Performance of the Night
Seo Min-ho was drowning in confusion.
Something was wrong.
The fight had been flowing at his pace—of that much he was certain. His jabs were landing, his low kicks were digging in, his combinations were connecting. Han Daewong couldn't even manage a proper counter; he just kept taking hit after hit.
And yet.
...What is this feeling?
Something was off.
His fist was meeting Han Daewong's face. His low kick was definitely burying itself into that thigh. There was impact. But nothing felt like it was sinking in. That solid rebound you got from cracking a heavy bag. That sensation of an opponent absorbing the shock and reeling. None of it was there. It was like pounding a giant boulder with bare fists—the boulder didn't so much as twitch, and only his own hands hurt.
And yet the more he hit him, the more Han Daewong staggered. His face twisted. He looked like he was in pain. But those eyes never wavered even a fraction.
Why won't you go down—!!
Seo Min-ho poured on the combinations. Textbook technique honed over a lifetime—the most efficient links he knew. Jab! Straight! Hook! If that sequence landed clean, any opponent should have crumbled by now. But Han Daewong raised his guard and simply weathered every single one.
Thud-thud-thudthud-thud—!!
Seo Min-ho hammered the guard harder. Faster. Stronger. Over the guard, into the ribs, into the legs. He emptied a lifetime of technique into him. But it was useless. The more he struck, the one who was shaking wasn't Han Daewong—it was him. His fists were going numb, his breath ragged, his legs trembling. The harder he pushed, the more he exhausted himself on pure effort.
And still Seo Min-ho didn't stop. Because the moment he stopped, he knew he'd lose.
"KRAAAAAAAAH—!!"
Seo Min-ho roared like a beast and unloaded his fists.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK—!!!!
Jab, straight, hook, uppercut. Every strike he'd ever trained poured onto that guard in a frenzy—a barrage too fast to count. Everything an orthodox fighter had, wrung out to the last drop. He threw without rest, and right before the first round was about to end—
This is it—this ends it—!!!!!
Seo Min-ho gathered every last scrap of power he had and unleashed the punch of his life. The pure essence of textbook form, refined over a lifetime. That fist buried itself into Han Daewong's guard.
But.
CRACK—!
What broke wasn't Han Daewong's guard.
...Huh?
What broke was Seo Min-ho's fist. The hand that had thrown that all-or-nothing punch had slammed into an iron wall, and his fingers were bent at a grotesque angle. The bone was broken. The final punch he'd staked everything on hadn't shattered his opponent—it had only shattered his own hand.
The shock made Seo Min-ho's body lurch and crumple. And in that exact instant, Han Daewong—who hadn't moved an inch—slowly lowered his guard.
A chill ran down Seo Min-ho's spine.
All his life, he'd believed in the textbook. No matter how strong the opponent, technique could find a way through. Find the openings, hammer them by the book, and sooner or later they'd fall. But against this monster, the textbook didn't work.
Seo Min-ho looked into the eyes behind that guard. The awkward expression that had looked like pain was gone. In its place was something overwhelming—something he'd never faced in his entire life.
He'd devoted his whole life to the textbook. With nothing but fundamentals, he'd clawed his way up between geniuses. And that textbook had never once betrayed him.
...Ah. So the textbook can't reach this.
That single thread of realization was the end.
Han Daewong's fist moved—lightly.
The next moment.
FLASH—
The world exploded into white. His jaw snapped sideways, his feet left the ground, his body floated—and Seo Min-ho, consciousness already severed by the impact an instant before, never even felt it.
"It's overrrrr—!! Right before the end of round one!! Han Daewong, a game-changing lucky punch connects!!"
"Seo Min-ho is gone in one shot!! That rock-solid Textbook collapses like it was never there!!"
"Seo Min-ho was the one pressing all the way to the end… and the last punch flipped everything!! This is combat sports!!"
A roar swallowed the arena. These were the same spectators who'd been booing me moments earlier. But now—
"Insane… he took all of that and still landed the last shot?!"
"Textbook went down in one hit! How is that even possible?!"
"He's a monster! An actual monster!!"
The mockery was gone without a trace, and feverish cheers poured down instead. People stomped their feet, chanted a name, held up their phones and filmed the cage. The same crowd that had turned its back on me was now losing its mind for me—as easily as flipping a palm.
I stood in the center of the cage and listened to it.
…It was over.
This time I hadn't caused an accident. I'd just taken the right amount of hits, held out the right amount of time, and thrown exactly one shot at the end—just enough to put him out.
