Thanks for Giving Birth to Me
"Thank you for giving birth to me. Is this how it's done?"
During the break after the first half of our futsal game, as we caught our breath, my father struck up a conversation with Do Min-jun, whom he'd introduced as the coach.
"How much does Taekwondo cost per month?"
"Pardon? Are you looking to sign up?"
"No, I was thinking about having my son give it a try."
Taekwondo, huh... Good foot control was limited to the ball in my past life—I'd never actually trained in it. Sure, my capoeira, low, and high kicks had been picture-perfect back then. The gym owner who taught me kickboxing had even lamented my wasted talent, urging me to quit the gang life and go pro. Looking back, the legs of those who'd trained in Taekwondo were vicious.
"Ah, our dojo only trains pro athletes..."
"Oh... I wouldn't want a place full of kids anyway."
Do Min-jun's eyes widened at my bold declaration, but he soon let out a chuckle. After eyeing my build, he asked if I could come by tomorrow morning.
"Wouldn't it be better to show me to the head instructor first?"
"Ah, then I'll send him over with his mom."
"Yep."
We kept playing futsal late into the night before heading home.
Early the next morning, I headed out for a workout with my father. It was hard to believe this was the same guy who'd end up playing in the K1 League. In my memories, Dad was the type who left at dawn, came back late at night, and spent his free time glued to soccer matches. I'd had no idea he had real talent for the game. I'd assumed his life was just manual labor by day and drinks after work because he didn't know how to do anything else. Later, he'd collapsed from overwork, cancer eating him away. I'd always seen that father as a fool.
As we walked along kicking the ball, Dad called out to me.
"Do-hyun."
"Yeah?"
"When I was a kid, they called me a soccer prodigy and wanted to turn me into a pro."
"And?"
"Playing with you now, I'm thinking maybe I wouldn't have gone pro."
Yeah, probably. Even if they called him a prospect, with this short-limbed body, I was confident I could crush every middle schooler out there. Plus, with nothing else to do at school, I'd been kicking a ball nonstop.
"If there's something worth learning, I told you to teach it to your kids too... Think you could teach your old man?"
Dad had convictions but no stubborn pride. If someone proved him wrong, he'd admit it outright. That's why he was asking me to teach him.
I glanced at my father. Compared to the pros of the future, his monstrous stamina and shooting power were untouchable. Hell, I figured my own talent was a drop in the bucket next to his. Even with techniques to learn, he'd pick them up faster than anyone. Training him with my knowledge? The butterfly effect alone would be wild. Like a starving beast, he wouldn't let go of any opportunity—pouring it all into insane training sessions. That determination was downright scary. Now that he was playing in the K1 League, I'd make him the best.
Wonder if this'll change Korea's results at the 2006 Germany World Cup...
"Gonna be tough, you know."
"Don't be unfilial."
"Tch."
I passed on some training methods I'd "found online" and taught Dad the regimen.
We arrived at the Hanlim Gym with Min-ji and Mom—a building labeled as a gym, not Taekwondo. Inside, it was packed with all sorts of equipment, nothing like the Taekwondo dojo I'd imagined.
Thwack!
"Again!!!"
Thwack!!
"Ankles! Twist your hips!!! Do I have to spell it out every time!? You chicken-headed bastard!"
"Sorry!"
Smack!
"Get in stance. Again!"
This was a totally different Do Min-jun from the guy at futsal yesterday. Mom's face had gone pale. She sensed something was off. Just moments ago, he'd looked ready to murder someone. But spotting us, his expression flipped 180 degrees—he grinned and trotted over.
"Hey! You must be Do-hyun's mom! Glad you made it!"
"Ah, yes..."
"This way."
He'd already spoken to the head instructor, apparently—a burly middle-aged man emerging from the office. His tough looks screamed gang boss more than dojo master.
"Ma'am... Truth is, we only train pros here. High schoolers and up with experience."
"Oh, Do-hyun really wanted to come here. Guess we got the wrong idea."
From Mom's tone, she'd already decided against sending me. Do Min-jun stared right at me. Through the glass walls, athletes trained with flashy moves, the gym echoing with kiais that made Min-ji shrink back.
"Can't you at least teach him a little?"
"Teach him what?"
"How to kick."
Do Min-jun smirked at me, then shot a glance at the instructor.
