Royal Rumble

Road to Solace (Revamped)

Panting.

Breathing harder.

Thumping her feet harder each step.

One step.

Five steps.

A quarter way down the sandy soccer grounds that spanned out at the side of their school, a red building that sat on a concrete foundation, and she tightened her fists. The moment she spotted his black and red threaded backpack 17-year-old Kim Namjoo lunged forward.

“Greedy bastard!” she yelled from the top of her lungs, breaking off friendly jolts of laughter, loner students striding into another hell of a day, and catching the attention of literally everyone marching toward Seoul High School.

An early morning of dull, ritualistic activities shattered when Namjoo landed on Kim Jongin’s back toppling him halfway over. He yelped, shocked from her predatory attack. Straightening with the strength of a hulk he rebounded up from the forced 90-degree angle. Landing on her feet, Namjoo tightened her hands around him, foreseeing his next move would be to shove her away.

“Get off!” he groaned twisting from side to side.

Students rushed in around them. Forming a circus, a man-made ring depositing them into the role of two wrestlers. Confused but bright-eyed at the excitement of witnessing a fight breaking out the students cheered.

“Topple her over!”

“Don’t let a girl beat you!”

“Kick his !”

Their voices blended, converging like a church chorus on a Sunday morning. Drawing out the musical festivity before service proceeded.

Blocking them out, Namjoo hung on as Jongin fought to fling her off.

“What the hell do you want, you puny fly!” he irritably growled.

“Give the money back!” Namjoo declared.

Gripping her hand and pinching her forefinger Jongin finally managed released himself. Wasting no time shoving her back with force. Namjoo stumbled back five steps. Skidding to a stop before she lost balance from the sheer force of his attack.

Propelling herself forward she pushed him back three steps. Unable to continue when he used his weight to ground himself.

“I said give the money back!” she screamed into his face.

He wrenched her arm, “Are you the school’s dog?” Namjoo winced when he breathed into her face. “Aren’t you embarrassed of yourself? You can barely afford tuition and your grandma is as poor as the homeless guy down the street.” He spat onto the ground, “Playing heroine isn’t going to improve your image. Disgusting.”

The boiling rage instantly consumed her. Her hand swung up before processing the action to her brain. Fist connected with his jaw.

The crowd went wild. There was an inaudible gasp. The following moment Namjoo’s knuckles hurt like a . Jongin turned to face her, his lip cut and bleeding. A mean glare sparked his eye and he immediately snatched the collar of her school uniform. Dragging her forward with dangerous venom seething from his heated breath.

“That’s enough!” A voice declared.

The sudden mute crowd parted and emerged the richest student of the entire school, their classroom leader, Oh Sehun, whom everyone up to. The vote had been unanimous when five students minus Oh Sehun ran for class president thus winning him the seat without choice.

Gruffly staring them down with similarly mean eyes, he shot a sneer toward Jongin. Softening the slightest when his eyes cut to her. Namjoo looked away. Angry for the interruption.

Damn him, too.

Frigging Oh Sehun.

Jongin roughly pushed her away. “Look who saved your again.” He snickered because he knew it would tick her off, because one; he got the last word, two; it wasn’t true. “Your boyfriend.”

Jongin hissed at her then turned to walk off. The motion of it pissed her off so bad Namjoo impulsively dashed after him.

She hated him so much!

Leaping into the air she kicked his behind knocking Jongin onto the ground. The sand swirled around them as he flipped over to sit, push himself up. Namjoo was on him before he could. Forget the skirt. Namjoo never wanted to wear it to school, but the damn policy forced the girls into such uniform. Who cares about shame? None of pride mattered when he’d insulted her grandma.

She would never let that go.

Straddling him Namjoo locked her thighs around his ribs and slammed a fist into his face. Jongin cried out. Winding her arm back Namjoo prepared for another round, was halfway there before she was forcibly hauled off him.

“Stop it!” It was Sehun. His arms were locked around her biceps, and he was too strong for her to fight back. Just like wiping a window clean with a towelette, Sehun dragged her away.

“Let go!” she screamed. Kicking. Trying to grind her heels into the field. All unsuccessfully. “Let go! Goddammit! Sehun, you –”

“What is going on out here?!” A male bellowed.

Alert like traffic horns scaring off morning birds the students flocked toward the school in one big rush, emptying the school field.

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

The slam of the 500 or so page textbook was loud enough to wake a dog. There was nothing special about the principal’s office. It was a tiny utilitarian room with a heavy dark and stubby L-shaped desk organized to the brim with the usual overloaded binders and papers, a cup of pens, a desktop computer on the right in the reach of an arm. A tall window with a direct view of the front of the school and exactly where they had scuffled earlier. The principal had gotten second seat row compared to the students.

