The sun blazed down on Hwarang High, glinting off the dojos that surrounded the courtyard. You could hear the kicks and yells of students practicing inside. But on the third floor, things were quiet except for the sound of a rooftop access door creaking shut. Baek Seung-Ho lay sprawled on the concrete roof, one arm draped over his head and the other covering his eyes from the sun. He looked like a ss in his wrinkled school uniform and a tie that was barely hanging on. His martial arts belt was worn and dirty, making him stand out even more among the polished kids at school. He casually chewed on so grass, his dark hair falling over his half-closed eyes. To passerby, he seed like the ultimate slacker—the disappointnt of Hwarang High.
Then, the rooftop door swung open, breaking the calm. “Baek Seung-Ho!” a sharp voice called out. It was Kang Soo-Jin, the president of Class 2-A, arms crossed and her ponytail waving as she stomped toward him, her glare icy. “You’re ditching class again?” she snapped, clearly frustrated. “Do you care that midterms are coming up or that you’re failing history?”
Baek didn’t budge. He yawned and stretched. “History is just old battles. Sleeping through it sounds better.”
Soo-Jin’s face turned red. “This isn’t funny! You’re dragging our class average down. If you don’t get it together, I’ll report you!”
He plucked the grass from his mouth, tossing it aside. “Go for it. They’ll just make sweep the dojo again. I can handle that.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the bell rang, signaling the end of the third period. “You’re hopeless,” she muttered, turning on her heel and heading back inside.
Baek smirked and closed his eyes again. The roof was his escape, free from the noise of the Taekwondo Club and the wrestling team's practices. Up here, he could just chill out without worrying about anyone's expectations.
By lunchti, the cafeteria was loud and chaotic. Tables overflowed with kids grabbing trays full of rice, kimchi, and steaming hot stew. The air slled of soy and sesa, mixed with hints of sweat from morning workouts. At one end of the room, the martial arts teams were in their elent—Taekwondo with their sleek uniforms, Judo with sleeves rolled up, and Boxing with their hands wrapped in tape. They laughed with confidence, radiating a vibe of future champions.
Baek sat alone at a window table, his tray barely touched except for a half-drunk soda. He lounged back in his chair with one leg on the table, scrolling through his phone and watching ani clips on mute.
“Hey, that’s him, right?” a voice said from nearby.
Baek’s thumb stopped as he sensed the atmosphere in the room shift. He didn’t look up, but he heard footsteps—three of them—approaching with a purpose that silenced nearby conversations.
A shadow fell over his tray. “You Baek Seung-Ho?” The voice was brash and carried a city accent.
Baek glanced up, unimpressed. A new kid stood over him, stocky with a buzz cut and a cocky stance. His uniform was sharp, but the tape on his knuckles gave away his boxing background. Two others flanked him, arms crossed with smirks.
“Who’s asking?” Baek said, popping the tab on his soda.
“Lee Min-Suk,” the kid replied, grinning. “Junior national boxing champ. Just transferred here. Heard you’re so kind of legend—the ‘slacker in the dirty white belt.’ Thought I’d see what you’ve got.”
Baek took a sip from his can, feeling its coolness. “Whatever hype you heard is overrated. Go pick a fight with the Taekwondo Club. They’ll welco the challenge.”
Min-Suk’s grin faltered, but he leaned in closer. “Nah, I want you. Word on the street is you’ve got skills but are too lazy to show them. Let’s see if you’re all talk.”
The cafeteria was dead quiet now, all eyes on them. Students whispered, “Is that the Ghost Belt guy?” “He’ll get smoked.” “I heard he’s crazy.”
Baek sighed and pocketed his phone. “I’m just trying to eat. Take your ego sowhere else.”
Min-Suk’s face twitched, and he straightened up. “Fine. Let’s make it quick. Courtyard. Unless you’re scared.”
Baek glanced at Min-Suk’s taped knuckles and then at the curious faces around him. The usual scene replayed in his mind: a new kid with a big mouth. He stood up, stretching a bit, letting his belt sway at his waist.
“Not scared,” he said casually. “Just bored.”
The courtyard was a sunlit space lined with cherry blossom trees. Students rushed out of the cafeteria, forming a circle around the makeshift fighting area. They buzzed with excitent, phones ready to record. Soo-Jin pushed to the front, arms crossed and muttering about how he’d ruin everything.
Min-Suk bounced on his feet, fists raised. He looked ready to go, clearly a seasoned fighter. His buddies shouted, “Wreck him, Min-Suk!”
