Big Man (5)
After finishing his conversation with the Jang father and son, Sang-goo headed to the infirmary to check on the people who had been rescued.
"If it weren't for you, sir, we'd all be dead."
"I prayed to God for a miracle… and He sent me an angel. I will never forget this debt for as long as I live."
"I only did what anyone would. Please just focus on your recovery."
The endless stream of gratitude was hard to get used to. He forced a smile for them, wished them well, and made his way to the Grand Hotel.
Even along the way, people kept coming up to offer their greetings, and Sang-goo did his level best to reward their attention (?).
Even if I were reborn, I could never be a celebrity.
He was blunt by nature and had never much cared for other people's attention, so the adjustment wasn't coming easily.
Not that it erased the heart that had made him stay and do a good deed in the first place.
Still, even after all that time had passed, it felt overwhelming — like his neck and face might start twitching at any moment.
"Now this is living."
The words popped out of him the moment he stepped through the Grand Hotel's entrance.
Today was a bit much. Once tomorrow dawned, he'd head back out to the Yeongdo District camp.
That was just what Sang-goo was deciding when—
"You're here, sir."
"Earlier than we expected. How would you like lunch handled?"
The moment he pushed through the glass door, they came scrambling over as if they'd been lying in wait.
They must have already spotted him arriving on the CCTV.
Still, at least they hadn't bolted out the door to greet him. Small mercies.
"I'm fine for now. Actually, I'd like to get a light workout in first."
"The basement training room is all cleared out. Clothes and towels are ready — use it whenever you like."
"Thank you."
Sang-goo gave a small bow and was about to head downstairs when—
"Do you do strength training, by any chance? Or…."
Something was clearly on their mind.
"I haven't decided yet. I figured I'd loosen up first and think about it after. What is it?"
Sang-goo asked, wondering if something was wrong with the equipment.
Then one of them — the butler, or rather, bodyguard — answered with an awkward smile.
"We were wondering if you might want a sparring partner."
Only one of them had spoken, but both men's eyes were alive with excitement.
Hotheaded soldiers who looked to be in their mid-to-late twenties.
Team Leader Baek had presumably handpicked only the best, as he always did — but it seemed playing butler inside the building had gotten tedious for them.
"What's your discipline? Weight class?"
"Busan Physical High School graduate. I boxed. Put on some weight since my competitive days, but… anyway, about 94 kilograms now."
"This guy and I are alumni — I was in the judo club. Ah, I went on to the sports university, got out of the Special Forces, then worked presidential security. I'm currently 88."
"You're just volunteering your whole military résumé now?"
"Only because Mr. Sang-goo might be curious."
"Well, would you look at that. After I graduated, I joined naval special warfare. After my discharge, I was on a police SWAT unit in Gyeonggi Province…."
Suddenly the two bodyguards were competing with each other.
Which just went to show how restless their bodies were getting.
"I'm grateful for the offer, honestly. I'm just worried about you two getting in trouble later."
Sang-goo said with a laugh.
"As long as you don't mention it, Mr. Sang-goo…."
"I figure a light sparring session, just enough to break a sweat…."
Along with the desire to loosen up, there was a flicker of curiosity in them too.
Everyone up top had made such a fuss about treating this man like royalty, but they had their doubts about whether he was really all that. Sure, they knew he was immune to zombies and played superman out in the field.
But in a fight between two human beings? Did he actually have the skill to match the reputation?
Pure, simple curiosity about a man's strength, man to man.
And what was the harm in that?
He'd just go easy on them.
Their curiosity didn't offend Sang-goo in the slightest.
"Fair enough. Let's head down and warm up together."
He agreed without hesitation.
He'd warmed up enough to break a light sweat. This wasn't a match to prepare for — it was clearly meant to be an objective assessment of his combat capability — so Sang-goo pulled out the full rack of protective gear.
Boxing headgear and mouthpiece, a taekwondo chest guard, a groin protector — the works.
The moment he also picked up sponge guards for his shins and forearms, the two bodyguards' expressions stiffened a little.
"Will you be all right?"
Sang-goo asked out of genuine concern.
