That Kang Baek-ho?

"Whoa! Now that's a real man right there!" Kim Tae-su said with a bright laugh, looking at Jun-ho.

"Jun-ho, thanks a lot, eh? I'm not just sayin' this 'cause I raised him, but this kid Sang-ho, he can really scrap. It'll be a good experience for you too."

"Yes. I'll approach this with a humble mind and try to learn what I can. Please go easy on me."

"Hey, Park Sang-ho, what're you doin'? Say thank you!"

"...Ah, yes! I look forward to it, hyung-nim." Park Sang-ho bowed his head quickly, reigning in his sharp gaze like the well-disciplined athlete he was, despite his youth. However, the sideways glances he shot Jun-ho made it clear he was still rather displeased.

Then again, he was a twenty-year-old prospect who had been the "tong"—the undisputed top fighter—of his high school and had trained in MMA for over a year. It would be stranger if he were happy about being asked to spar with a complete novice of less than a month, no matter how much the gym hyped the guy up.

"Don't be too nervous," the coach said as he wrapped Jun-ho's hands. "You've done some light sparring with your brother, right? That kid's walking weight and style are pretty similar to Jun-hyeok's."

"Yes."

"I haven't actually seen him fight in a real match, but watching him hit the heavy bag and the mitts earlier, he's definitely like Jun-hyeok. Jun-hyeok probably has heavier hands, though. And what does that mean?"

"That my punches won't be outmatched?"

"Exactly. When it comes to raw punching power, you're actually a bit better than Jun-hyeok."

Jun-ho possessed a terrifying, almost instinctual talent, having mastered footwork and combinations in just three weeks to the point of light sparring with the coach. Not only that, but his reflexes were incredible, and both the director and the coach agreed that his durability and punching power were easily at a middleweight level.

"Don't overdo it. Just focus on pacing yourself."

"Understood, Coach."

Jun-ho put on his headgear and shin guards, then bit down on his mouthpiece. The familiar, slightly uncomfortable sensation and the smell of rubber filled his senses. Taking a deep breath made his chest feel tight for a moment, but he quickly adjusted.

"Alright, to the center..." Choi Yu-chan, the gym director, looked between the two men and lowered his hand.

The man in front of me is an enemy. A scavenger. Jun-ho hypnotized himself as he walked to the center of the mat. He conjured memories of the bastards who would murder a man over a single can of tuna or a pack of instant rice. If I fall, they'll slit my throat and strip me of everything I own. I cannot fall. No matter what. In that moment, though Jun-ho didn't realize it, the blood vessels in his eyes began to map out in a crimson web.

What's with that look? Oh, I'm so scared. Park Sang-ho scoffed inwardly. The director of this gym, Choi Yu-chan, was a legendary senior he deeply respected. As a kid, Sang-ho had cheered himself hoarse watching Choi Yu-chan fight in Japan. He had been incredibly excited for the chance to spar with a promising fighter of his own weight class at Yu-chan's gym. Of course, his senior, Jeongsu, was the main event, and Sang-ho was just the undercard. But then, that opponent had suddenly tested positive for COVID-19, canceling the spar and completely deflating his excitement. Well, at least he could console himself with the fact that since they were already up in Seoul, they were going to visit the Gangnam gym where his idol, UFC ranked fighter Kim Dong-hyun, trained.

But now, he was being told to do a full spar with a complete novice who hadn't even been training for a month? It was absurd. Yet, his master, whose word was law, had not only shown interest in the guy but had personally arranged the match. Sang-ho couldn't very well show his displeasure.

Let's end this quick. Sang-ho already had the mindset of a professional. He figured it would take one round—no, thirty seconds—to put this amateur on the canvas. Not that knocking out a beginner so quickly was anything to brag about.

"Alright, keep it clean, don't hurt each other... and, fight!" At the director's signal, Jun-ho and Park Sang-ho stepped forward and touched gloves. In an instant, Sang-ho, who looked like he was going to take a step back, rapidly closed the distance, throwing a timed jab followed by a sharp one-two.

I can see it. It was a cliché, but he really could see every movement. Once again, the changes in his physical body amazed him. Jun-ho stepped back while simultaneously parrying the punches. Thwack, thwack! Following the flurry of punches came a low kick. As Jun-ho lightly lifted his lead leg to check it, Sang-ho threw a straight punch, as if he had been baiting that exact reaction.

