On the first volunteer club meeting of the year, Suho knew that everyone was wondering why he was there.

His reputation was the tall kid who only knew how to beat things with brute strength. So why was he standing with them in this dusty corner of campus instead of going to one of the sparring clubs…?

It was written all over their faces.

“Okay kids,” the supervising professor said, clapping his hands together and getting their attention, “welcome to the volunteer club. Since this is the first day, I’ll give you all a brief idea of what we do here.”

Suho listened to him raptly. To everyone else, it wasn't particularly captivating. But his hands were twitching, itching to get ahold of a broom or something. Because that was what he did all the time in the village. Whatever the villagers needed assistance with, he was there. And it was the only thing that made him comfortable these days. His dorm was spotless, even with a giant dog shedding all over it.

“Now, would anybody like to take the temple—”

Suho’s hand was in the air so fast that a gust of wind rushed over the heads of the other volunteers.

“…Okay, then, student Lim Suho will take care of the temple assignments.”

The cadets subconsciously flinched as they saw him smile for the first time, even if it was only a tiny glimmer of one. They had never imagined his face even being capable of that.

When it came to a temple, there wasn't anything he couldn't do. He’d lived with Jun for almost nine years now.

“Then, for the other assignments…”

⊕

“Y-you’re the one who’s going to help us?”

The young monk who greeted Suho at the entrance to the temple stared up at him, nonplussed. He was already infamous on campus. Whispers traveled fast in this industry, even if you had no interest in the latest news.

“Yes,” Suho replied.

He was holding an old broom, causing a weird contrast to his school uniform—a uniform that usually denoted wealth and influence.

“Just tell me where to clean.”

“Uh, h-hold on one second.”

The monk turned around and headed inside. Looking for someone who’d be able to handle this better.

Suho glanced around at the empty grounds. The temple was small—probably built so the school could say it was making religious accommodations for the students. But just being there made him relax a little.

“Um, you can just start wherever,” the monk said, hurrying back. “Sorry if that’s vague, but—”

“Okay.”

Suho nodded and immediately, his gaze sharpened.

He put the broom down and began to sweep.

Normally.

At a pace so ordinary that the monk watching felt weird. He thought Suho would zoom across the grounds and get it done in a minute. But the student that might be the second strongest in the school was just… sweeping like anybody’s grandpa.

His eyes were completely focused, though. Meticulously taking in every detail. The place obviously hadn't been cleaned properly in a while.

“Th-thanks,” the monk said.

Suho nodded, not breaking concentration on his task. Awkwardly, the silence stretched on. The monk finally stepped away and headed inside, leaving him there to do his work. Assuming he’d be gone after an hour or so.

But when he came back outside a couple hours later, Suho was still there.

The entire courtyard had been swept as clean as the day it had been made—if not more so. He was now working on the outer walls, wiping them down with a rough brush and a bucket of water he’d dug out from who knows where.

He at first had wanted to tell Suho to slack off and go home—this wasn't necessary, even for the volunteer club. But when he approached and saw the kid’s sleeves rolled up and hair held back with a bandanna, he swallowed his words and just told him he’d get him an apron to protect his uniform.

Suho thanked him and kept going.

So all day, Suho was at the temple, clad in a tacky old apron, cleaning the entire place like some kind of one-man professional service.

He emerged at sunset, duster in hand. The monks had gotten used to him and let him inside to tidy up too. He was a child with a strange presence. Strong, but disarming. Like a grizzly bear that just demanded you get up for a second so he could sweep the floor under your feet.

The temple practically shined in the slanting sunlight. He inspected his work with dissatisfaction. There were still places to work on next time.

“You worked hard today,” the head monk, an older man, said, stopping under the doorway.

“Yes, you too,” Suho replied, bowing politely. “I’ll return the apron—”

“No, no, keep it.”

The monk chuckled lightly.

“It was getting no use anyway. Take it.”

“…Thank you.”

“Hoho, what a nice young lad. Now get going and get some rest.”

“Yes.”

