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Gyeon Taeho knows nothing of failure.
How can he, when he’s the perfect amalgamation of the pinnacle of genetics? Decades upon decades of selective breeding have converged into a singular superior lineage. Aberrancy isn’t a curse, but a gift, one that’s been prepared for him long before he could consider if he wanted to accept it. He’s the absolute definition of destined for greatness, and there’s no one in his family—let alone in this world—that can deny him his fate.
So, even if Taeho has heard whispers since his earliest memories of being an illegitimate child, a mistake, a stain on the Gyeon clan, he ignores them. Even if the majority of his family pretends he doesn’t exist, he simply moves on. Even if there’s nothing he could ever do that would be enough to give him purpose, he continues to train anyway. Rumors are only real if you give them life, shared blood means nothing in the face of jealousy, and power can be his life’s purpose. And if a red tie is the height of power, why would he settle for anything less?
Gyeon Taeho is unfamiliar with tears.
He learns early on that crying might bring you attention, but it also brings pity.
“Father has real issues to attend to, why would he sit around comforting the wails of a useless child? If you really want attention, you’ll make your existence worthwhile.”
“Especially when you don’t belong in this family in the first place.”
His older brothers are pompous jackasses, but they’re right. Taeho has no need for pity, for judgment hidden under fake niceties, for false comfort. Comfort begets complacency, and he must be better than his useless counterparts. Their lack of innovation must stem from sharing only half of their genetics. Taeho can almost be thankful for the damnation inflicted on him; without it, he’d be as self-satisfied as they are with a mediocre life. He—unlike the unmotivated losers that surround him—knows the Corps will be the start of his path to greatness, not his end goal.
He accepts his conscription with joy. He’s been preparing for this moment for years; turning the trauma he’s been dealt into rules to follow. He knows now that tears showcase your pain; they put the fact that you can be hurt on wide display. Why give your enemy encouragement?
No matter how sickening the sound of his severed hand landing on the gym floor is, or how horrific it is that he’s been disabled in a match he should’ve easily won, he can’t fathom giving that freak any more satisfaction by giving in to what his body wants. It’s all a mind game, and he can’t lose now.
Gyeon Taeho cares little for peace.
From the day he was born into a battlefield of family politics, he’s fought to justify his place in the Gyeon clan. He learns quickly—almost too quickly—that words are more powerful than brute force could ever be. Bruises fade, but the right combination of words will bounce around your head forever. He should know; he’s had enough encounters with both experiences to last a lifetime. Yet, with the right provocation, Taeho will easily throw all ideas of verbal persuasion out the window. Despite all his efforts, he still feels like an angry child who must hide any emotion behind a perfectly schooled face and an unshakeable aura of confidence. The Corps—or rather, the vermin he has to interact with on a daily basis—has thrown off his ability to stay composed.
At least, that’s the justification he uses as he starts picking a fight with Lee Sayeon. The combination of everything he’s undergone in the past two weeks has surprisingly messed with his head. Losing his hand and losing his first tie clip to the seemingly unassuming girl has thrown him for a loop. She knows nothing, IS nothing; yet she’s been able to outsmart not just his cell, but him. The confusion in his mind unceremoniously pours out of his mouth in varying shades of anger, and before he realizes that his actions are benefiting absolutely no one, he’s kicking her onto the ground like a jilted schoolboy. Shit.
Or at least he tries to catch her off guard, but it only leads to the taste of the required and impractical shoes filling his mouth and his body becoming intimately acquainted with the concrete path. Once again, the idea of choosing peace goes flying out the window.
She broke his fucking nose.
Taeho is the only one in his cell capable of taking the severe egos in Cell 4 down several notches. To hell with the group mission; the trace of a smile on Lee Sayeon’s face as she beats the shit out of him is more than enough reason to distrust her and her reprehensible cellmates.
Gyeon Taeho is…
He’s filled with a rage he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Taeho has completely lost the will to control his emotions. Not even someone of his caliber can contain themselves in a situation like this. He tells that abnormality of a girl to stay the fuck away from his cell, and she takes it to mean she should run off and complete the mission by herself! She steals all the glory, makes the entirety of Cell 3 look like incompetent slackers, and has the audacity to pass out before he can unleash these unrestrained emotions onto her. And with the remainder of Cell 4 blatantly disrespecting his authority—seeing as he’s the only competent leader available to both cells—, Taeho is truly on the verge of losing his mind.
Hearing that Lee Sayeon allegedly took on two members of the Begonia Group by herself makes him feel as if someone smashed the miniscule remainders of his sanity with an industrial sized hammer. This can’t be happening, not to him. He’s taken everything life has thrown at him, he’s turned every hardship into a reason to overcome, he’s defied his shitty genetics and crafted someone no one can defeat.
Taeho is perfect.
She is just a girl who got lucky.
Everyone knows it.
…
“Her stupidity nearly got her killed,” he practically spits in Min Woo’s face. There’s no point in upholding a facade anymore, they all know he’s worthless, so why not throw all caution to the wind. Maybe fighting the bizarre freak of nature will make him feel fulfilled.
Or maybe he hopes he’ll end up a martyr, and it’ll give him value.