Just Warming Up
With the finals ahead, I headed to Bae Jong-gap's gym like always.
"Alright, hit it. Same as usual."
When the old man raised the mitts, I threw a light punch.
The first time I came to this gym, I couldn't even hold back — the old man holding the mitts nearly went flying. But now I had the hang of it. Just enough that he wouldn't stagger. Exactly that much.
Thwack. Thud.
"Oh, you've come a long way. Almost look like a real person now."
Bae Jong-gap grinned with satisfaction.
In just a few months, I'd changed quite a bit. Holding back my strength, stopping myself, going easy — none of it was perfect yet, but it was far better than the beginning. All thanks to this eccentric old man.
After working the mitts for a while, I suddenly spoke up.
"…Old man. This one's the final."
"The final? Already?"
"Yes. One more win and they say I'm the champion. And if I win… I go straight to the UFC."
"Huh. Fast. Real fast. Then again, who'd stop a freak like you?"
Bae Jong-gap cackled.
"So who's the other guy?"
"A fighter named Pyo Sung-ho. His nickname is…"
I recalled the name Rachel had told me.
"…Yaksha, apparently."
In that instant, the hands holding the mitts froze.
"…What?"
"Pyo Sung-ho. Yaksha."
The old man's face hardened in a heartbeat. This wasn't the face that had been laughing a second ago. His eyes sank cold and hard, and every trace of humor drained from his mouth. He looked like a man who'd just heard a name he never wanted to remember.
"…That bastard made it all the way there?"
"…You know him?"
"Know him? In this business, if you don't know that guy, you're a spy."
Bae Jong-gap slowly lowered the mitts.
"…Daewong. Listen carefully."
The old man's voice dropped into something serious.
"That one is on a completely different level from anyone you've faced so far. Kim Do-chol, that orthodox guy, the big one — none of them are even the same species."
"…How so?"
"For starters, he's a junkie. Built that body on drugs. He has a devil's knack for getting stuff that doesn't show up on tests. That's how he gets that size, that power."
Bae Jong-gap's face twisted.
"But that's the small stuff. The real problem is… what's behind him is filthy."
"Behind him is filthy?"
"He's tied up with the gangs. Deep. Walks around covered in tattoos — all of them markers from that world. Word is he blackmails opponents before fights, digs up dirt and shakes them down. More than once, a perfectly fine fighter has suddenly withdrawn before facing him."
I lost my words for a moment.
Everyone I'd faced so far had at least settled things inside the Octagon. Kim Do-chol had fought dirty, but it stayed in the cage. Seo Min-ho, Taesan — same story. But this Pyo Sung-ho guy played his games outside the cage.
"Remember this."
Bae Jong-gap looked me dead in the eye.
"That bastard is more dangerous outside the Octagon than in it. The thought of fighting fair never even crossed his mind."
"…What kind of things does he do?"
"Every dirty trick in the book."
Bae Jong-gap counted them off on his fingers.
"Spreads rumors that never existed to trash your image. Leaks stuff to the press to flip public opinion. Greases referees and the association to stack the deck. And when it gets bad, he sends his gang buddies to flat-out threaten people. I'm telling you — more than once, a solid fighter has suddenly pulled out right before fighting him."
The old man's expression grew heavy.
"Whatever the method, he's got one goal. Shake the other guy until he's half-broken before he ever steps into the cage. That's how he's won."
My fist clenched on its own.
Inside the Octagon, I didn't care who showed up. Whether they were juiced or built like a mountain, they all looked the same in front of me. But outside the cage was a different story.
"…I'll keep that in mind."
Bae Jong-gap looked at me and smirked.
"Eh, no need to freeze up too bad. Inside the Octagon you could still pop that guy's skull like a watermelon. …Not popping it is the bigger problem."
"…Yeah. That part's true."
I huffed a short laugh myself. But even as I smiled, a corner of my chest stayed heavy.
Pyo Sung-ho. Yaksha.
…Somehow, this final felt like it was going to be a different kind of fight from anything so far.
Seo-yeon's hand trembled around her phone.
On the screen was a single article.
"…What— what is this."
Seo-yeon couldn't believe her eyes. The further she read, the redder and hotter her face became.
The article ran roughly like this: The power Han Daewong had displayed was beyond the human range. Sending a giant like Taesan flying with a single punch was impossible with normal strength. Therefore, the use of banned substances was highly likely — and so on, and so on.
And already, a string of comments had piled up underneath.
"…This is— this is insane!"
Seo-yeon shouted before she could stop herself.
Drugs. Their bear-boy, on drugs. It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.
Seo-yeon knew better than anyone what kind of person he was. That strength hadn't been built on any pill. He'd been born that strong. The kind of talent you could never reach even if you poured a hundred bottles of the stuff into yourself.
If anything, he was always the one struggling to rein it in — fighting to hold the power down while everyone else was trying to get even a little stronger. And they wanted to pin doping on him?
…Who would even take drugs? He's drowning in strength as it is!
Seo-yeon's insides boiled. What enraged her most of all was the timing. Of all moments — right on the doorstep of the final.
…This is no coincidence.
A face rose in her mind. The finalist. Pyo Sung-ho.