The monk turned away, heading back inside. Suho quietly took off the apron—a really ostentatious graphic of a roaring tiger on its front—and folded it up.

He stepped away from the temple, heading back towards the rail station. But just outside of the platform, Suho stopped.

“…And what are you going to do about it?”

He turned his head, listening for the muffled sounds of voices and snickering.

“What was his name again? Does he even go here?”

Again, a few people laughing among themselves. Suho turned a corner around the back of the platform. Outside, three male students were around one cadet who was much shorter, following behind him.

The shorter cadet was slouched over, wearing outdated round glasses, and was obviously a couple sizes less fit than the rest. His nametag read “Lee Dongil”. And by the color of the school insignia on his uniform, he was a third year in the hunter class.

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He was grimacing, watching the other three smirk and flick ash from their cigarettes at him.

“…This is a non-smoking campus,” he muttered halfheartedly.

“Wow, who cares.”

“These volunteer club kids are always the same. So funny.”

“Seriously. I won’t ever get why they do shit for free.”

They snickered among themselves. The third year shrunk back, but the tallest of the group—Yoo Minchul, as his nametag read—had his arm slung over his shoulder, keeping him from going anywhere.

“Just stop—”

“Listen, senior, it’s not like I hate you or anything, you know?” he said. “You’re just funny. Right?”

He blew a cloud of smoke in Dongil’s face. He bit his lip and forced himself to nod.

“…Right.”

They all laughed again.

“Where should we take him next? I’m bored.”

“I dunno, maybe—”

They rounded the corner and ran smack dab into someone even taller than all of them.

“What the—”

“Watch where you’re going—!”

“Fuck, it’s…”

Their anger in the moment finally morphed into realization at the familiar figure. Their eyes flicked down to his nametag just to make sure.

Lim Suho. Minchul immediately pasted a smile on his face.

“Sorry man,” he said. “Didn't mean to bump you. Just passing through. See you around.”

Suho stepped to the side, continuing to block his path. He had thought he recognized them, but it was even clearer up close. He’d read through their profiles in the student handbook. And he’d seen them hanging out with Han Jaejin the other day, outside of class.

Annoyance flashed across the asshole’s expression.

“You got a problem?” he asked, looking up at him.

He glanced at Dongil.

“That’s my senior,” he said.

An awkward second of silence passed.

“Yeah, he’s our senior,” Minchul responded.

“No, my senior,” Suho said. “The volunteer club.”

They stared at him for a moment. And then a smile spread on Minchul’s face again.

“You’re in the volunteer club?” he asked. “Wow. What a surprise, if I do say so myself.”

He stepped forward.

“What an admirable choice. Helping people out for free… I could never do that.”

He flicked his cigarette butt away. Suho watched it fly and land in the grass.

“You’re funny.”

He blew a cloud of smoke up at Suho. Waiting for his expression to cringe.

Suho was still as a statue. He stared at the cigarette, fizzling out on the ground. Sparking, flickering, glowing with its last orange embers…

In the back of Suho’s mind, he saw it in an ashtray, among piles of others, spilling dust and grime onto an old wooden table. A calloused hand reached to take it again—

A bolt of pain rang through the inside of his skull, lightning hot. He flinched, going to hold his head, but suddenly—

Suho froze with his hand midair. He brought it down slowly, calmly, and straightened back up.

It was like the silence of space had gone over him.

And everyone else.

His grey eyes were flat. He didn't normally express much, but the total lack of feeling on his face now made everyone take a step back.

It didn't seem natural for a human to look like that.

“What the fuck’s up with you—?!”

Minchul’s voice suddenly hitched like he’d run out of air. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs wouldn't expand. He clawed at his neck. Nothing was working.

He looked back, searching for help. The others were in the same condition. Only Dongil seemed physically unaffected—just freaked out that something was happening around him.

Minchul turned to Suho, who was staring at him with tired, unfocused eyes—like he wasn't all there. He forced a step forward and punched him in the chest.

Thump. Nothing. Far too light.

Thump. Even worse this time.

He tried desperately to breathe, and raised his fist one more time.

Thump.

