The Stronger Guy Just Won
"Shall we move, then? We happen to have a training room exclusive to our channel."
Yoon Chaerin pointed toward the back of the studio, a sly grin on her face.
The space they entered was larger than expected. A regulation-size octagon occupied the center, and the walls were packed tight with posters of sparring footage from past Fight Lab episodes.
They had this ready from the start.
Lee Woojin let out a quiet snort. This had been the plan all along — bring in a boxing champion and pit him against a kickboxer. They were probably counting on the boxer getting wrecked.
Any ordinary boxer would have refused. It was common knowledge that boxers were at a disadvantage under rules that allowed kicks. They had zero training in defending against leg attacks, and the very concept of range was different. The conventional wisdom in combat sports said that a boxer using only his arms would need to be two weight classes above a kickboxer using all four limbs just to have a chance.
But Geum Hyuk was different.
From the start, Geum Hyuk in Fighter of Legend had never been a character limited to boxing. Boxing was his base, but he also drew on Muay Thai, judo, wrestling, capoeira, and even a killing rubber-body art sealed in the darkness of history. He was a character who had to survive anywhere — from a surreal fighting tournament crawling with every kind of monster, to no-holds-barred brawls in back alleys where rules didn't exist.
A sword demon who could bisect a body with a single knife-hand strike. A grappler who folded the human frame like paper. A fighter whose fa-jing ruptured organs in a single blow. A battlefield of things too vicious to be called human.
In the game's story, Geum Hyuk grew into an all-rounder by facing those wildly different combat styles, adapting, finding countermeasures, and ultimately winning. And Lee Woojin was the man who had carved every one of those matchups and counters into his mind over thirty thousand hours.
A kickboxer? He'd fought them thousands of times.
Three cameras were quickly set up around the octagon. The staff moved with practiced ease — this was clearly not their first time. Myeong Insu entered the cage first.
"We'll use MMA gloves. One three-minute round, standing only. No ground game."
Yoon Chaerin laid out the rules. Geum Hyuk nodded as he pulled on the gloves.
MMA gloves were far thinner than boxing gloves. The fingers were exposed, and the impact of a punch transferred almost directly. Less padding meant it hurt a lot more when you got hit.
He stepped into the octagon. Chain-link fencing enclosed his field of view — a regular octagonal cage, a completely different atmosphere from a boxing ring. Myeong Insu stood at center, waiting.
Six-foot-three, and his lower body was especially developed. The muscles of his thighs and calves were unusually thick, legs carved by the traces of thousands upon thousands of kicks.
The classic kickboxer's build.
Data replayed in Lee Woojin's mind. Fighter of Legend had a similar type of character — Sawang Lampakam, a Muay Thai-based striker. A style that chipped away at an opponent's mobility with low kicks and middle kicks, then finished with a high kick. Myeong Insu's style would be similar enough.
Yoon Chaerin raised her hand from outside the octagon.
"Both sides ready? Fight!"
Myeong Insu moved first. The wide stance unique to kickboxers. He advanced slowly, measuring the distance with his lead foot.
Opening pattern: low kick.
Lee Woojin had already predicted it. The first thing a kickboxer went for was the opponent's lead leg — pound the thigh with low kicks to restrict mobility. The attack boxers hated most. In boxing, where footwork was life itself, a dead leg meant you were finished.
Whish!
The low kick came, just as expected. Myeong Insu's right foot scythed toward Geum Hyuk's lead leg, a kick that chopped down with the entire shin. Land it clean and the leg would lock up.
The instant the kick motion starts — step in.
Game data replayed in Lee Woojin's mind. Kicks need distance to generate power. Maximum damage comes from connecting with the middle of the shin. Close the gap and you neutralize it.
Geum Hyuk's body moved forward. Step-in. The low kick connected not with the thigh, but around the hip — like striking with the tip of the shin. The power was halved. At the same instant, Geum Hyuk's left hand shot out.
Jab.
Thud!
It caught the tip of Myeong Insu's nose dead-on.
"...Ugh!"
Myeong Insu's eyes went wide. What the hell? He'd stepped in while taking the kick. A normal boxer would flinch from a low kick and the distance would open up. This guy had driven forward instead.
Geum Hyuk didn't back off. From that tight pocket, he fired jabs in rapid succession.
Thud! Thud-thud-thud!
"Kh...!"
Myeong Insu scrambled backward. But Geum Hyuk stuck to him.
I can't create distance.
Cold sweat beaded on Myeong Insu's forehead. For a kickboxer, range was life. In that subtle pocket where the foot could reach but the fist couldn't, a kickboxer could pound an opponent one-sidedly. But this boxer wouldn't allow that range.
A middle kick...!
Myeong Insu twisted his hips. Middle kick — a mid-level strike targeting the ribs. Geum Hyuk's eyes flashed.
Hip rotation starting... middle kick, then.
A motion he'd seen thousands of times in the game. Step-in. Geum Hyuk's body drove forward again — a paradoxical movement, walking directly into the path of the incoming kick. The strike hit his back instead of his ribs, connecting with the ankle rather than the mid-shin. The power dropped by more than half.
