The Black Leopard

Three weeks.

That was how much time remained until the PBA tournament. Short or long, depending on how you measured it — but as preparation for the world stage, it was nowhere near enough.

"The schedule's out."

Hwang Jinsu spoke without looking up from his phone. The screen's blue light washed across his face and carved the lines there even deeper.

"Quarterfinals in week one, semis in week two, the final in week three. One fight a week. Managing your stamina is going to be critical."

"Yeah."

Geum Hyuk answered without breaking the rhythm of his jump rope. It was early — still dark — and the gym belonged to just the two of them. Under the lights, the rope struck the floor in a steady, metronomic beat. Beyond the windows the pre-dawn dark still hung thick, and cold morning air seeped in through the vents.

The skip of the rope was precise as a metronome. Fine dust rose each time Geum Hyuk's toes kissed the floor, and beads of sweat traced paths through his gold hair before dripping from the point of his chin.

"The problem is the opponents."

Hwang Jinsu pulled out a tablet and brought up the participant list, scrolling with a thumb, flipping through each fighter's profile.

"Tyron Jackson. Twenty-two fights, twenty-two wins. Lives up to the nickname TNT — the man's got a one-punch that belongs to a lunatic. Average KO round is 2.8."

"......"

"Alexei Volkov. The Russian Tank. Thirty-one wins, twenty-eight KOs. Pressure infighter — the kind who walks through punches to get to you. Stamina and chin are both monster-tier."

"......"

"Yamamoto Kenji. Japanese champion. Counter puncher. Sits back, waits, then plants one. Nineteen of his twenty-four wins are KOs, and most of those are counter KOs."

Hwang Jinsu looked at Geum Hyuk. Worry and expectation mixed in his eyes.

"They're all monsters. Every last one of them."

Geum Hyuk's rope never stopped.

"So?"

His voice was calm. His breathing had picked up slightly, but the rhythm didn't falter.

Hwang Jinsu snorted a laugh. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes folded softly.

"Yeah. That's exactly how you should talk."

After that, the intensity of training climbed.

Up at five in the morning. Fifteen kilometers of roadwork, then four hours of morning sessions at the gym. Four more hours in the afternoon after lunch. Two hours of film study in the evening. More than ten hours a day, poured into boxing.

The roadwork route ran along the Han River waterfront. Running through the dark before sunrise, he would watch a slow bleed of red light spread across the horizon. Cold air filled his lungs, and the hardness of the asphalt under his soles woke his body. Geum Hyuk's body did not tire. Fifteen kilometers barely winded him; if anything, the more he ran, the looser he felt.

I need to load the world-class guys' styles into my head.

Lee Woojin analyzed the participants' fight footage in every gap between sessions, running the videos on his smartphone in slow motion and logging each fighter's habits. Fortunately, he had faced similar styles thousands of times in Fighter of Legend. Game and reality wouldn't match a hundred percent — but he could predict the broad patterns.

Data stacked up in his head. But there was a problem.

I'm short on live experience.

Game knowledge, he had. Boxing technique, he had. Geum Hyuk's talent, he had. What he didn't have was live experience against world-class opponents.

Seo Minjae, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠East Asian champion, had been strong — but he and the World Class Contenders were on different levels. Speed, power, ring IQ. They were a full tier above in every category. The pressure he'd felt against Seo Minjae would have been nothing more than a preview.

I need a sparring partner.

Hwang Jinsu seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

"Hyuk."

Near the end of afternoon training, Hwang Jinsu approached. A towel hung around his neck, and the look in his eyes was different from usual.

"We've got a visitor tomorrow."

"A visitor?"

"Sparring partner. I called in a personal favor to get him."

A peculiar light gleamed in Hwang Jinsu's eyes — the look of a man who had prepared something big.

"He's got world-class experience. He'll be good for you."

The next day, at two in the afternoon, the gym door opened.

A man walked in — early to mid-thirties, close-cropped hair, sharp eyes. His gait carried the weight unique to men who fight for a living. Each step was precise and spring-loaded, the rhythm of someone who had walked a ring canvas hundreds of times. Even the creak of the gym floor seemed to answer his stride.

And above his left eye, a deep scar. The remnant of a fierce fight from years ago, still marked in a red line.

"Been a while, Jinsu."

"Hey. You made it."

Hwang Jinsu held out a hand in welcome. The handshake between them carried the weight of a long friendship.

Geum Hyuk studied the man.

Who is this?

He rummaged through Lee Woojin's memories. Had Fighter of Legend featured a character with a similar look? Nothing came to mind.

"Let me introduce you."

Hwang Jinsu pointed at Geum Hyuk.

"This is our gym's ace, Geum Hyuk. You've probably seen the footage."

"Ah. The East Asian champion."

The man looked Geum Hyuk up and down — the distinctive gaze of a boxer taking the measure of another boxer, cataloguing build, muscle balance, even the residual traces of stance in a single glance.