…

There was no energy left in him.

His legs buckled.

“Suho!” Dongil called, coming back to his senses. “Whatever this is, stop!”

Suho didn't respond. It didn't seem like he’d even heard anything.

“Hey! Suho!”

Still nothing.

Dongil was sweating like crazy, more nervous than he’d ever been. What could he even do about one of the strongest kids on rampage?

He shoved his hands in his pockets and dug out the first thing he found—his phone.

“Quit it!” he shouted.

Dongil chucked his phone at Suho. He might not have been a strong member of the hunter department, but he still was a student at National. The phone hit Suho dead center on his forehead, pushing him off balance and sending him crashing back.

Finally, the suffocating atmosphere seemed to lift from the other students. Minchul gasped for air, feeling like he’d never tasted anything sweeter.

Suho groaned and rubbed his forehead. He pushed himself up and looked around.

And froze.

Everyone was on the ground, coughing or heaving, except for Dongil. They were looking at him with scared and angry eyes.

And he didn't remember anything.

You’ve gone and been disruptive again.

Another pang of pain went through his head. Every time he felt like he remembered something, it would move further beyond his reach.

He spotted the phone in the grass, probably the thing that had hit him. He looked over at Dongil, who gulped.

“That’s mine,” he said. “Sorry.”

Suho grabbed it and stood, pushing past the confusion.

“Here, senior.”

He handed it over.

“…Thanks.”

Dongil took it. He tried to hide the way his hands were shaking, his body filled with adrenaline. Something back then, even though it hadn't been aimed at him, had been dangerous. So dangerous that his brain was screaming for him to back off, even now.

Suho noticed despite Dongil’s best efforts to conceal what he was thinking. He bit the inside of his lip, racked with guilt. What had happened? Why couldn't he recall?

“Did I say something strange to you?” he asked.

“N-no,” Dongil responded. “You didn't say anything at all.”

“I see.”

That didn't alleviate his concerns much. He looked back at the others. They were recovering, though still clearly shocked. Minchul glared up at him with eyes filled with anger. Suho couldn't blame him. Their suffering only made him feel even more guilty. He must've done something weird.

Again.

“I have to go,” he said. He didn't think he could stand in his skin right there for much longer. “Please call the nurse to come check up on them. And I’m very sorry for whatever I did.”

“No, you don't have to apolo—”

Suho rushed off before Dongil could even finish his sentence.

“—gize.”

He jumped on the train just as it pulled into the station, grateful that the timing was right. He had to leave; every cell in his body was crawling, unsettled, confused. He should've stayed and taken responsibility—waited for the nurse, not left Dongil there with people who normally tormented him, straightened out whatever grudges they might have—but he couldn't. He wasn't the type to panic, but this might be the closest he’d been to that kind of feeling in a long time.

Luckily the train car was empty. He rode it back to campus in silence, head down, listening as the automated voice announced the stops passing. Once it was finally his building’s stop—

He raced back to his dorm and slammed the door shut.

Suho wanted to throw up. Pit stomped up to him, excited as usual, and then froze when he noticed his demeanor was clearly strange.

The dog circled him, restless, then bumped the back of his knees, forcing him to sit on the ground at the entrance.

Pit licked all over his face with his black, slobbery tongue. Suho felt his heart starting to calm a bit, though his nerves were still shaken.

“Pit,” he said, “it’s starting all over again.”

He felt tears starting to prick at his eyes, the stress spilling outwards.

“I thought we were already over this. It’s been years…”

Suho put his face in his hands. Pit whimpered as access to licking his cheeks was closed. The dog instead opted to rest his huge head on Suho’s shoulder, sighing in his ear.

“I have to talk to Jun, and Auntie Jang… They’ll have a solution. They always do.”

The tears finally streamed down his face as he made a belated realization.

“They’re not even here.”

He started to hiccup. Pathetic. You were the one that caused all the problems, and now you’re the one crying in your room?

“Fuck.”

Suho tried to clear his eyes of tears, but it was no use. They kept coming.

He knew coming to school was a mistake.