The Face-Off
The press conference hall was packed wall to wall, no room left to take a step.
Rachel stood off to the side of the stage, watching the scene with quiet satisfaction. After that three-second KO in his debut, Han Daewong's name value had shot into the stratosphere.
Tournament round two—and against an orthodox powerhouse like Seo Min-ho, no less. Of course the reporters had swarmed.
"They're calling it orthodox technique versus the monster. A word, please!"
"You've seen Han Daewong's footage, right? Honestly, isn't he a little threatening?"
"Seo Min-ho, do you really believe pure fundamentals can crack that kind of physique!?"
Camera flashes popped without pause. Up on the dais the two fighters sat side by side.
On the left: Seo Min-ho. Neat suit, calm expression.
"Seo Min-ho! Your opponent is the hot new prospect—any pressure?"
"Not so much pressure as... high expectations. Facing a strong opponent is an honor for any fighter."
He answered every question clearly, bowed politely toward the cameras. One look and you knew—he was the media's ideal, the model athlete.
On the right: Han Daewong.
...The contrast could not have been sharper.
His massive frame made the chair look comically small. The suit—wherever they'd found one that fit—strained across his body, and his face stayed locked in the same blunt expression the whole time. Questions poured in; he answered in the fewest words possible.
"Three-second KO in your debut. How did that feel?"
"...Just lucky."
"What do you make of your next opponent, Seo Min-ho?"
"...I've heard he's strong."
"Confident you'll win?"
"...We'll see."
Every reply was clipped. No matter what the reporters asked, Daewong gave only what was strictly necessary. Whether he simply had no gift for words or was just naturally tight-lipped was anyone's guess.
To Rachel, though, it was a masterstroke.
...Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
She cheered silently inside. Talkative fighters look lightweight. But a man this quiet, this sparse with words—he looks mysterious.
An unknown monster. A undefeated rookie who appeared out of nowhere.
Daewong's silence fitted that concept like a glove. Even if they'd coached him to act that way, he couldn't have pulled it off better.
Seo Min-ho, by contrast, was running the opposite playbook.
"I honestly believe Han Daewong is an extremely strong fighter."
He took the mic and spoke with deliberate clarity.
"I've rewatched the debut footage more times than I can count. People keep saying it was luck... I don't buy that. That was pure skill. Frankly, he's more threatening than anyone I've ever faced."
A stir ran through the reporters. Normally fighters talk down their opponents before a bout; Seo Min-ho was lifting his up instead.
But he wasn't finished.
"Being strong and winning, though—those are two different things."
He looked straight at Han Daewong.
"I'm not a flashy fighter. Not a genius either. All I have is the fundamentals I've polished my entire life. And those fundamentals are what brought me this far."
His voice never wavered.
"No matter how strong Han Daewong is, fighting isn't only about power. I'll fight my way. Clean. Fair. And... I will win."
Applause erupted through the hall.
A clean challenge. He acknowledged his opponent and still declared his own conviction without a shred of meanness—exactly the kind of declaration an orthodox fighter would make. The sort of words that could never come from a dirty fighter like Kim Do-chol.
Rachel watched, quietly impressed.
...This is good television.
Mysterious silent monster versus the pride of clean, textbook technique.
Was there a more perfect matchup? One side pure mystique, the other pure orthodoxy—the media would eat it alive. The presser footage alone had already locked in the next fight's draw.
Finally both men rose and faced each other.
The face-off.
Seo Min-ho was no small man.
Super heavyweight.
No weight limit—the division where only the absolute giants of the human race gathered. Nobody who climbed this high was anything but huge. Seo Min-ho himself was the kind of size most people had to look up to.
And yet.
Standing next to Han Daewong, he looked like an ordinary adult.
The crowd murmured.
"...Yo, are those two really the same super heavyweight?"
"Unlimited class and the size gap is still that big?"
"Seo Min-ho isn't small. That rookie is just insane..."
Same unrestricted division. Same weight class with no ceiling, built for giants.
Even inside it, Han Daewong existed on another plane of mass—like a bear standing among men.
Seo Min-ho looked up at him. The height difference was considerable, yet he showed not the slightest flinch. Instead he met Daewong's eyes with a fierce, steady gaze—the eyes of an orthodox fighter who had spent a lifetime colliding head-on with stronger men.
"...Let's have a good fight."
Seo Min-ho offered his hand first. Daewong glanced down at it for a beat, then slowly took it.
"...Let's."
The short answer, and then the camera flashes went berserk.
Rachel smiled, pleased. Yet underneath the satisfaction a faint pity stirred.
