The room behind the ring was a dark and neglected space, barely lit by a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Jeok Ryeong was sitting in a corner, with his body sore and his arms trembling. Although his face was marked by a cut on his lip and a slight bruise on his cheek, his gaze remained steady, burning, as he looked at the floor.
One of the men who had taken him to the underground club approached him, with an expression mixed of mockery and curiosity. He was the thin one, with hair slicked back. Hands in his pockets, he looked him over from head to toe. —You didn't do too badly for your first time. Well, it's not like you've won or anything. —His smile twisted as he spoke.
Jeok slowly raised his head, returning his gaze. —I wasn't strong enough —he said, his voice hoarse but confident.
The man burst into laughter. —Not strong enough, you say. Kid, you didn't even know where to hit. Your movements were a mess. You're here because you were forced, not because you have what it takes. But… —The man paused, leaning toward him—. You have something others don't have. Those eyes of yours, that look. That could be interesting if you know how to use it.
Jeok didn't respond. Inside, the man's words echoed loudly. He had no skills, no experience. But he knew, from the memories of the future he had seen, that it wasn't all about brute strength. He could learn. He could change.
Before the man could say anything else, the bulky one entered the room, holding a bag in his hand. —Here you go, kid. Your share of the winnings. It wasn't much, but enough to get started.
Jeok took the bag without looking inside. It was money, but not enough to fix the situation he was in. Still, he knew it was a step, however small, toward his goal.
—What do you plan to do now? —asked the skinny man as he lit a cigarette.
Jeok got up with difficulty, wiping the dried blood from his mouth. —I'll go back. I'll learn. Next time, I won't lose.
The statement surprised the man, who looked at him with a mix of disbelief and respect. —You'll go back, huh? Well, good luck with that. Though you'll need more than luck to survive in this place.
Jeok left the room, walking toward the dark streets of the city. The pain in his body was almost unbearable, but his mind was clear. He knew his path would be tough, full of challenges and sacrifices, but he was determined to face it. Every hit received that night was a lesson, every failed move an opportunity to improve.
As he moved through the streets, he remembered the faces and names of the fighters who would dominate this world in the future. He knew what he had to do: learn, train, and eventually become someone who could fight alongside them, or even surpass all of them.
Jeok Ryeong returned to the underground club just days after his first defeat. Every hit he had received still echoed in his body, but he had also learned something important: pain wouldn't destroy him, it would only make him stronger. His steps echoed in the alley as he headed to the place, ignoring the mocking looks of those who had witnessed his initial humiliation.
The same skinny man who had spoken to him before saw him enter and raised an incredulous eyebrow. —Again? I thought after the beating they gave you, you'd never come back.
Jeok stopped in front of him, head held high and eyes burning with determination. —I'll come back as many times as necessary.
The man let out a dry laugh. —Well, kid, if you insist so much, I guess we'll have to entertain ourselves with you again. But don't expect it to be easier this time.
That night, Jeok returned to the ring. His new opponent was a tall, thin teenager, with agile and quick movements that contrasted with the slow but strong hits of his previous opponent. Jeok took his stance, remembering his earlier experience. This time, he would try to learn something more.
The fight started as a reflection of his first encounter. His opponent moved swiftly, throwing a series of punches at Jeok's torso and face. Although he dodged some, others landed, staggering him. However, this time Jeok noticed something: the way his opponent moved his right leg before throwing a punch. It was subtle, but enough to give him a hint of the attack to come.
When the boy threw another straight punch, Jeok leaned to the side, dodging it completely. It was the first time he managed to avoid a hit without taking damage, and the surprise on his opponent's face confirmed it.
But Jeok was still inexperienced. When he tried to counterattack, throwing a punch to the other boy's torso, his strike lacked technique. It was easily blocked, and his opponent took advantage of the opening to knee him in the ribs with a quick move. The pain forced him to step back, but instead of feeling defeated, Jeok took it as another lesson.
"My punches are too obvious," he thought as he tried to catch his breath. "I have to be more unpredictable."
The fight continued for several minutes, and although Jeok took more hits than he could dodge, he began to notice patterns in his opponent's movements. Every punch he managed to avoid, every small movement he learned to predict, was a victory in his mind. Finally, after an exhausting exchange, a well-placed hook from his opponent knocked him to the ground.
The crowd roared, and the referee declared the other boy the winner. Lying on the floor, Jeok tasted the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. But despite the pain, a small smile appeared on his face. This time, he hadn't just endured longer. He had learned.
In the following weeks, Jeok kept returning to the underground club. Every night was a new fight, a new defeat, but also a new chance to grow. He learned to adjust his stance, to observe his opponents carefully, and to read their movements. He lacked formal technique, but was developing something more important: instinct and resilience.
People at the club started to notice his persistence. Although he still kept losing, his ability to stay on his feet longer, to dodge punches that would have knocked him down before, became evident. Even his opponents started to look at him with more than just mockery; now, there was a flicker of respect in their eyes.
With each defeat, Jeok felt he was getting closer to his goal. He wasn't seeking to win immediately. He knew his path would be long, but that didn't stop him. With each punch received, with every fall, he was building something stronger inside himself: an unbreakable will that would push him forward.
Night had fallen over the city, covering the streets with a layer of silence. In his small apartment, barely lit by a worn-out lamp in the corner, Jeok Ryeong sat on the floor, looking at his bandaged and lightly marked hands. Every hit received in the ring was a reminder of his weakness, but also a proof that he could improve, that there was still room to grow.
