A Tiger's Presence
Since the launch of the government's sports initiative, there had been a total of six national high school tournaments for each discipline.
Out of those, Lee Donggeon had participated in the MMA division six times, securing one championship and four runner-up finishes. He was a promising grappler who had finished every single one of his victories by submission.
It all started in his second year of middle school. Watching a UFC fighter, he had thought to himself that he wanted to become strong like that.
Unfortunately, he lacked natural talent, but the Lee Donggeon of today was different. After coming to Hohyeon High and receiving proper guidance under Director Kim Changseok, he had grown steadily.
It was probably around then that Lee Donggeon began aiming to become a professional MMA fighter.
I don't like him.
Because of that, Lee Donggeon did not look kindly upon Jung Hyunwoo.
Last year. The day after Donggeon returned from securing runner-up in the sophomore national tournament, Hyunwoo had shown up at the MMA club.
At the time, Hyunwoo didn't even know the basics, had never trained in any sport, and possessed zero athletic coordination, yet he had clung to them, whining that he wanted to be a fighter.
I'm putting my life on the line here.
Of course, Hyunwoo wasn't the only one like that, but Donggeon's nerves had been shot from his defeat the previous day.
To have a guy like that step foot into the very place where Donggeon was building his future felt like a personal insult.
Therefore, he had absolutely no intention of going easy on Jung Hyunwoo, who had stepped into the cage with such a half-hearted attitude.
"The test is one round. Two minutes. If you understand, just nod."
Kim Changseok acted as the referee himself. Donggeon and Hyunwoo nodded simultaneously, closing the distance toward the center of the cage.
"Hyunwoo, give it everything you've got. Donggeon, the moment he taps, you stop immediately. Understood?"
With that final instruction, the test sparring began.
Tap. The instant their gloves touched, Donggeon shot for a tackle, as if waiting was a waste of time.
It's your own fault for crawling back in here.
He planned to snatch a single-leg, dump him, and transition straight to mount.
"What are you doing?"
"...?"
The voice came from right above his head. Hyunwoo hadn't gone down. It had been a razor-sharp entry, but Hyunwoo had sprawled perfectly, stuffing the tackle.
Before the bewildered Donggeon could process what was happening, Hyunwoo took his back and swiftly transitioned to mount.
W-what the hell?
Shaking off his panic, Donggeon threw up his guard. In this position, he was prime real estate for a ground-and-pound beating.
But then.
"Get up."
Hyunwoo abandoned his dominant position and stood back up. He backed away, waiting for Donggeon to get to his feet.
...I was too careless just now. Looks like he actually prepared something over the past year.
Donggeon's perception of Hyunwoo shifted slightly. Still, business was business. If the guy had actually learned some grappling, then Donggeon didn't need to hold back as much.
This time, he timed his entry even faster and shot for another takedown.
Thud! Subtle distance control and flawless timing. The moment Donggeon shot, Hyunwoo took a step back and snapped a short jab.
"Ugh!"
An orthodox left jab. Even though it wasn't his dominant hand, the collision with Donggeon's forward momentum made the impact devastating.
Why is his reach so damn long?
Donggeon tried to recalibrate his sense of distance and shoot again. But this time, he was shut down before he could even start.
Crack! A calf kick landed the exact moment he shifted his weight. It felt as if his mind was being read.
He tried to shoot when Hyunwoo threw a hand out, but that failed too. A succession of calf kicks, landing half a beat faster than expected, made his legs buckle.
"Huuu... Whew..."
Donggeon took a deep breath, his mind racing.
His distance control is bizarre. I'd be better off forcing a clinch and throwing him with an inside trip.
He had long forgotten that he was sparring with an MMA novice. Before he knew it, he was fighting with absolute sincerity.
Having adjusted his strategy, Donggeon extended his lead hand in a long guard and pressed forward.
And that was exactly what Hyunwoo had been waiting for.
A grappler, exhausted or frustrated, resorting to striking—the absolute best-case scenario for a striker.
Hyunwoo smoothly switched his stance to southpaw and extended his lead hand.
Tap. Tap-tap.
Easily winning the hand fight, he slipped inside and forced a toe-to-toe, short-range exchange.
With the distance closing so abruptly, Donggeon tried to initiate a clinch, but he couldn't even find the room to extend his arms.
Thwack! In the phone booth, punches rained down without giving him a single second to breathe. Just keeping his guard up took everything he had.
If he dropped his guard now, his face would be completely exposed. But if he tried to trade inside, he couldn't match Hyunwoo's speed and timing.
What is happening? There's no way this is possible!
He couldn't just stand here and lose without doing a damn thing. Donggeon braced behind his guard, found a gap, and threw a counter.
Whoosh.
There was no block, no parry. Hyunwoo simply ducked, leaving Donggeon's fist to slice through empty air.
Smack! Before Donggeon could even pull his extended arm back, an uppercut ripped through his guard.
Ah. I'm done...
The last thing Donggeon saw was the blinding glare of the fluorescent lights illuminating the cage.
"Donggeon!"
"Ugh..."
The director rushed over to the fallen Donggeon.
"Man, he got knocked down because he was going easy on a newbie."
"I don't know, didn't really look like he was holding back to me."
"His striking was insane, though. Guess that guy has a real talent for boxing."
"The guy's knocked out cold and you bastards are just standing there chatting. Move aside, let me see if he's okay."
"Oh, right! Donggeon!"
The club members watching from outside the cage swarmed in.