Had that bruised their pride?
"Wearing all of that would just slow me down. It's heavy and it messes with my vision."
"Uh… I'm fine with just a mouthpiece and open-finger gloves."
The ex-presidential bodyguard was practically oozing confidence.
He'd been cautious at first, but the moment sparring was settled, it seemed his blood was up.
A dry laugh escaped Sang-goo.
Guys like that were the ones who got hurt.
Too much competitive fire — by the time regret set in, the injury had already happened.
"Striking first, then."
So Sang-goo called up the boxing man first.
He was hoping that watching this sparring session would take the edge off the other one's eagerness.
"Hyung-nim, I'm up first."
The boxing man tapped his comrade on the chest and climbed into the ring.
Twelve-ounce gloves, a mouthpiece, and headgear that was there more to distinguish color than to protect his face or jaw.
With just that, he rolled his shoulders on the ring canvas.
Nothing like the man in the military uniform from before — right now he was every inch the veteran boxer.
Sang-goo put on his mouthpiece and 16-ounce gloves.
Shorts and a cotton T-shirt. Barefoot.
He draped his arms over the ropes, rolled his shoulders side to side, and finished loosening up.
"You sure those gloves are okay?"
The boxer asked, noting how thick they were.
"I'm about a weight class up on you."
The boxer grinned and started working his footwork.
The presidential bodyguard called out the start,
Ding—!
Round one of three, three minutes each, began.
Pa-ba-bak—!
A double jab came in laser-straight.
He stood about 180 centimeters, but his reach was considerable.
Sang-goo's thick 16-ounce gloves sealed off his face solid, and heavy straights cracked down on top of them.
He lowered his guard to counter, but the boxer had already slipped off to the side, and a hook was incoming.
Bak—! Bang!
The left hook smacked into the face guard, and the right body hook dug into Sang-goo's flank.
Confidence swelled in the boxer at the satisfying weight of his punches. But rather than charge straight in, he took a half step back to read the response.
What was that just now?
It was only a split second, but he'd felt it. The killing intent leaking through between those thick gloves.
The boxer threw jabs with less weight behind them, trying to cage Sang-goo's upper body.
"Hey, Dae-gi, what are you doing! Push him! Combination, combination!"
Outside the ring, the man was in a frenzy, yelling for him to pour it on.
But despite his comrade's cheering, the boxer Kim Dae-gi held his distance rather than pressing forward, reading his opponent.
Because hundreds, thousands of sparring sessions were telling him something.
Sang-goo was still deliberating.
It might have looked like he was being pushed back, but aside from that early body hook, not a single clean blow had landed.
What was even more absurd was that the body hook's damage looked negligible too.
And he'd thrown it at 80 percent power.
Damn it.
That lit a fire under his pride.
Deciding that this couldn't go on, the boxer resolved to try something a little offbeat.
Pang! Pang! Tuk—
Mid-jab, he shoved aside one of Sang-goo's guards.
And in the same motion, he fired off a straight—
Pang!
"?"
Whether he'd anticipated it or not, Sang-goo rotated his shoulder and rolled with it, turning inward instead.
The straight, never fully extended, carried less force, and the deflection off his shoulder opened up space.
And then—
Wooong—
Chwaaak—!
With the sound of air splitting came the crack of leather.
It was like being slapped with the grip strength of a hydraulic press.
The important part was that Sang-goo's left hook connected with the boxer's cheek, knocked the headgear askew, and put him straight down.
"……What the hell."
The man outside the ring, who'd been screaming encouragement, went speechless.
Ignoring him entirely,
"You okay?"
Sang-goo pulled off his gloves and checked on the downed boxer.
"Ugh… ah…."
The whites of his eyes flashed for a moment, then rolled back.
He registered Sang-goo's face clearly, and his breathing returned to normal fast.
Of course, this was well past a count of ten.
Whether it was because Sang-goo had held back, the man didn't seem in any danger of dying.
He'd deliberately thrown a grazing blow meant only to knock the headgear loose — and mercifully, that had probably kept the man's neck intact.
