School Violence Survivors Share Painful Stories On MBN

On January 15, 2026, the airwaves of MBN’s Special Report carried a pair of stories that, though different in their details, echoed the same chilling refrain: the lasting scars of school violence in South Korea. The evening’s broadcast shone a spotlight on two men—Kim Jae-jin, a middle-aged opera singer still haunted by the trauma of his youth, and the late Park Il-jun, a once-beloved singer whose life was cut short by the abuses he suffered as a student. Their stories, as told by MBN and detailed in reports from MHN and Gukje News, have reignited a national conversation about the cost of bullying and the resilience of its survivors.

Kim Jae-jin’s story is, in many ways, a testament to the power of perseverance. According to MHN, viewers saw him late at night, alone atop a deserted pedestrian overpass, practicing opera arias with a passion that belies the hardships he’s endured. Kim, now well into his middle years, has spent nearly a decade chasing his dream of singing on stage. But the path has been anything but smooth. By day, he works as a delivery driver, crisscrossing city streets to make ends meet. By night, he pours his soul into music, sometimes for just a single listener, holding fast to a promise he made to himself years ago.

Yet, behind Kim’s dedication lies a painful history. As MBN’s Special Report revealed, Kim was a victim of relentless school violence at Yoon Gyo’s private school. For nearly nine years, he endured physical abuse at the hands of senior students—an ordeal that left him traumatized and fearful. “I really couldn’t endure it,” Kim confessed to the program’s producers, his voice trembling with emotion. “The fear was unbearable, but I endured it for a while.” His attempts to report the violence were met with threats, forcing him to live in constant anxiety. Eventually, the trauma became so overwhelming that Kim had to leave his home. But, determined not to let his abusers define his future, he returned to continue his education and, ultimately, to speak out about what he had suffered.

Kim’s journey has been shaped not only by his own resolve but by the support—and sometimes the doubts—of those closest to him. As MHN recounts, his parents, both farmers, initially opposed his musical ambitions. “I wanted him to study,” his mother admitted, tearfully. “Back then, we all thought sending our children to school was the best we could do. I feel so sorry that I couldn’t nurture his talent.” Kim himself reflected on the tension between duty and desire: “I got married relatively early. I had to provide for my family, so I ended up doing a lot of other jobs.”

It was only after witnessing the passion of church choir conductors that Kim decided to pursue opera in earnest. With his wife’s encouragement, he enrolled in college as an adult and earned a degree in vocal performance. Even then, setbacks awaited. On the day of a long-awaited audition, nerves got the better of him and he forgot the lyrics on stage. Disheartened, he returned home in tears, but his wife’s gentle support gave him the strength to keep going. “Thanks to her encouragement, I went back to practicing on that overpass,” Kim said. “My challenge continues even now.”

Kim’s story, though marked by pain, offers a glimmer of hope—a reminder that healing is possible, even if the wounds never fully disappear. But for Park Il-jun, the outcome was tragically different. As reported by Gukje News, Park was part of the first generation of mixed-race singers to achieve fame in 1970s South Korea, alongside stars like Yoon Soo-il and Insooni. His life, however, was marked by hardship from the very beginning. Abandoned by his birth mother at the age of three, Park grew up in an orphanage before being adopted by foster parents. The secret of his birth and the discrimination he faced led him down a path of loneliness and wandering.

Despite his success as a singer, Park’s struggles never truly ended. He lost his foster parents in an accident and became estranged from his biological father. His children became his only solace, especially his son Park Hyung-woo, who now serves as his manager and constant companion. Yet, even in this close relationship, old wounds lingered. The son, who raised his own child alone after a divorce, still felt hurt by memories of being left out during his studies abroad and by his father’s initial opposition to his own musical dreams.

The most heartbreaking revelation came when Special Report disclosed the full extent of the violence Park suffered as a student. Born in 1972, Park was severely bullied by older students—abuse so intense that it left him unable to live a normal life. According to his family, the trauma was never publicly known until now. Eventually, Park was found dead at home, a victim not just of his tormentors but of a society that failed to protect him. “He could not endure the violence,” one relative shared. “The pain followed him everywhere.”

Both Kim and Park’s stories, aired on the same night, underscore the enduring impact of school violence. The Special Report broadcast did not shy away from the harsh realities: victims often live in fear, their lives forever altered by the cruelty of others. For some, like Kim, survival means finding a new purpose and holding on to dreams. For others, like Park, the consequences can be fatal.

The program’s decision to air these stories together is already sparking renewed debate in South Korea about how to address bullying in schools. Advocates for reform argue that more needs to be done to support victims and hold perpetrators accountable. They point to Kim’s and Park’s experiences as evidence that the scars of such violence do not simply fade with time. Meanwhile, some educators and parents caution against painting all schools with the same brush, noting that many institutions have made significant strides in recent years to improve student safety and mental health resources. Still, the pain in Kim’s and Park’s voices is a stark reminder that progress remains uneven—and that for too many, help comes too late.

MBN’s Special Report airs every Monday at 9:00 PM, but the stories it tells linger long after the credits roll. For viewers, the lives of Kim Jae-jin and Park Il-jun are more than just cautionary tales—they are calls to action, urging a society to confront the hidden wounds of its past and present. As Kim continues to sing atop his lonely overpass and Park’s family mourns what might have been, the hope is that others will listen, learn, and finally, act.