The Road to Las Vegas

The World Boxing Union (WBU). The Global Boxing Council (GBC). The Universal Boxing Federation (UBF). The International Boxing League (IBL).

The four major organizations of the boxing world.

And above them all, one more body held dominion.

The Premier Boxing Alliance (PBA).

Founded in 20XX, it was a fledgling organization — yet in just five years it had upended the entire landscape of boxing. It had cleaned up the chaos spawned by the four majors scrambling over one another, and introduced a unified world ranking system. The prize money was overwhelming. A PBA world title fight paid twice what the old organizations offered.

Above all, the PBA's defining feature was its tournament system.

Where the existing bodies operated on a champion's discretionary challenger system, the PBA selected its challengers strictly through tournament. You could not reach a title fight without proving yourself in the ring. That fairness won the fans, and the PBA had grown into a new power that had effectively conquered the four majors.

And the current PBA middleweight world champion was Leon Cardenas.

When the Red Emperor claimed the PBA belt as well, the organization rose as the undisputed greatest body in boxing.

And now, that PBA had reached out.

"What?"

Geum Hyuk blinked.

Hwang Jinsu shook his phone, his voice running hot with excitement.

"We got an official offer from the PBA! A world title shot!"

"...For real?"

"Yeah. But there's a condition."

Hwang Jinsu turned the screen toward him. His fingertips were trembling, just slightly. In more than a decade as a trainer, this was the first invitation to the world stage he had ever received.

An official PBA document. The English ran dense down the page, the key passages marked in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠highlighter.

"You have to win an eight-man tournament to get a shot at the world title."

Hwang Jinsu's voice was a tangle of nerves and thrill.

"Two fighters from Asia, two from Europe, two from North America, two from South America. The top-ranked guys on each continent."

"If Asia gets two spots..."

"You and the Japanese champion. One out of Korea, one out of Japan."

Geum Hyuk scanned the document, scrolling with his thumb until the participant roster filled the screen.

"...Hell of a field."

Lee Woojin's eyes lit up.

A few ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of those names he had seen in Fighter of Legend's story mode. The game and reality wouldn't line up perfectly, of course, but he could grasp their general styles. Alexei Volkov had been a pressure infighter they called the Iron Fortress. Kenji Yamamoto, as he remembered it, had been classified as a precise counter puncher.

One name in particular jumped off the list.

Tyron Jackson.

The undefeated American champion. An explosive puncher they called TNT. Even in the game he had been ranked as a top-tier character — one-punch power rated the strongest in middleweight history, with data showing he needed an average of just three rounds to put a man away.

"What's the bracket?"

"Not out yet. They draw next week."

Hwang Jinsu caught Geum Hyuk by the shoulder. That bear's hand closed hard around him.

"Hyuk."

The look in his eyes was dead serious. In the gaze of a veteran who had been through the wringer of the boxing world, something still burned, uncooled.

"This is a massive opportunity. Win the PBA tournament and you go straight at Leon Cardenas."

"..."

"The world stage. For real."

The corner of Geum Hyuk's mouth curled up.

"Kyakya."

Lee Woojin's reason sighed — but this time, he didn't stop it.

Because something hot was surging up from deep in his chest.

The world stage.

Leon Cardenas.

The path to that summit had opened.

"Obviously I'm going."

Geum Hyuk clenched his fist. Even without a glove, the tendons stood out in a hard, tight coil.

"I'll sweep 'em all and come back."

The news spread in an instant.

Every major portal's front page was plastered with the story, and the combat sports boards exploded.

The internet burned with argument and counterargument. Hope and worry, split down the middle. Those who believed in Geum Hyuk's explosive rate of growth collided with the realists who insisted the wall of the world stage was something else entirely.

That evening, at Geum Hyuk's place.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

He opened the door, and Ha Ije was standing there.

A massive shopping bag hung from her hands — so heavy she was barely managing it with both arms. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead, and her breathing was a little short.

"What's with the bags."

"...Can't you tell?"

Ha Ije shoved the shopping bag into his arms. It was heavier than he'd expected.

"Travel stuff. You're going to America. You're going to need things."

He opened it. It was packed with everything imaginable. A neck pillow, an eye mask, earplugs, a universal adapter, multivitamins, digestive medicine, bandages, pain-relief patches, a wrist brace, muscle-relief gel. There was even ramyeon and gochujang.

"...All of this?"

"American food might not sit right with you. At least you'll have cup ramyeon."

Ha Ije grumbled her way inside. The way she slipped off her shoes was as natural as if she lived there.

"You're going to be gone for three weeks. There's a lot to pack."

She sat down on the living room sofa and started pulling items from the bag one by one, sorting them. Black hair spilled over her shoulders, her brow faintly furrowed in concentration.

"This is for the flight. This is for the hotel. This is for the venue..."

Her hands moved with practiced ease, like a ritual she had performed a hundred times.

Geum Hyuk watched her in silence.

"...Ije."

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

Ha Ije's hands stopped.

She lifted her head and looked at him. Those big eyes blinked.

"...For what?"

"For looking after me like this."

"It's nothing. Of course I would."

Ha Ije turned her face away.

The tips of her ears had gone faintly red. Under the living room light, that flush stood out with unusual clarity.

"We're childhood friends. This much is obvious."

"..."

Geum Hyuk sat down beside her.

The sofa sank softly beneath him, closing the distance between them. The faint scent of her shampoo brushed his nose.

"Ije."

"What."

"I..."

Geum Hyuk looked up at the ceiling. The light spread, dazzling.

"I'm going to be world champion."

"...I know."

"I'm going to beat Leon Cardenas too."

"...I know that too."

Ha Ije looked at him. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A complicated emotion flickered through those clear eyes.

"So?"

Geum Hyuk looked back at her.

It wasn't a beast's gaze. Softer, somehow — earnest.

"...Cheer for me."

"...?"

Ha Ije blinked. That was not what she had expected to hear.

"What?"

"Cheer. I think I'll fight better if you're cheering for me."

Geum Hyuk scratched his head. His fingers slid awkwardly through the gold of his hair.

Ha Ije's heart hammered in her chest.

What the hell. All of a sudden.

The tone was uncharacteristically serious for him. No flippant laugh. No beast-like provocation.

"...Of course I'll cheer."

Ha Ije dropped her head as she answered, her voice small. Black hair hid her face.

"We're childhood friends. It'd be weirder if I didn't."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

An awkward silence settled over them.

Geum Hyuk reached out.

He stroked her hair.

"Thanks."

His fingers slid gently through the black.

"...!"

At that warm touch, Ha Ije's face went red in an instant. The flush raced all the way to her ears.

"W-what are you doing all of a sudden!"

"Hm?"

"It's nothing!"

Ha Ije jerked her head away and shot to her feet. Her heart was pounding like mad. Her face was so hot she could barely hide it.

Geum Hyuk tilted his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I-I said it's nothing!"

Ha Ije ducked her head, pretending to organize the shopping bag. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't get a proper grip on anything.

What a fool.

She grumbled inwardly.

Getting this shaken up over him asking me to cheer for him.

He had probably said it without thinking. That was just the kind of guy he was — act on instinct, think later.

...Still. It doesn't feel bad.

She forced down the smile that was trying to tug at the corner of her mouth.