

Until one man spoke.

Soft voice. Almost lazy.

But his eyes were *sharp.*

**Gun.**

"He's not part of our game," he said. "But eventually… the board gets small."

---

### ***\[9] — Seo Jungho's Dream***

That night, for the first time in months, Jungho dreamed.

But it wasn't Earth.

Wasn't Korea.

It was *before.*

He stood in a white space.

God across from him.

Again.

"You've changed," the god said, voice amused.

Jungho said nothing.

The god sighed.

"Why do you sleepwalk through a world so beneath you?"

Jungho finally answered.

"…Because I still remember what it felt like to be weak."

God looked curious. "Do you *miss* it?"

Jungho didn't reply.

Then, the dream ended.

---

### ***\[10] — The Next Storm***

At school the next morning, something changed.

Not with Jungho.

With the *sky.*

The clouds were heavier.

The air electric.

And on his desk, a folded note.

No name.

No signature.

Just a single sentence:

> "He's coming for you. The one who thinks you don't exist."

Jungho folded the paper and threw it out the window.

He didn't care.

But somewhere in Seoul…

A hand clicked on a sniper rifle.

Another flicked a scalpel.

And one pair of eyes—obsidian black—stared at Jungho's photo on a screen.

"…It's time to dissect God."

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