At the same instant, Geum Hyuk's right hand exploded.
Body hook.
BOOM!!
"Guh...!"
Myeong Insu's body folded. The punch had driven straight into his liver.
"Whoa..."
A gasp erupted from outside the octagon. The cameramen looked at each other with disbelieving faces. Yoon Chaerin's expression had already gone stiff.
What is this?
It was the complete opposite of the planned narrative. They'd wanted the picture of a boxer getting overwhelmed by a kickboxer. Reality was flowing in the opposite direction.
Myeong Insu gritted his teeth and created distance. Stay calm. His pride as a kickboxer boiled over. He was Korea's number one. So what if the guy was an Oriental champion? He couldn't take this from someone who'd only ever boxed.
I just need to land one clean shot. I'll finish it with a high kick.
Myeong Insu dropped his stance. His finishing move — left-leg high kick, the technique that had sent two men to the hospital at last year's Asian tournament. He mixed in a feint. He lifted his right foot slightly, as if throwing a low kick — and his left foot rocketed up like lightning.
High kick. A murderous trajectory aimed at the temple. Land it flush and a concussion was the baseline; unlucky, and you'd lose consciousness.
Got him!
Myeong Insu was certain. He'd bitten on the feint. His eyes had gone to the right-foot low kick. A high kick at this timing was inescapable.
But then Geum Hyuk's body dropped.
Ducking.
The high kick grazed the tips of his gold hair as it passed. A rush of wind whispered past his ear — a hair's-breadth miss.
What...?!
Myeong Insu's eyes flooded with shock. He hadn't bitten on the feint. He'd been reading the high kick from the start.
How?!
Geum Hyuk exploded from the lowered stance. Hip rotation. Shoulder driving forward. Power that started from the tips of his toes surged through his torso and condensed at the end of his right fist.
A devastating body shot aimed at the liver.
BOOOOM!!!
"GAAAH...!!"
Myeong Insu's knees buckled. The strength drained from his legs. When a punch buried itself in the liver, the human body went out of control — the brain issued commands, but the body didn't listen. He staggered backward, his back hit the chain-link fence, and he crumpled right there.
"......!"
Silence swallowed the octagon, inside and out.
Thirty seconds.
From start to finish, it hadn't even taken thirty seconds. Korea's number-one kickboxer had gone down to a boxer's body shot.
Yoon Chaerin couldn't close her mouth. The PD clutched his head. The cameramen were frantically checking whether the record buttons had actually been pressed.
"Hah... hah..."
Myeong Insu tried to stagger to his feet. His legs wouldn't take his weight. He grabbed the fence and barely got his upper body up, then collapsed again.
Geum Hyuk looked down at him.
Something stirred deep in his chest. A beast's instinct. The blood of the Golden Sun.
Ah, shit.
Lee Woojin's reason sent up a warning flare. Here it came again. Geum Hyuk's ego was about to run wild. But he couldn't stop it. His mouth opened on its own.
"Kyakyakyakya!"
A flippant, unrestrained laugh rang through the octagon.
Ah, for real, this laugh AGAIN!!!
Lee Woojin's scream echoed hollowly inside Geum Hyuk's body.
Geum Hyuk crouched in front of Myeong Insu, who was slumped against the fence. He matched eye level and grinned slyly.
"Hey."
Myeong Insu lifted his head. Eyes mixed with humiliation and rage.
"That all you got? Hah."
HEY!!!!
Lee Woojin screamed internally.
"I was honestly kinda looking forward to this, y'know? Number one in kickboxing, they said."
The corner of Geum Hyuk's mouth climbed higher.
"But what's this? I haven't even warmed up yet."
Myeong Insu's face went rigid.
"...How did boxing... beat kickboxing..."
His voice trembled. An emotion that could have been rage or humiliation — it was impossible to tell.
Geum Hyuk snorted a laugh and stood up.
"Boxing didn't win."
He shrugged as he peeled off his gloves.
"......!"
"Blaming the sport looks pretty lame, so don't. Weakling."
Geum Hyuk walked toward the cage door. Then he stopped. He looked straight at the camera and crooked a finger.
"Oh, and to the other combat sports athletes watching."
That signature beast-like smile hooked the corner of his mouth.
"Boxing, kickboxing, judo, whatever."
A single wink.
He walked out of the octagon.
Ahhh!!!! I'm not this kind of character originally!!!!!
Lee Woojin's scream still rang hollowly inside Geum Hyuk's body.
The video went up that same evening. It was the fastest edit in Fight Lab channel history — apparently the PD had started working on it immediately after the match. The title was simple.
The view count went insane.
1 hour:100,000
3 hours:500,000
1 day:2,000,000
The comment section was a war zone.
Geum Hyuk's lines in particular started spreading as clips. That single sentence — "The stronger guy just won" — plastered itself across every community.
The "Kyahaha!" laugh started getting used as a sound effect entirely. An alarm tone someone had mixed together using it became popular.