The office was a mix of heavy cologne and thick air freshener. Meeting with sweaty students daily probably required a daily dose of artificially cleaned air.

Neither she nor Jongin reacted to the book, which seemed to dissatisfy Principal Soo’s efforts at scaring them. One, they’d been here too many times to count already. Two, no student in this school feared him because he was shoulder level with everyone, and everyone accounted for the entire school. Mr. Short and Stout.

Expressionless, Namjoo and Jongin sat side by side in the most uncomfortable chairs. Two of them plastered right in front of the stubby L-shaped desk. Cushioned back chairs that offered no comfort. Maybe folding chairs would have been a better choice for the white office as similar to an asylum as could be.

Jongin’s face was cut and bruised, his nose swelling already. The ice pack the principal’s secretary had gotten for him was just numbing the pain. He held it very dearly to his face, his aura murderous. Namjoo felt it from beside him like the vibrating of a phone.

“I asked who started it?!” the principal yelled.

Both refused to speak. All Namjoo thought about was that her knuckles hurt really bad. Had she broken something? A look and she saw cracked skin. Faint blue forming around the bone.

ing Jongin.

“Fine,” he huffed giving up. Shaking his fat finger at them, he warned, “If this happens one more time, you two will be suspended and assigned to community service together! And I will be calling your parents. Now go to class.”

Noisily sliding her chair back, Namjoo first left the room. Swinging the door open vehemently without offering to close it. A breath huffed out of her when Jongin bumped into her intentionally as he passed. Glaring at his back Namjoo gritted her teeth. Biting back the urge to jump him again.

“You ok?” Namjoo turned finding Sehun off to the side, leaning against the wall next to the secretary’s room – an office stationed outside of the principal’s and connected by another door.

Swiveling away from him she stomped off. Upset he had interrupted her that morning.

“I talked to the homeroom teacher,” Sehun caught up to her so easily the irritation burned her feet. She hurried on. He followed just as quick. “If you’re not feeling well you can go to the infirmary and sleep.”

She didn’t answer. Tightening her lips because Sehun was not a person to pick a fight with. Contrary to Jongin, with Sehun she would be on the losing end. Always.

“Your hand,” he touched it, “is it ok?”

Violently yanking her hand back, she pushed him away, hard. “Don’t touch me!”

Turning her back to him she stomped off to their classroom. Regretting acting so impulsively when she reached the doorway. Class was in session. The student body stared at her. The teacher, Mrs. Lim, broke off mid-sentence, her strict eyes landing on her through her narrow glasses that curved upward like her eyes.

“How kind of you to join us, Namjoo,” she icily greeted. “Sit down. You’ve missed a lot.”

Namjoo’s gaze cut straight to Jongin in the back of the room. Their seating arrangement was eight rows of double desks. She and Kim freaking Jongin were desk mates per their last names. Three years straight like this and she was near the edge of going mad.

“Namjoo, sit down!” Mrs. Lim ordered.

Swallowing a grunt Namjoo stepped into the room stiffly. Jongin didn’t bother looking at her but locked his foot around the leg of her chair, so that she couldn’t pull it out. Namjoo hissed, tugged some more. Unable to hit him and cause another racket. Namjoo stumbled loudly on the fifth try, nearly flying backwards with the chair and catching the attention of everyone. Again.

The teacher hotly glared.

The students eyed her.

“Namjoo,” she steely said.

Hurriedly sitting, Namjoo annoyingly called out, “I’m sitting!”

A roll of the eyes and the teacher turned to the board to continue explaining a math equation Namjoo was doomed to fail on the surprise quiz tomorrow. She didn’t miss the smug sneer making a line across Jongin’s lips when he turned away.

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

Making a beeline across the cafeteria, Sehun struggled through the overwhelming crowd of hyena hungry students. His eyes set on the lone table in the corner of the cafeteria where only one person was sitting.

Clutching the notebook tightly to his chest, balancing the lunch tray on the other he scurried toward Namjoo. She didn’t look up when he put his tray down, but he caught the hidden roll of her eyes from the movement of her eyelids.

That was ok though. Sehun was used to things like that now.

“Guess what?” he asked swinging his legs over the bench seat to properly sit. “I got notes from the math geek. He said he’d lend it to you until tomorrow.” Flipping through the notebook he put it down, rotated it so she could read, “The notes start here. It’s what you missed.”

