12 Years Ago — Elite Training Camp for Heirs and Elites
The skies above the elite training camp burned with a mix of golden fire and solemn gray — like war and youth colliding under the weight of expectation. This wasn't just any summer program. It was a crucible, a battlefield cloaked in discipline, where children of empires were forged into monarchs of industry, warriors of strategy, and hunters of ambition.
In this camp, filled with sons and daughters of billionaires, political heirs, and corporate sharks-to-be, Jihoon was the silent storm. Unbeaten. Alone. Terrifying.
He didn't wear the expensive shoes the others flaunted. Didn't flash his status or chase their approval. While the rich heirs and polished prodigies boasted about fathers and fortunes, Jihoon kept his head down and his fists up.
He was a storm moving through the crowd — quiet, until he hit.
A legend in the blood-splattered halls of combat simulations and tactical drills.
He wasn't part of any team — never needed one. And still, he remained at the top: feared, hated, envied.
For Jihoon — or Jay, as he was known here — this place was familiar. He'd been sent here more than once, and he knew its brutal rhythm like the back of his hand.
But this year, something was different.
Something... or rather, someone.
It was her first time here. Cha Hayeon. With her usual entourage of spoiled, pampered rich girls, she arrived like any other princess meant to be humbled by the trials of this camp.
But fate had different plans.
Jihoon had long learned to ignore the whispers and games of the other trainees.
Until today.
Because today's activity was the Paintball Accuracy Elimination — a forest-based combat simulation.
The arena was cruel by design. A place where trust went to die, and alliances dissolved with the pull of a trigger.
Paintball guns were the tool, but ego was the weapon.
And in the midst of green shadows and broken branches, a different kind of war was always being fought.
And Jihoon, as usual, was the top target.
The judges never said it out loud, but the message was clear:
Beating him meant four extra points.
That meant power, recognition, privilege.
So today, a group of envious kids hatched a dirty plan — to drug his drink.
It took a lot. Jihoon wasn't easy to knock out. But they managed.
The drug coursed through his veins midway into the game — his vision blurring, breath shallow, and reflexes slower than usual.
He should have known.
He always checked.
But today... he was tired. Maybe too confident. Maybe careless.
His limbs ached. His body felt heavy. Breathing was like dragging knives through his lungs.
He stumbled deeper into the forest, collapsing behind a tree.
"Shit..."
His thoughts were slow. Clouded.
He blinked through the dizziness.
This isn't right. Someone... spiked it.
From the bushes, the group of traitors emerged. Quiet. Cautious. One of them raised his gun.
"He's out. He won't retaliate. Who wants to shoot him?"
"I'll do it," the leader smirked. "He's done anyway."
Jay's fingers twitched.
Do it. I'll make you regret this.
But before they could pull the trigger—
Bang.
A paintball struck him in the chest.
He froze.
"Player 47 — OUT."
"What the—"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
One by one, every member of the group got shot.
The announcements came quickly:
"Player 36 — OUT."
"Player 52 — OUT."
Panic. Chaos.
They spun around.
"Who the hell was that?!"
Jay forced his heavy eyes open. The world still swayed, but he could see shadows moving fast. Trees rustling—
And then she jumped down.
A girl.
Small in frame.
But she moved like something untamed — like wind with a heartbeat. Like trouble that smiled before it struck.
She rose from her crouch with deliberate calm, paintball gun resting lazily against her shoulder like it was merely an accessory to her attitude.
Her hair danced with the breeze.
Her lips curled into a smile that could split a man's pride in half.
Her first time in the camp, and she made an entrance no one would forget.
"Who the hell are you?!" one of the boys yelled.
She tilted her head slightly, a slow smile forming at the corner of her mouth. Her gaze, cool and unbothered, swept over him like he was background noise.
Then she spoke — calm, composed, and with a quiet edge that could cut glass.
"Does it matter?" she said, voice smooth as silk wrapped around a blade.
"I'm just another player... same as you.
The only difference?"
She took a single step forward, her combat boots brushing the gravel with a soft crunch.
"You're out."
"You attacked from behind! That's cowardly!" they screamed.
Hayeon laughed — loud, wild, her hands on her stomach like she'd just heard the joke of the year.
"Oh really? And drugging someone to win a game — what do you call that? Heroism?"
Jihoon blinked slowly.
She was defending him.
Him.
"You needed drugs to take this guy down?" she gestured at him dramatically.
"He looks like he hasn't eaten in days, and you still couldn't face him like men. If you need chemicals to beat that, what would you do if I was your opponent?"
Everyone stared, shocked.
"Do you even know who he is?" someone mumbled.
"He looks innocent," Hayeon shrugged.
"Like a lost puppy."
The crowd lost it.
"She's crazy."
"She thinks Jay looks innocent?"
"She doesn't know who he is."
"Poor thing."
Even Jihoon — still recovering — heard her.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
She crouched beside him, tilted her head, and stared into his eyes.
"You okay?" she asked.
He didn't respond.
She leaned closer.
"Are you in pain?"
He blinked once and then shook his head slightly, the drug still dulling his senses.
"Still trying to act tough?" she smiled.
"Tch. Men."
She turned to the group.
"Give me the antidote," she ordered.
"Even if you don't... he's almost fine now," one muttered.
She glared.
"Almost fine? Are you stupid?" she snapped.
"No one gets out of a high dose that fast. Look at his face. Give. Me. The. Antidote."
They handed it over.
She fed it to him herself, one hand under his chin, tilting the bottle gently.
Jihoon watched her through half-lidded eyes, spellbound.
Her fingers were warm.
Her defiance — even warmer.
He drank, never blinking.
She was... adorable, he thought.
No one had ever treated him like this.
With the antidote kicking in, Jihoon slowly stood up.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
She smiled.
"Good."
He turned to leave.
"She helped me. The least I could do was let her go. Somehow… she disarmed me without even trying."
But then—
"Player 7 — OUT."
Jihoon froze.
What?
He turned, stunned.
There she stood — gun aimed at him, playful and unapologetic.
"I'm sorry," she said, eyes twinkling.
"But I had to. My mom said if I didn't score well here, she'd send me back to this hell again and again."
"What the hell?" he muttered.
He blinked at her, disbelief carved into every muscle.
You shot me?
"Hey, don't look at me like that," she added.
"I gave you the antidote, didn't I? You were back to normal when I hit you. No cheating involved."
"I followed every rule. So this—" she pointed at the scoreboard, "—is fair and square."
The others were speechless.
They had never seen Jay — the undefeated, merciless Jay — outwitted, let alone eliminated, by someone who looked like a breeze and laughed like mischief.
He didn't speak. Just kept watching her.
"Come on, admit it. I was good."
Jihoon's eyes stayed locked on hers.
And in that moment — under the bleeding sun and rustling trees, with a thousand unsaid things hanging between them—
Jihoon fell.
Not to the ground.
But somewhere deeper.
Somewhere he never expected.
He smirked.
Finally, someone wild enough to ruin his world.
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