In front of him, an old notebook he had found among his father's forgotten things was open. Its yellowed pages were now a blank canvas for his ideas and plans. Jeok had been writing down everything he could think of to become stronger. From patterns he had begun to recognize in his opponents' movements, to exercises he could do to improve his endurance and strength.
He wrote carefully:
Daily jogs to improve endurance.
Push-ups to strengthen arms and chest.
Using weights to increase strength.
Practicing quick movements in front of the mirror.
He sighed as he looked at the list. He didn't know if these exercises would be enough, but it was a start. It was all he could do with the few resources he had. With the money earned from fights, he had bought some used small weights and adjusted his expenses to save what was necessary.
The next day began early. Jeok woke up with his body still sore but didn't let fatigue stop him. He put on some old sneakers and headed out to the deserted streets in the morning. The city had a cold, fresh air at that hour, almost as if the chaos of the day was sleeping.
Jeok started jogging, each step resonating against the pavement. He wasn't fast, but he forced himself to keep the pace. The pain in his legs increased as he went on, but instead of stopping, he remembered the shouts of the crowd in the ring, the mockery of his opponents. Every hit he had received became a motivation to keep going.
When he returned to his apartment after the jog, his legs were trembling from the effort, but a strange sense of satisfaction filled his chest. He took off his sneakers and prepared for the next exercise: push-ups. He got on the floor, hands firmly supporting him, and started lowering and lifting with difficulty. At first, he barely managed to complete ten, but every time he fell, he forced himself to try again.
The weights were the next challenge. He lifted them with a steady rhythm, feeling his arms tighten with each repetition. They weren't large or sophisticated weights, but enough to start. As he worked, his mind focused on one thought: to improve.
Weeks passed, and although Jeok kept returning to the ring and losing, something had changed. His body was beginning to respond to the hits differently. His endurance had improved, and although he still lacked technical experience, his movements were faster, more precise. He could feel how his daily training was beginning to bear fruit.
In the mornings, jogging had become an essential routine, a way to clear his mind and strengthen his body. Push-ups and weight training had toughened his muscles, giving him a basic strength he lacked before. Meanwhile, in the ring, each fight continued to be a lesson, each defeat an opportunity to observe and learn.
Although his progress was slow, Jeok never allowed himself to regress. He knew his path would be difficult, but every small step forward brought him closer to his goal. In his mind, his opponent's words echoed: "You don't have what it takes to be here." But now, every time he stepped into the ring, those words became a challenge he was determined to overcome.
Another defeat. The crowd at the underground club had begun to get used to seeing Jeok Ryeong fall to the ground after an intense fight. Although he endured longer each time and his movements were less predictable, he was always overcome by opponents with more refined techniques, greater strength, and accumulated experience. Jeok left the ring that night, exhausted and covered in sweat, with visible signs of the hits on every part of his skin.
Back in his small apartment, under the dim light of the worn-out lamp, Jeok sat on the floor and stretched out his hands in front of him. He looked at them in silence, studying his slightly swollen fingers, his knuckles hardened from repeated punches that failed to break defenses, and the bandages marked by the dust of the ring.
"What am I doing wrong?" he thought, as scenes of the fight flashed through his mind like intermittent images. "My movements are too clumsy... I have no strength, but I also lack technique. I'm just improvising. That way, I'll never win."
The defeats hadn't discouraged him; on the contrary, each hit he received was a reminder that he needed something more. Something he couldn't achieve just with brute force or endurance. His breathing was heavy as his thoughts became clearer, he needed a fighting style, something effective and suitable for him. But he had no idea where to start. How many styles were there? How could he learn without resources or help?
"What can I do to get it?" he wondered, clenching his fists. There were no teachers waiting for him, no clear path ahead. But he knew he could observe, learn from the other fighters in the ring, understand how they moved, how they used their bodies and tactics.
The idea began to take shape in his mind. Every time he went to the underground club, he couldn't just fight. He needed to analyze, observe every movement of his opponents. His rivals were almost always bigger and stronger than him, which initially seemed an insurmountable disadvantage, but now he saw it as an opportunity. Jeok thought: "If they're bigger, that means their weight is poorly distributed at certain moments. I can take advantage of that."
While moving his hands in front of the mirror, a new strategy started to emerge. "The center of gravity. That's crucial. If I can carefully observe how they move, I can attack when they're off balance. It's not about brute force. It's about precision."
He visualized how he could apply this approach in his upcoming fights. He would use his hands not just to punch, but to push or deflect his opponent at the exact moment their weight was off. He even imagined executing palm strikes aimed at specific points on the body to amplify the effect of the push. "My opponent's inertia could be my best weapon. If I can throw them off balance using their own movement against them, I could change the game."
Jeok carefully wrote in his notebook:
Observe the opponent's center of gravity.
Attack during imbalance.
Use calculated pushes instead of random hits.
Leverage the opponent's inertia to topple them.
He stood up, practicing simple movements in front of the mirror. The way his hands moved now had a different purpose. They weren't wild punches anymore. Now they were controlled pushes, precise calculations aimed at shifting the opponent's balance. Although he knew he would need more practice to perfect this technique, he had found a direction, a style he could make his own.
"I won't go into the ring just to endure next time. I'll go to test this. Every fight will be a lab, and every hit I receive will be a test of what I can improve."
The fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever. Jeok was determined to transform his body and mind into a calculated and efficient weapon. There was no room for doubt on his path.