Now! Jun-ho shrugged his shoulder to slip the punch, ducking inside as he threw a short, compact hook. Crack! The counter-hook caught Sang-ho right on the temple. Even though it hit the headgear, Sang-ho immediately stumbled backward. Jun-ho lunged forward like a predator. For a split second, the headgear on his opponent's head looked like the motorcycle helmets the scavengers so often wore. Attacking there won't do any damage. Jun-ho's eyes locked onto the wide-open flank. If I hit him with brass knuckles there, his ribs ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will shatter. Jun-ho drove a vicious uppercut into the ribs. Thud!

"Urgh!" With a choked gasp, Sang-ho stumbled back a few paces before collapsing onto his backside. But Jun-ho didn't stop. No, he couldn't stop. In his eyes, the man before him was a scavenger. Kick the helmet to pin him down, then drive the knife into his throat!Whoosh! The moment Jun-ho's right foot left the canvas—

"Stop! Stop!" The director quickly threw himself between them, pushing Jun-ho back. Only then did Jun-ho snap back to reality, dropping his combat stance.

"Huu... Huu..." Jun-ho pulled off his headgear, trying to regulate his breathing. Perhaps due to the adrenaline, his blood still felt like it was boiling. His shoulder muscles twitched, and he could feel his fingers trembling inside the gloves. More, more...! It felt as if his body was demanding him to keep moving, to keep fighting. Jun-ho was startled by the sheer violence that had carried over from his pre-regression days in the apocalypse, but he forced his excitement down and looked around. Everyone was staring at him, mouths agape. A novice who had been training for less than a month had just completely dismantled a year-long prospect in barely ten seconds.

"Whoa! That was bloody brilliant! Jun-ho, are you seriously tellin' me you haven't even been at this for a month?"

"Yes."

"Are you out of your mind? You're a genius, a total genius!"

Even though the prospect he had personally trained had been utterly demolished, Kim Tae-su showed no signs of disappointment or anger. Instead, he was too busy marveling at the spectacle. In truth, when Choi Yu-chan hadn't immediately rejected his unreasonable request and had instead asked for Jun-ho's consent, Tae-su had suspected something. Unless Yu-chan had lost his mind, there was no way he would let a complete beginner spar with Sang-ho. So, Tae-su had expected Jun-ho to be decent. He just hadn't expected a result this utterly absurd.

"But Jun-ho, you know this, right? If this dummy Sang-ho hadn't let his guard down like an idiot, things might've gone differently."

"Yes, I'm well aware."

"Ah! And look at that character! Great skills, great attitude—you're the absolute best, mate. Hey, Sang-ho!"

"Yes..."

"How's it feel to get clocked like that?"

"I'm sorry. I have no excuses."

"Good, as long as you know. Just stay humble and work harder from now on."

"Yes, I definitely will. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠And..." Clutching his ribs, a thoroughly dejected Park Sang-ho bowed deeply to Jun-ho. "I learned a lot, hyung-nim!"

Jun-ho gave the twenty-year-old prospect an awkward smile. "Oh, please. Aren't you primarily a jiu-jitsu practitioner, Sang-ho? If this were under full MMA rules, I would've been tapping out in no time. I'm the one who needs to learn from you."

"No, sir. It was my defeat, plain and simple. No excuses."

Only outsiders who didn't know the combat sports world would misunderstand; those who had trained in MMA for a long time with professional aspirations were almost always like this. Jun-ho had been a bit tense when he first joined the gym, but he had been genuinely surprised by how humble everyone was. Of course, there were exceptions, but in such a tight-knit community, an amateur who hadn't even debuted yet acting arrogant would get absolutely pulverized. The more one trained, the more they realized there was always a bigger fish, and always a higher weight class.

"Anyway, Jun-ho, Yu-chan hyung-nim. Thanks so much for today. You guys gotta come down to Busan sometime. I'll treat you to the full course."

"Your 'full course' is just eating pork soup and walking around Haeundae, isn't it?" Yu-chan joked.

"Hey! We even got a Starbucks now, alright?!"

After the sparring session, the Team South crew departed in high spirits, leaving behind the echoes of their exhausting yet friendly banter.

Since that day, Jun-ho's status at the gym had been upgraded from a "promising late-bloomer" to a "geriatric prospect with killer hands."

"What the? How is Hyung getting rated higher than me?" Jun-hyeok grumbled, pretending to be jealous, though his shoulders were practically bursting with pride.

Naturally, Jun-ho didn't care about such evaluations. All that mattered to him was that he had finally adapted to his altered body, significantly boosting the combat capabilities that would directly dictate his survival in the apocalypse. Above all, Jun-ho could not afford to be satisfied with just this.