Baek stood relaxed on the opposite side, hands still in pockets. He looked way too chill for a fight.
“Co on, slacker,” Min-Suk taunted, quick to jab at the air. “Show what you got!”
Baek studied Min-Suk’s stance, noting he was set up to throw jabs. He stepped forward casually, still with hands in pockets.
“Last chance to walk away,” Baek said low.
Min-Suk lunged, throwing out a quick left jab aid straight at Baek’s jaw. The crowd gasped, expecting a hit.
Baek moved, not so much dodging as just shifting a bit to the side. The punch barely brushed past his cheek as Min-Suk lost his balance and crashed into a lunch table nearby, trays going flying.
Laughter erupted around them. “What was that?!” “Did you see him move?”
Min-Suk scrambled up, red-faced and brushing off rice. “Lucky shot,” he snapped, resetting his stance and looking ready to go again.
Baek shrugged, still relaxed. “Keep going if you want.”
Min-Suk charged harder, throwing a series of punches that were good—no doubt about that. Baek didn’t flinch. He flowed smoothly, making each punch miss by a hair. His hands stayed in his pockets, giving off an aura of boredom.
As Min-Suk’s breathing got heavier and his punches more wild, he finally threw one big uppercut. Baek stepped inside, nudging Min-Suk off balance, and sent him crashing to the ground, scraping his knuckles on the dirt.
The crowd went wild, phones capturing every mont. “No way! He didn't even hit him!”
Baek stood there, barely breaking a sweat. He took a sip from his can, crouching slightly to offer a hand. “We done?”
Min-Suk knocked it away, scrambling up, humiliated. “This isn’t the end!” he spat, backing off with his friends.
Baek walked away, aiming his empty soda can at a bin and making the shot perfectly. The crowd parted for him, whispers trailing behind. “That’s the Ghost Belt.” “Unbelievable.” “He can’t just be a white belt.”
Soo-Jin watched as he left, her jaw tight but her eyes lingering, more intrigued than annoyed.
At the edge of the courtyard, hidden by a cherry blossom tree, a woman in a business suit was on a call. She ended it, watching Baek as he left. “Yes, Director. The rumors seem to be true,” she said softly, her focus intense.
Later that afternoon, Baek found himself on the tatami mats of the community center, surrounded by a group of excited elentary kids. They were in fresh doboks, all smiles and energy. Sunlight stread through the old windows, lighting up the room.
“Like this, Sensei Baek!” shouted a girl with pigtails, trying a front kick. She was wobbly but clearly having fun.
Baek smiled, adjusting her posture with gentle nudges. “Almost, Hye-Jin. Keep your hips square. It’s like you’re reaching for the moon.”
The kids giggled, trying to copy him as he moved through the group, calm and collected—nothing like the slacker vibe everyone knew at school. Here, he was steady and present, his white belt swaying as he taught.
A young boy pulled at Baek's sleeve. “Sensei, why’s your belt so dirty? Don't you want a black one?”
Baek hesitated, the question getting to him for a brief mont. He ruffled the boy's hair. “This one’s special. No need for anything else.”
The kids didn’t press further, focused on their next drill. Baek observed them, lost in thought for a mont. He rembered a ti on a mountain, a wise old monk had said, “Rember the moves but feel the fight. This belt matters but it’s about heart.”
Baek blinked, coming back to the present. “Alright, everyone! Let’s line up and try that kick again!”
At Hwarang High, as classes wrapped up, the word about the courtyard fight had spread like wildfire. In the Taekwondo dojo, team captain Jin Hae-Won stood impressed yet frustrated. “So nobody in a white belt made us look bad,” he told his teammates, his expression fierce. “This school is ours. No slacker’s gonna steal our spotlight before the Trials.”
The team nodded in agreent, their determination intense. Jin’s gaze drifted toward the dojo window. “Baek Seung-Ho,” he muttered, “who the hell are you?”
anwhile, the community center's lights grew dim as the kids filed out, waving at Baek. He locked the door and slung a worn backpack over his shoulder, stepping into the quiet street as the sky turned to purple. Walking slowly with his hands in his pockets, his white belt catching the light, he noticed a figure lurking in the shadows.
The man wore a traditional hanbok, and although his face was hidden, his posture was formal. “Master Park’s successor lives,” the man murmured, a mix of respect and sothing deeper in his tone.
Baek didn’t catch on. He slipped in his earbuds as an ani the played, ready for whatever the night had in store as he walked ahead, his steps light and his belt swinging with each stride.
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