Rachel had said it. That man was more dangerous outside the Octagon than in it. A man who never intended to fight fair. A man who pulled every filthy trick from outside the cage.
…Don't tell me this is his doing.
The circumstances fit too well. He couldn't beat their bear-boy on skill, so he was trying to put a crack in his image instead. Shake public opinion and put psychological pressure on him.
Once the thought landed, Seo-yeon couldn't hold it in any longer.
"…You cheap bastard."
As if a clean fight weren't already too much to ask — and now this cowardly nonsense behind the scenes. Their bear-boy fought honest up on that cage, while the other side was turning the ground outside into a mud pit.
Seo-yeon gripped her phone tight. She wanted to fire off a rebuttal in the comments right then and there. But what would that change? One comment wouldn't make an already spreading suspicion disappear.
She bit down hard on her lip. It was infuriating and unfair, and there was nothing she could actually do. That hurt the most.
…If he sees this, how much is it going to hurt him?
No — maybe he'd just shrug it off and move on. That was the kind of person he was. No matter what the world shouted, he'd take it quietly, calmly, like everything was fine. And somehow that made Seo-yeon even angrier.
He'd swallow something this unjust without even getting mad once. There was no reason in the world Daewong deserved to be treated like that.
The more she thought about it, the harder her stomach churned.
Just then, the phone in her hand buzzed.
Bzzzt—
It was Rachel.
People go wild for the fight.
A few minutes of contest up on the cage. Fists fly, blood sprays, a winner and a loser are decided. People cheer for that, and that is all they remember.
But Pyo Sung-ho thought differently.
The match was only the tip of the iceberg. The real fight began long before either man ever stepped into the cage. Digging up the opponent's information. Mapping their weak points. Rattling their mind. Winning half the battle before the ring even came into view.
That was the true craft Pyo Sung-ho had spent a lifetime honing.
"Training? Of course that matters."
Pyo Sung-ho stared at the monitor, murmuring in a lazy drawl.
"But here's the thing. Building the body alone doesn't win fights. Shaking the other guy is a skill too. The ones who only fight inside the Octagon cage… that's why they're bottom-feeders."
The manager standing beside him bobbed his head in greasy agreement.
"As expected of you, boss. That doping article this time — flawless, wasn't it? The internet's already going completely insane."
"Obviously. I leaked it."
Pyo Sung-ho smirked.
The doping allegations against Han Daewong. That had been Pyo Sung-ho's work.
Power that stepped past the limits of a human being. People looked at it with awe — and, on the other side of that awe, with suspicion. Is that even possible? Pyo Sung-ho had driven a wedge straight into that crack.
— It's drugs.
All it took was slipping that one line into the right place. People inflated the rest on their own.
"The stronger they are, the better this works. People always want to doubt something that looks too incredible. Tell themselves it can't be real."
Pyo Sung-ho tapped the desk with a finger.
"Alright then… let's watch how our little monster reacts."
Once the suspicion spread, Han Daewong would start to crack. Either he'd burn himself out trying to clear his name, or he'd shrink under the weight of public opinion. Either way, it was a win for Pyo Sung-ho. Eating away at the other man's mind before the final — that was the whole point of the move.
But then the monitor screen changed.
Pyo Sung-ho's eyes narrowed slightly.
On the screen stood a woman. Sharp-featured, dressed in a tailored suit. Pyo Sung-ho vaguely recognized the face.
Rachel Kim.
A matchmaker with a real name in this business. Famous for a ruthless eye for fighters, and for backing the ones she picked all the way. A woman with serious industry muscle. Pyo Sung-ho had never crossed paths with her directly, but the rumors had reached him plenty of times.
…So that woman is the monster's manager.
That same Rachel Kim stepped in front of the cameras and opened her mouth.
Rachel held up a sheaf of documents.
Not a flicker of hesitation. A decisive response. Prepared materials flashed across the screen one after another, as if she had known this was coming and had been ready for it all along.
"…Boss. This is getting put out a lot faster than expected."
The manager muttered, watching his face for a cue.
Pyo Sung-ho said nothing for a moment. He stared at the monitor for a long while, then finally let out a low laugh.
"…Ha."
A crooked smile spread across his mouth.
"I figured it'd go something like this… but the counterplay is pretty good. That manager woman is the real deal. She had everything prepped in advance."
He had every right to be angry, yet Pyo Sung-ho looked almost intrigued. His move had been blocked, and instead of irritation, his eyes were bright.
"Fun. This… just got a lot more fun."
If something this light could have knocked them over, they never would have made the final in the first place. An opponent who wasn't easy meant, flipped around, there was that much more satisfaction in breaking them.
"I never planned to end it with just this. We're only just warming up."
Pyo Sung-ho leaned deep into his chair.
"The real thing starts now."
The doping allegations had been nothing more than an opening move. A scouting probe to test the other side's defenses and watch how they reacted. Pyo Sung-ho had now gotten a clear look at how Han Daewong's camp moved.
Which meant the next strike needed to cut deeper — and hurt more.
"…Even a monster like that has to have something he wants to protect."
Pyo Sung-ho's eyes gleamed, dark and wet.