Grumbling from within Namjoo latched onto her tray and got up to walk away. Sehun instinctively swiveled to follow. A leg jutted up and over the seat then he hesitated and snatched the notebook ditching his lunch to go after her. He saw her dumping the rest of her unfinished lunch into the trash can by the door, tossing the red tray onto the available steel cart, and stomp off.

She was headed outside. To the circle the soccer field. To the side garden of lush flowers and studded live Oaks. One or the other.

Running down the stairs after her, he shouted, “Where are you going?”

She didn’t answer. Just what he expected.

“Namjoo!” Sehun continued chase.

Namjoo picked up her pace moving faster and faster until she was running. He went after her. Surprisingly, she was much faster. He watched her make an arch around the soccer field, skidded to a stop, and ran the opposite direction to meet her head on. Charging forward like a bull toward the red. Almost colliding into her, barely.

Caught off guard he saw her eyes widening when she spotted him and pivoted to proceed in the other direction. He was near enough for him to close the gap between them. Huffing and panting by the time he circled her forcing her to a halt. His throat burned as he inhaled, exhaled. Deeply each time. Namjoo cocked her head back impatient with him.

“What do you want?” she coldly snapped.

“I got you notes.” He held up the notebook still out of breath. He was literally dying. She slapped it out of his hand. The math geek’s green notebook landed on the soccer field meaninglessly.

“I don’t want it.”

Sehun looked at her, his brows dipping pitifully. “I just wanted to help you.”

“I don’t want your help. Don’t need it. Not ever.” Namjoo spat right into his face.

An inner battle conceded inside him. Don’t be injured. Don’t be angry. Namjoo was just blowing off long overdue steam. He owed it to her.

“So, stay away from me. I don’t ever want to talk to you again!” she raged.

His gaze lay on the ground. Something he had heard one too many times. Each time she said it the words weighed more. The threat became realer every day. Namjoo really didn’t look at him. Didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence. Their only interaction was one-sided.

Sehun watched her wheel around to leave him behind. The moment they graduated, which was a year away, he wouldn’t see her again. The fork in the road would continue forking out until Namjoo disappeared so far it would be impossible to locate her.

Sehun didn’t want that to happen.

“If I don’t, who will?!” he shouted after her. “You don’t even have friends! You think that rat, Jongin, is going to be your friend?! Beating each other to a pulp everyday doesn’t make you friends, Namjoo! There’s going to be no one on your side, but me!”

Pivoting, Namjoo stared with pinched eyes. “No. I have a friend. Just not you.”

“That shaggy haired kid?” Sehun blasted. “He’s just a loser, Namjoo!”

A light and almost weightless bump hit his head. Confused, Sehun glanced down to see a soccer ball dribbling past his feet. No one was on the field but him and Namjoo. Everyone was too busy socializing and eating inside the school. Enjoying their chatter, drowning in laughter, and ogling over a crush, a boyfriend, a girlfriend.

Sehun had none of that. He wasn’t interested in the other boys or girls. Those who were only interested in getting close to him, take advantage of him, the money available to him. If they were friends with him, he would foot the bill they’d never worry about their allowance. Everyone could eat whatever snacks they craved, ride the expensive cars at his expense, come to his house and marvel over the suite rooms, the indoor pool, the two kitchens, the four fridges.

But Namjoo had never been an artificial friend.

He wasn’t monetary value to her.

A shadow swept past. The tall figure bent down to swoop the ball up. Looking up to see his replacement broadly grinning. Playfully giving him a salute as he walked backward toward Namjoo.

“Good afternoon, class president,” he lightheartedly greeted, “I’m Loser.”

Sehun’s frown grew terse.

“He bothering you again?” Park Chanyeol of the soccer team who’d been at the doctor’s this morning tilted his head in question.

“Nah,” Namjoo replied.

“Did you skip lunch?” Chanyeol asked.

“I ate. There’s glass noodles today.” Namjoo said.

“Nice,” Chanyeol commented naturally turning with her to head inside. “I hope there’s still some left. I want to eat.”

Their voices faded into the distance the further they walked, the more they left him in the shadows like a grain of dirt with no meaning just like the geek’s notebook on the ground.

Sehun grinded his teeth.

That should be him. He was her friend. Not lanky Park Chanyeol who always third wheeled to his house for the heck of it.

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Comments

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Dyoooo
#1
Chapter 7: ohh this is so good
blackheartz
#2
Chapter 4: What Sehun doing.. You can't force kiss anyone T.T
Luweiweiwei29 #3
Chapter 4: Woah this story gives me feels .
Plz update soon authornim.
yeolmyheart
#4
Chapter 2: my god
but im rooting for chanyeol dhsksksk
yeolmyheart
#5
Chapter 1: YES SIS YES
LEGGO
cant wait to read next!