Romanticism System
At the center stood Han Minjae, his blazer draped over one shoulder, shirt slightly unbuttoned, a faint line of blood running down his cheek.
He exhaled slowly, eyes glinting cold beneath the late afternoon light.
Han Minjae: “Are you all done?”
No one answered. The only sound was the wind, whistling through the broken fence and the soft thud of a fallen bat rolling across the ground.
A group of Daehan students — all wearing their distinct navy-blue vocational uniforms — tried to pull one another up, trembling. Their supposed ace, a bulky second-year with a buzzcut, staggered forward.
Hot Chapters