...If this counts, did I just pull off my own little WWE?
The thought made me snort inwardly.
...No. This was a proper UFC match.
That strange vow I'd made—to put on a WWE show inside the Octagon. It had felt awkward and clumsy once I actually tried, but I'd somehow managed it… or so I was thinking, when Seo Min-ho, still on the canvas, slowly came back to himself.
Clutching his broken hand, he staggered upright. Medical staff rushed in, but he waved them off as if he were fine. Then he walked slowly toward me.
I tensed a little.
But Seo Min-ho held out his good hand.
"…I lost. Completely."
On his face there was less bitterness than something almost like relief.
"I've lived my whole life trusting the textbook… and today I met, for the first time, someone it doesn't work on. You're truly strong."
I quietly took his hand.
"…Good fight."
It was the only thing I could say. I couldn't very well tell him I'd been holding back.
Seo Min-ho gave a short laugh and nodded. That clean acceptance of defeat somehow lightened a corner of my chest.
"Daewong—!!"
Then a familiar voice cut through. Outside the cage, Seo-yeon was bouncing on her toes and waving, still holding a tub of popcorn in one hand.
"That was so fun! Dude, when you raised your guard and just tanked it—it was like a whole movie!"
Seo-yeon chattered on, fired up. Far from nervous, she looked like she'd genuinely enjoyed the fight. Watching her, I let out a quiet laugh. Thousands of people roaring, a flipped crowd going wild—all of that was fine. But somehow, that one line—that was fun—hit me hardest of all.
The cheers were still filling the arena.
—Han! Dae! Wong! Han! Dae! Wong!
Unlike my debut, the sound didn't feel distant. This time, it just sounded good.
After the fight, Rachel stood in front of a backstage monitor, staring blankly at the replay of the bout that had just ended.
On the screen, Han Daewong kept his guard high and absorbed Seo Min-ho's barrage. Fist after fist poured down like a storm, and he took every one of them without giving up a single step. Then the end—one punch.
…A game-changing lucky punch connects!!
That was how the commentators had shouted it. A lucky shot.
…Lucky punch?
Rachel tilted her head inwardly.
She'd lived as a matchmaker for over a decade. She'd watched thousands of fights. To those eyes, what she'd just seen didn't look like luck. That giant weathering an entire storm of punches. Timing the exact instant, right before the round ended, when his opponent had spent himself. Landing that final shot flush on the chin with not a single wasted motion. That couldn't have been luck.
…Don't tell me. He held back again?
Suddenly she remembered what Han Daewong had said after his debut. That he hadn't hit Do-cheol for real. That he'd barely put any power into it. That it was only a little harder than knocking on a vending machine—complete nonsense. At the time she'd taken it for a joke. But if it had been true… tonight had been the same thing. He'd taken Seo Min-ho's vicious barrage without even feeling it. Then, at the right moment, exactly one shot—just enough not to kill him.
As the thought landed, a faint chill ran down Rachel's spine. Just how far did that man's strength go? If holding back again and again still looked like this, then if he ever went all out—
"No. No."
Rachel shook her head. That wasn't what mattered right now. Whether he'd held back or not, whether it was luck or skill—none of that mattered to a matchmaker.
What mattered was one thing only.
…Bottom line: this is a massive jackpot.
The corner of Rachel's mouth curled up.
The phone in her hand had been vibrating nonstop. Press inquiries, social media alerts, fight-clip view counts—everything was exploding.
Headlines were spilling out in real time. Especially that final sequence—silently weathering the storm, then flipping everything with a single punch right before the round ended. It reached in and seized people by the heart. It was dramatic. Far too dramatic.
And a little while later, the promotion's official announcement dropped.
Rachel's eyes widened slightly.
Performance of the Night was an award given only to the fighter who shone brightest that night. An honor countless athletes coveted and almost never claimed—and Han Daewong had seized it in just his second fight. On top of that crushing wave of buzz, no less.
"…That's it."
Rachel clenched her fist. This was why she did the matchmaker job. Digging up an uncut stone nobody was watching and turning it into a jewel the whole world lost its mind over. And among those jewels, Han Daewong was the kind you met maybe once in a lifetime.
So what if he'd held back. So what if no one knew what he really was. That man was going to climb all the way to the top of the Octagon. And Rachel would be right there beside him, writing history.
…The greatest fighter of my life.
Rachel repeated the thought to herself and stepped out of the backstage area—to go congratulate that monster.