I had already backed away, taken off my headgear, and was catching my breath. It was incredibly uncomfortable, but the director had threatened not to let me test unless I wore it, so I had no choice.
Man, knocking him down took forever because of that headgear.
Toe-to-toe. Extreme close-quarters infighting. I had thrown a few hooks in that phone booth, but he wouldn't go down, which was a bit annoying.
It wasn't like I could actually unleash my full power on a kid... but to shut the director and these club members up, I absolutely needed at least one knockdown. That was why it took me a moment to time the counter uppercut.
Still, his tackle timing was better than I expected.
Donggeon's tackle had caught me slightly off guard. But that was about it. His striking was just a slightly upgraded version of Lee Jeongho's.
"Jung Hyunwoo."
Once Donggeon finally regained his senses and sat up, the director dismissed the other members and called me over.
"Have you trained in boxing?"
"Well... yes."
It wasn't a lie. I technically had trained in it.
"You've been taught well. You may join the MMA club."
"So, did I pass the test?"
"You literally knocked him down. Of course you passed. Despite how he looks right now, that kid practically lives at the runner-up spot in national tournaments."
Perhaps because he had witnessed my skills firsthand, the director's tone and expression had softened considerably. Favoritism based on merit—I actually quite liked it.
But a national runner-up?
"That bas... I mean, is Senior Lee Donggeon really the second-best high school MMA fighter in the country?"
"As of right now, yes. Across all three grades, there's only one guy better than him nationwide. And in our school, he is easily the best."
"..."
"Why the long face? This is something to be proud of. To reach this level after just a bit of boxing... In my eyes, as long as you have the grit, you're golden."
"..."
No, that made absolutely no sense. Sure, the guy's grappling was decent, but that level of skill made him the second-best high schooler in the entire country?
"Who's number one?"
"A kid named Yoo Seokhyeon from Changhyeon High. You've heard of him, right?"
Of course I hadn't. I immediately turned to Seo Yeonha, who was waiting outside the cage, and asked about him.
"Do you know a Yoo Seokhyeon?"
"Umm... no, I don't."
"Okay. Confirmed."
Having run the name through my human fame-detector, I turned back to the director.
"Are you sure every high schooler in the country competes in these national tournaments?"
"Well, not literally everyone. Kids who are registered with professional gyms and already have amateur records don't usually participate."
"Ah."
The pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place. Right, even with government funding, kids who were already training at proper MMA gyms had no reason to register for tournaments under a school club's banner. The national high school tournament was basically just a glorified club-level competition.
No wonder Yeonha never showed her face at the school boxing club.
"Now, here is the club application form you wanted so badly."
"..."
I took it, scribbled down my details, and handed it back.
"Great, now let's get to training—"
"Director, I'm going to head out for today."
"Huh? Are you hurt somewhere?"
"Just a bit tired."
"...R-Right. You can just work hard starting tomorrow!"
The director, who supposedly valued grit above all else, ultimately bowed before my overwhelming talent. Leaving the director gritting his teeth behind me, I walked out with Yeonha.
"Did you finally realize how barbaric MMA is?"
"No, it's not that..."
It was just... how should I put it? It felt like I had just twisted the wrists of toddlers who were barely learning to walk. Putting it that way actually made me feel a sudden wave of skepticism.
"I just felt like a bully beating up on beginners."
"I-In that case...! Why don't you come to our gym...?"
"Boxing again? No thanks. I'll just register at some random MMA gym and start preparing for amateur tournaments."
My original plan was to compete in the high school tournaments, then move on to KFC, and eventually the UFC. But since I wasn't a fan of excessive smurfing, I decided to just jump straight into amateur tournaments that included adults.
"Oh, speaking of which, my dad told me yesterday that he used to do MMA back in the day. He said he wanted to watch you train, too."
"Your dad? Why all of a sudden?"
"I don't know. When I told him about you, he said he'd teach you himself and insisted I bring you over."
"..."
I got a really bad feeling about this.
"What exactly did you tell him?"
"Just... that I made my first f-friend at school, but he likes MMA, so it's hard to get him to come to our boxing gym..."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing, except my dad asked if you were a guy after hearing your name, and I said yes."
"Right. I see."
Yeah, that was definitely the problem. Isn't this exactly that classic scenario? A father wanting to inspect the face of the punk sniffing around his precious daughter.
I just gained one more solid reason never to set foot in Yeonha's gym.
"Should we head home early today? I just remembered I have an appointment."
"What kind of appointment?"
"Running an errand for the noona next door."
Naturally, there was no such errand.
Sorry for using you as an excuse, Noona.
As I tried to make my escape with that excuse, Yeonha grabbed my arm.
"I can give you a ride. Get in."
"What ride? You're a high schooler."
"My dad said he was driving over to pick me up today."
"What?"
I was about to snap, *Why the hell are you telling me this now?* when—
Thud. A heavy hand dropped onto my shoulder from behind.
"Are you Jung Hyunwoo?"
"..."
In that instant, a memory from an elementary school field trip flashed through my mind.
The sheer, paralyzing dread that had seized my knees when I heard a tiger roar right in front of its enclosure.
If I had to compare it to a human... yes. It felt like standing in front of Francis Ngannou or Tom Aspinall, absolutely livid and on the verge of tearing me limb from limb.
"Hello there, sir."
"Who are you calling 'Father'?"
"...I'm sorry."
"Who told you to apologize?"
"..."
For only the second time in my life, I felt genuine terror toward another human being.