Between us

Chapter One - The Stranger in the Dojo

(Heyoon's pov)

Thud.

The sound jolted me from my thoughts, snapping the quiet like a stick breaking in the forest. My head turned toward the entrance, the mirrored walls reflecting only me and the dim fluorescent lights overhead. Everyone had gone home long ago—students bowing, chattering, leaving their sweat and energy behind. The dojo was supposed to be empty.

But someone was here.

I wiped my palms against my pants and straightened. “Who’s there?”

Silence. Then, the slow drag of a shoe against the polished wood floor. A figure stepped inside, framed by the open door. Tall, broad, dressed in dark clothes that didn’t belong anywhere near a martial arts hall. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes—something that made my jaw tighten. This place was sacred to me. To walk in like that was a challenge.

The man’s eyes found me almost immediately. Sharp. Cutting. He looked at me as though he already knew me, which was unsettling enough on its own.

“Kang Heyoon?” His voice was low, smooth, but carried weight, like he was testing the air with it.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my tone even. “And you are?”

He smiled—not kindly. A small curl of the lips, almost mocking, like he was entertained just by being here. “Angelo.” No hand offered, no bow, no courtesy. Just the name. He let it hang in the air, daring me to react.

My brow furrowed. “What do you want?”

Angelo walked further inside, hands shoved casually into his pockets. He didn’t belong in this world of discipline and focus—he was the complete opposite. He moved like someone who owned every space he walked into, and I hated how my chest felt tight under his gaze.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice slow, deliberate, “because your father owes me something.”

For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. My father? My late father, who hadn’t even left me enough savings to fix the roof at the dojo, let alone deal with strangers?

“I think you’re mistaken,” I said firmly. “My father… he’s gone. And whatever business he had, it doesn’t involve me.”

Angelo’s smile sharpened. He tilted his head slightly, like a predator curious about its prey. “Oh, but it does, Heyoon.” He said my name like he was tasting it, rolling it on his tongue. “Thirty-six million. That’s not something you just forget.”

My body went cold. Thirty-six million? Impossible. My father hadn’t been perfect—he’d been reckless, selfish at times—but debt like that? I would have known. Wouldn’t I?

“You must be joking,” I said, my voice quieter now, though I hated that it betrayed even a fraction of uncertainty.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Angelo’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, and for a moment, I felt my breath catch. His presence filled the room, heavy, suffocating. He was dangerous—I could see it in the way he moved, the way he held himself like he was used to people trembling when he spoke.

But then, just as suddenly, his demeanor shifted. He sighed loudly, almost like a child denied his favorite toy, and kicked lightly at the floor with his shoe. “Kang Heyoon, don’t make this boring. I hate boring.”

The switch threw me off balance. A moment ago, he was terrifying. Now he was… sulking? His tone was petulant, his expression carrying a flicker of impatience that didn’t fit the cold mask he wore.

I blinked at him, unsure how to react. “You come into my dojo, demand money I don’t have, and call me boring?”

His lips twitched. “Exactly. You’re catching on.”

I stared at him, stunned. Who was this man? A debt collector or a spoiled child in a wolf’s skin? He was cold, frightening—but beneath it, I caught flashes of someone unpredictable, restless, untamed.

And whether I liked it or not, he was here for me.

To be continued....