She already knew what that upright, sportsmanlike Seo Min-ho was going to look like a few days from now inside the octagon.
And the heavy look on Han Daewong's face as they shook hands—probably the same reason.
But the reporters couldn't see any of that. They only thrived on the century's clash of orthodox pride and monster.
Fight day. Inside the octagon cage.
I stood face to face with Seo Min-ho.
Same calm, solid eyes I'd seen at the presser. He wasn't underestimating me the way Kim Do-chol had. He simply stared at me with pure seriousness.
──Fight!
The referee's hand dropped. Seo Min-ho closed the distance with steady composure.
I repeated it to myself.
...Go easy. Soft. Don't kill him.
Exactly what Coach Bae Jong-gap had drilled into me. No full power. Take a few, clinch a few, make it look real. Entertaining for the crowd, yet leave the other guy walking out in one piece.
The problem was that "easy" still felt impossibly hard.
Seo Min-ho's jab snapped out—a textbook clean jab.
I let it land on purpose. I could have slipped it, but I didn't. The fist brushed my face; I tilted my head back a little and pretended it stung.
...Honestly it didn't hurt at all.
Like a mosquito landing? Weaker than that. But I had to sell the pain, so I twisted my face into an awkward grimace. First time in my life I'd ever tried acting. It felt ridiculously unnatural.
Seo Min-ho fired a combination—jab, jab, then a low kick.
I took those too, just enough. Looking completely untouched would have been weird. And none of it was actually dangerous. Just the act of getting hit. The act of staggering.
...Is this right?
I genuinely wasn't sure how much I was supposed to eat, or when I was supposed to fake a counter. How the hell did WWE guys do this?
I swung a clumsy punch, deliberately missing. Seo Min-ho slipped it with ease.
A ripple of noise rose from the stands.
Rachel's palms were sweating.
"...Why is he fighting like that?"
The bout was unfolding strangely. After a three-second debut KO, this should already have been over. Yet for some reason Han Daewong kept eating Seo Min-ho's shots.
He could have slipped them—he took them instead. He could have countered—he swung and missed on purpose.
Even the commentators were buzzing.
"—Uh...? Han Daewong looks completely different from his debut..."
"—Is he getting drawn into Seo Min-ho's pace? That's the experience of an orthodox veteran for you...!"
"—The rookie is in trouble! Are we looking at an upset?!"
The crowd caught fire.
"What the hell?! Why's the phenom fighting like that?!"
"Textbook has him completely figured out! Orthodoxy is beating the monster!"
"This is an upset! Seo Min-ho's going all the way!!"
"Han Daewong ain't special after all! Debut was pure luck!"
Everyone thought Han Daewong was in real danger—that orthodox Seo Min-ho was solving the monster phenom.
Rachel's heart hammered.
...No way. He's not actually going to lose, is he?
The same monster who had turned a four-million-won heavy bag into dust, losing in a place like this? Impossible. But the picture in front of her kept painting the worst possibilities.
Hit after hit. Staggering. Grimacing.
Without thinking she glanced sideways. Seo-yeon sat in the next seat.
And yet.
Seo-yeon looked completely unbothered.
Popcorn in one hand, smoothie in the other.
She was munching popcorn and slurping the smoothie while watching the fight—like she was having the best time. Exactly like someone who'd come to see a favorite movie. A total contrast to Rachel, who was ready to chew through her own knuckles.
"...Um, Seo-yeon."
Rachel finally couldn't hold it in.
"You're not worried? Han Daewong... he's just taking shots right now. He's in trouble."
Seo-yeon flicked a glance at her, then answered like it was nothing.
"He'll win."
"...What?"
"Our teddy-bear losing? Please."
She gave a little snort of a laugh and went right back to the popcorn. Rachel could not understand that calm.
"...No, the situation looks bad. He's getting completely dominated. How can you be that sure...?"
"I just know."
Seo-yeon shrugged.
"I know what kind of guy he is better than anyone."
Then she produced a pair of sunglasses from nowhere and slid them on. She leaned back into her seat like the ending was already written, and popped another handful of popcorn into her mouth.
That was it. No further explanation. Rachel still couldn't wrap her head around that baseless composure.
This tiny woman seemed to be in on some secret she refused to share—so what on earth made her this relaxed?
Rachel turned her eyes back to the cage.
Han Daewong was still getting hit.
Staggering, scowling. Yet strangely, after Seo-yeon's single line, one detail kept snagging her attention.
Every time a punch landed, his expression looked... awkward. Like someone forcing a performance that didn't fit his body.
...No. There's no way.
She shoved the thought aside hard. It was too ridiculous. But once the suspicion had taken root, it refused to leave.