"I told you, right? Don't judge him like the other kids. Look at that confidence—like a winning lottery ticket."
"Hmm... You're right, Min-jun. He's different."
The instructor finally pulled out some forms and explained the essentials.
"Kicks are more dangerous than they seem. Let's check your flexibility first. Min-jun."
"Yes, sir!"
He motioned for me to follow. I strode after him confidently.
Straaain...
These bastards... I hadn't imagined they'd start by ripping my legs apart.
"Guhk."
"Stretch it out straight—like how boxing obsesses over reach, leg length matters big time."
Expecting me to tap out from the pain, Do Min-jun's eyes lit up when I held on. But the agony of my groin ligaments stretching by force? No getting used to that.
"Haaah..."
"Holding this? Definitely different."
I'd thought my flexibility was decent—from loosening up regularly in my past life. But this? Torture.
Do Min-jun stepped on my lower back as he split my legs.
"Hiiiya!"
"Why's your scream so creepy... But your flexibility's better than expected. Legs look fine too."
Off to the side, Min-ji watched me clutching her bunny doll.
"Oppa hurts?"
"Looks more like it tickles?"
"Tickles? Should Min-ji go scratch it?"
Who the hell asks someone to scratch their groin... Min-ji's innocent question snapped me back to reality.
Do Min-jun stood, grabbing what looked like a chicken leg—probably a kick mitt.
"I'll show you a side kick. Watch once, then decide."
"Got it."
A student stepped up to the heavy bag and unleashed a side kick. I'd noted his thick lower body, but the whoosh from his foot was unreal.
Thud!
"......"
Honestly, I'd dismissed him after he lost an arm-wrestle to Dad. But that power in a mid-level kick? Ribs would shatter for anyone. And the speed... Blink and you couldn't even raise your guard.
"Now slow. Lift your right leg, pivot on the ball of your support foot, snap from the hips like a whip."
Paang!
Unlike other kicks, it wasn't a wild high fling—straight at a right angle. Hit rate would skyrocket like that.
Do Min-jun raised the kick mitt to chest height.
"Your turn. Give it a shot."
Thump.
"Oho~ Got talent? Imagine that belt around your waist whipping the guy in front. Oh, wait—no belt yet."
Seemed improvised, but the explanation was detailed. Basically, max hip rotation at the right timing.
Thwack!
As the mitt flew back and I held my stance, Do Min-jun's gaze turned serious.
He taught me a front kick next, and since I nailed it, he spoke up.
"You're nine, right...?"
"Yes."
Do Min-jun glanced at the instructor, who wore the exact same expression.
"I'm pretty exceptional, huh?"
"Kid's got balls... I like it."
Do Min-jun had me kick the bag as instructed, then took Mom into the office. Skipping the bag, I headed to Min-ji, who was alone.
Sitting beside her to wait for Mom, Min-ji placed the bunny doll's paw on my hand. As I fiddled with it, she stared, then moved the paw and offered her own hand.
Wants me to play with hers? I kneaded Min-ji's hand as intended.
Mom emerged from the office. In the end, I was signed up for Taekwondo. The instructor seemed loaded—no tuition fees. As a pro-training dojo, it was a contract deal: you could quit anytime, but they hoped you'd compete when possible.
Time passed, and Min-ji's daycare went on break. Mom was planning to send her to kindergarten soon. Min-ji still resisted, but as I played with her more, her separation anxiety and clinginess toward Mom eased up. It hit me again: her fixation on Mom stemmed from me.
"Wanna build a sandcastle?"
"...Outside?"
"Yeah, oppa'll make a big one."
Mom firmly said no, but I whined that I'd wash up with Min-ji after. Eventually, we headed to the playground.
I grabbed an empty paint bucket and filled it with water. These days, hygiene rules banned sand play like this, but back then, digging was all we did.
"Thick-thick, one house for you~"
"Hee-hee!"
Min-ji was thrilled in no time. I piled sand over her hand, sprinkled water, and pulled it free—leaving a perfect mold. She loved it.
I built a lumpy castle nearby and wet the edges.
"Whoa!"
"Like your house, Min-ji?"
"Love it!"
Min-ji played with the sand. When her castle crumbled, teary eyes looked up at me.
"It's okay~ Oppa'll fix it."
"Really...?"
Mom watched from the bench, a warm smile on her face. Lately, that smile never left her—like confirmation I was doing it right.