"Hard not to, with all the noise you've been making. That four-round adaptation was impressive."

"......Thank you."

"And this," Hwang Jinsu said, pointing at the man, pride in his voice, "is Baek Gangho. Former Super Middleweight World #3. Nickname: the Black Leopard."

......!

Baek Gangho. A fighter who had challenged for a world title twice, years ago. First time, a decision loss. Second time, a retirement on injury. Then he hung up the gloves. The consensus had been that without the injuries, he would have been a World Champion.

Baek Gangho held out a hand to Geum Hyuk. Thick calluses covered the palm — evidence of thousands of punches ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thrown.

"Nice to meet you. Heading to the world stage, I hear?"

"Yes."

"The PBA tournament. Plenty of monsters in that field. Some of them I fought before I retired."

Baek Gangho's eyes sharpened. The humor drained away, replaced by something serious.

"If you're not ready, you'll get wrecked. You know that, right?"

"......"

Geum Hyuk's mouth curved. A predator's smile settled on his lips.

Baek Gangho's eyebrow twitched, faintly. Intrigued — or maybe just unimpressed by the arrogance.

"......You've got guts, I'll give you that."

Hwang Jinsu cut in.

"Gangho. I need you to spar with him today. He needs someone with world-level experience across from him before the feel starts to click."

"That's why I came."

Baek Gangho unzipped his tracksuit and looked at the ring. The moment his eyes touched the canvas, something like fire stirred in them.

"One condition, though, Jinsu."

"What's that?"

"I can go all out, right?"

Hwang Jinsu looked at Geum Hyuk. The question was in his eyes. You okay with that?

Geum Hyuk nodded.

"Of course."

The corner of Baek Gangho's mouth lifted. The smile of a leopard that had just spotted prey.

"Good. Then get ready."

In the ring, Geum Hyuk and Baek Gangho faced each other.

The gym's younger members gathered around the ropes. A spar between a Korean legend and the rising champion — well worth watching. A few pulled out their phones, then hastily put them away under Hwang Jinsu's glare.

"Three minutes, three rounds. Jinsu, you ref."

"Got it."

Hwang Jinsu took his place at the edge of the ring, stopwatch in hand.

Geum Hyuk bit down on his mouthpiece. The familiar press of plastic against his teeth. Baek Gangho fitted his own and settled into his stance, and the atmosphere shifted in an instant. The easy expression from before the spar vanished, and the fighting spirit of a former world-ranked fighter rose off him like heat.

......

Lee Woojin observed his opponent. Baek Gangho's stance was orthodox — left foot forward, right foot back — but his center of gravity sat slightly forward, a posture ready to explode inward at any moment. Shoulders slightly dropped, chin tucked toward the chest. A complete stance, built for defense and offense at once.

Aggressive type.

He was starting to understand the nickname. A leopard was the emblem of explosiveness and burst speed — a predator that closed the distance in a single bound and tore out a throat.

Hwang Jinsu raised his hand.

"Fight!"

Baek Gangho moved first.

Fast.

The former world number three's speed was a full step above Seo Minjae's. From the instant he took his first step, he was already inside range. Geum Hyuk could see the jab coming, but the time to react was vanishingly short.

Thud!

The jab landed on his guard. His forearm went numb. The shock rang through the bone.

......Heavy.

The instincts of a man who had competed on the world stage were still alive.

Then the one-two.

Wham!

A jab and a straight came in succession. A textbook one-two with no feint at all, and it was still hard to slip. Geum Hyuk turned his head to evade, but he didn't get all the way clear. The glove grazed his temple.

Crack!

"......!"

His brain shuddered, just slightly. His vision wobbled for a beat.

Baek Gangho did not stop. Body. Hook. Uppercut. The combinations flowed like water. Every punch in a world-ranked fighter's combination carried both destructive power and precision, the links ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠between techniques so natural that Geum Hyuk couldn't find a place to break the chain.

He was driven backward. He raised his guard and weathered it, but the weight of the punches bored through his arms. Even shots that landed on the gloves transmitted their shock all the way to his skull. He was herded into the corner. The elasticity of the ropes pressed against his back.

Fast. Heavy. Accurate.

World-class experience was melted into Baek Gangho's fists. Two world-title challenges, countless wars against ranked fighters — that history lived in every punch.

The first round ended.

Several red marks had bloomed on Geum Hyuk's face. The skin over his cheekbone was already swelling, and the inside of his lip had split; he could taste blood. A round he'd been completely dominated.

"How was that?"

Baek Gangho asked, taking a drink of water. His expression was easy. He looked like he hadn't broken a sweat.

"That's what world-class feels like."

"......"

Geum Hyuk didn't answer. Instead, he closed his eyes.

Compile the data.

I can see the patterns. I apply them from round two.

Geum Hyuk opened his eyes.

A feral light settled in his pupils. A beast that grew by fighting.

That instinct was waking.