"Whew… whew… th-thank you."
"Good work."
It meant: nothing more needed, get off the mat.
Since Sang-goo's breathing hadn't wavered in the slightest, the boxer had nothing to say.
Watching the man's face harden, Sang-goo felt a pang of sympathy.
"That stung a bit. I'd love a rematch sometime."
"I learned a lot."
Sang-goo took his hand and helped him up.
And then.
"We're doing MMA rules, right? Or everything but strikes?"
After only the briefest hesitation, the bodyguard answered boldly.
"……MMA rules."
What was there left to say?
Sang-goo silently swapped his gloves for the open-finger kind.
"………"
In under a minute, the result was the same.
He shot for a takedown, got checked, ground for position in a clinch — and then, it seemed, blinked once.
By then a flawless rear naked choke was locked in, and he'd gone out cold with his back seized.
Coming to, the man blinked over and over, wondering if he'd been dreaming.
"Ji-hoon."
"Ah… what the hell happened."
Park Ji-hoon lay flat on the ring canvas. Beside him sat the boxer Kim Dae-gi, holding a bottle of water.
"What happened? You fell asleep in a rear choke, that's what."
"……Damn it. And Mr. Sang-goo…."
Park Ji-hoon asked, slowly pushing his upper body up.
Kim Dae-gi snorted and jerked his chin toward the corner — where Sang-goo was already peeling off his wraps and sliding plates onto a barbell.
"We're calling him Hyung-nim from now on. He's older than us, so Hyung-nim it is — and that goes for you too."
"Ah… yeah."
Once again: the only cure for excessive competitive pride was an overwhelming display of power.
His bravado thoroughly deflated, Park Ji-hoon let out a long sigh and turned his gaze away.
Hyung-nim Sang-goo looked to be setting up for a deadlift.
"No way… is that a warm-up set?"
"He's finished two."
"……Damn it…."
A rough eyeball put it at 260 kilograms or more.
And right now, as the two men traded hollow laughs, Boo Sang-goo was grinding out 10 unbroken reps with no belt, no straps — nothing.
Then he added another 40 kilograms.
His only rest was the time it took to slide a plate on; the next set started immediately.
Thuk— thuk— thuk— thuk— thuk….
Ten reps again. It wasn't even a slam to the floor — just a controlled touch and back up — which somehow made it all the more infuriating.
Strength, technique, even the overwhelming speed he'd felt during sparring.
How was anyone supposed to feel jealous when there wasn't even a point of comparison?
"……Let's go. Let the Hyung-nim train."
"Heh heh… yeah. Let's head up and stop bothering him."
The swagger they'd carried as elite athletes and soldiers scattered like smoke before a wall of monumental proportions.
Not long after the two men fled upstairs—
Final weight: 340 kilograms. Ten reps.
Sweat beading, muscles loose and limber, he felt great.
He figured he'd used roughly 80 percent of his strength and speed.
Twenty kilos more than three days ago. The strength keeps climbing.
Sang-goo stared impassively at his forearms, where the pump was already fading fast.
His right arm especially — the spot that still bore the scar from when a mutant had bitten him, once upon a time.
Back then, he'd thought it was all over for him.
But after Charles Lee injected him with the Super Antigen, his body began to change.
The harder he exerted himself, the stronger he got, and his stamina had started climbing by the day.
And that wasn't all.
Most wounds stopped bleeding on their own, and even his skin regenerated.
It was as if his entire body, like that special mutant he'd fought back then, was being rebuilt specifically for combat.
At first, this version of himself had frightened him. In truth, that was part of why he hadn't gone to his family on the island right away.
But by now, he was simply curious.
Truly.
Just how far do my body's limits go?
A strongman's power, a gymnast's flexibility, a sprinter's explosiveness — and a special mutant's regeneration on top.
Just as Sang-goo was mulling all this over, the stairwell erupted with noise.
The two men who'd gone up for a round were scrambling back down in a panic.
"S-Sang-goo Hyung-nim!"
"We have a situation, sir!"
The walkie-talkies in their hands were crackling pretty loudly.
So the time to find out has come early.