MMA is great, but what I really need is something else. In the apocalypse, no one fought bare-handed. Whether it was one-on-one or one-against-many, the enemy always carried a weapon. No sane ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠person would fight humans or zombies with their bare fists. This meant Jun-ho needed to learn how to deal with armed opponents. He had to study practical military martial arts like Systema and Krav Maga.

Let's take it slow and look into it. I need to watch my spending until I cash out my crypto. With those thoughts, Jun-ho finished his workout and headed to the showers.

After a quick shower, he gathered his things and stepped out, only to find the gym unusually noisy. Wondering what was going on, he glanced through the glass window of the director's office. Inside, a man dressed in casual clothes that looked entirely out of place in a sweat-drenched MMA gym and a slender woman in form-fitting attire were standing alongside another man and woman dressed in formal suits.

Jun-ho was about to shrug it off and leave when the coach approached him. "Ah, Jun-ho. You haven't left yet. Want to go over and say hello?"

"Who are they?"

"Our gym's sponsor. He used to sponsor me and Yu-chan hyung—I mean, the Director—back when we were active pros. Right now, he's even acting as Seon-jong's personal sponsor. A genuine third-generation chaebol."

Seon-jong was the gym's ace, a fighter who was on the verge of securing a domestic title shot. But for a third-generation chaebol to sponsor a fighter in a niche sport like MMA was highly unusual. He had to be an incredibly passionate fan. Of course, since it had nothing to do with him, Jun-ho tried to politely decline.

"Really? But I'm not planning to fight professionally, so there's no real need for me to greet him..."

"Come on, you never know. Just introduce yourself. He's a good guy. Even if you don't fight, when Jun-hyeok goes to amateur tournaments, he'll be wearing shorts with that hyung's company logo on them."

"Alright, then..." Jun-ho figured a simple greeting wouldn't hurt. Besides, he doubted he would run into the man more than a few times in the future anyway.

Knock, knock. The coach knocked on the door, stepped into the office, and introduced Jun-ho. "Hey, hyung-nim, this is a new member at our gym. He wanted to say hello."

When did I say that? Jun-ho wanted to ask, but possessing a perfectly average level of social grace, he simply bowed with polite decorum. "Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Lee Jun-ho."

The director, who had been conversing with the "genuine third-generation chaebol" in his mid-thirties, looked up with a bright expression. "Ah, Jun-ho, perfect timing. Representative Kang, this is the guy I was telling you about. He's a newcomer, but he's absolutely phenomenal. It's a real shame he has no interest in going pro. If he'd started just two or three years earlier, he'd easily be domestic champion material."

Though the director's praise had inflated from "domestic ranker" to "champion" and "four to five years" had shrunk to "two to three years," Jun-ho kept his composure, offering an awkward smile and a polite nod. At that, the chaebol's eyes widened in surprise as he stepped closer. Perhaps due to his love for MMA, he possessed an incredibly toned physique, paired with a warm, friendly, and highly approachable face.

"Oh, really? I heard about you. If you beat a prospect raised by Team South, you're definitely something special. But you really have no interest in going pro?"

"Yes. The director and coach are just being generous with their praise."

"Ah, really? What a waste. Oh, where are my manners?" The chaebol pulled an elegant card case from his pocket, slid out a business card, and handed it over. "I'm Kang Baek-ho, from Kangho Resort."

"Hey, Representative Kang. You should be handing out your Kangho Food card. That's the bigger company."

"Hyung, I'm here as a sponsor today. When you were active, you wore shorts with our resort logo on them too, didn't you?"

"Well, that's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠true."

While the gym director and Kang Baek-ho—the chaebol heir who shared his name with the protagonist of a famous basketball manga—chatted, Jun-ho's mind was already racing elsewhere. He looked back and forth between the business card and the man standing before him, asking before he could stop himself:

"If you're from Kangho Resort... by any chance, do you have a resort in Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province?"

"Oh? Have you been there?"

"Huh? Ah, yes. Once, a long time ago..."

"Wow, so you were one of our guests!"

Seeing Kang Baek-ho's face light up with delight, Jun-ho was utterly stunned. Kang Baek-ho? *That* Kang Baek-ho of Gwangju? It was true. Jun-ho already knew him. Not as the MMA fan and chaebol sponsor standing before him, but as the legendary figure from his past life—the man who had led the single largest survivor faction in Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province, during the dark days of the apocalypse.