Knife in the Alley
I was the strongest man in the world. Back in Korea, I returned to school. After workouts, I checked out Beom-jun, who had become Harin's personal doll. Seeing Beom-jun, who loved moving around, obey Harin so well... she must've smacked him around a few times when we weren't looking. You could tell just from the vibe—he seemed a bit scared of her.
Mom's belly was growing bigger by the day, but thankfully, it was our youngest daughter. As the seasons changed, winter break rolled around again. I'd advanced to second year of middle school under Korean schooling, and Hayun, who had been in Mom's womb, finally came into the world. Hayun with her black hair like mine. It was too early to tell for sure, but her reddish skin tone took after Mom more than Dad.
Every time a new sibling was born, Mom and Dad's attention zeroed in on them. Thanks to that, I had to play with Harin and two-year-old Beom-jun until I was drained.
Around the time I was entertaining the little ones at home, an email from Whittaker arrived with a video attached. It was Colin's pro debut. I was headed to the States next week anyway, but Whittaker must've wanted to show me Colin's fight himself.
Colin had made his debut in a CSAC-sanctioned bout after less than a year of training. Even for a debut, you don't jump straight into the major leagues. You rack up 6 to 10 fights in CSAC events and get scouted. Just like how WFC only picks fighters who dominate their local MMA orgs.
It looked like a small arena show. Whittaker said it went great, but I was a little worried. Boxing talent runs deep—there's just so much of it out there.
The fight started, and Colin slipped a jab with a deep duck, then slammed an empty body shot home. He forced an uppercut through the guard.
Thwack! The black guy hung on the ropes like a corpse. Colin demolished him in just 10 seconds. He roared like he was proving he wasn't weak, giving off this weird vibe. That fiery intensity reached me through the screen.
What I felt watching Colin wasn't joy for a teammate's win or envy. It was the urge to crush that arrogant sprout screaming at the cheering crowd.
But Colin wasn't one to quit. Seeing him bask in the crowd's cheers, I smiled too.
Winter break ended—the one where I'd only trained in the States—and now a second-year middle schooler, I went to school like a good boy. No punks messed with me anymore. Even the seniors scattered quick.
Now eye-level with Dad height-wise, I trained wrestling instead of jiu-jitsu. Rubbing bodies all day left us soaked in sweat. After showering, I checked the mirror—definitely bulked up noticeably. Maybe all that yoga? Felt like I was growing faster than before.
I got dressed and headed out to find Dad stripping down for his shower.
"Good work."
"You heading straight to the PC bang, Dad?"
"You know it."
Just in his underwear, staring at my reflection, I felt a twinge of disgust. My elbows nearly reached my ass.
"My limbs look kinda freakishly long...?"
"At least you're self-aware."
I nodded at Dad's words. My upper body core was ridiculously developed... thick bones, but slim arms and legs made my wide lats spread out like some monster.
"You look like a humpback."
"What kinda trash talk is that to your son? I'm telling Mom."
"..."
Dad's brutal fact-check stung. My body felt more insect than animal. Even my standout feature—those hands and wrists—were thicker and bigger than in my past life. Especially my fists; they seemed unnaturally huge. Maybe from pounding sandbags since I was a kid? Good thing clothes hid everything but the hands.
Back home alone, I watched little Hayun wriggle. Mom was on the small side, but our kids came out massive. Still, Hayun was tiny compared to Beom-jun. With her chubby cheeks and round eyes taking up half her face, she stared at us. Eyes dark like mine.
Beom-jun's jealousy flared a bit—he tried grabbing Hayun roughly, so I stopped him, and he burst into tears. Harin rolled up her sleeves for some eye-level education, drilling in how much she'd cared for him. "Don't you wanna be a big bro like me for Hayun?" Beom-jun calmed down.
I ate nutrient-packed meals and kept up steady, sustainable training every day.
As always, heading home after late training, I spotted a shady figure tailing a drunk guy. I'm not the nosy type. But this guy looked straight-up trouble—whoever saw him would think he'd start shit. Hood pulled low, mask on—in this era? Super suspicious.
I thought about calling the cops, but what if it was family? I watched, closing the gap, then tailed them.
Getting close to the shady guy, I called out loud.
"Hey!"
"..."
"Mask and all? You know that guy?"
He glanced at the drunk while talking to me. The guy was stumbling home, clueless.
I yanked the shady guy's shoulder as he lunged for the drunk.
"I'm talking to you..."
Suddenly, he whipped a knife from his pocket at me. I recoiled in shock.
"Whoa!?"
The cold rush of blood pumping through me at the sight of that blade. He glared with bloodshot eyes. I quickly checked for cuts.
"What the hell are you...?"
"What? Pull a knife and freak out? In America, I'd put holes in you, got it!?"
"......"
He'd tailed from afar, so probably didn't know the drunk's place. Plenty of time for the guy to escape now.
Bloodshot eyes locked on me fully. Normally he'd charge in rage, but he'd seen me dodge—he squared up.
"Why're you posing like that...?"
He moved like a pro. Threw me off. Not some wild slasher.
He rushed, swinging the knife—I over-dodged back. Never faced a weapon before. Just "touch it and I'm fucked" panic sweat.
Lots of openings, but getting grabbed by a knife guy risks a leg slash. Even with that risk, knocking out this young body? No guarantees.
His left foot stepped forward. Instinct kicked in—I backpedaled and unleashed a calf kick.
Crack!
"Guh!?"
He stiffened, right leg out—I fired a light oblique kick. He staggered, swung wildly—I dodged and blasted a check hook.
Smack!
Legs buckled, he dropped the knife. I went for a double-leg spear tackle, but he reached into his pocket. I bailed back.
Whoosh!
Blade grazed past my forehead.
"Ugh... f-fuck."
Shoulda just high-kicked... Chilling sensation as blood ran cold. I touched my forehead—no cut.
"You're dead now. You know that?"
Adrenaline surging, I got serious, loosening up into stance. He raised the knife defensively... figured my speed was no joke.
I was underage legally, but no room for underestimating. Taller than him at over 180cm. Pro or not, he wasn't dropping guard with the blade. He meant business, so I faked a step-in.
His guard reaction screamed trained fighter. Confirmed, I spun and bolted like hell.
"...What!?"
I ain't fighting armed psychos every day. He'd tanked that check hook, faked a fall to lure me in. Not amateur grappling either. No normal joe—sprinted like mad, and he chased.
Daily long runs? My stamina outlasted him—gap widened.
"Huff... huff... Stop!"
"Fuck that!? Why!?"
I eased speed to draw him, looped the alley back to the scene. Snatched his dropped knife and hauled ass.
"P-put that down!!!"
"Ugly mug and premature stamina too? Ever even kissed a girl?"
"...?"
"Bet she cried first look at your face?"
Scraping shot, but he froze. Hit a nerve.
"Whoa... for real?"
No chase—I widened the gap, stood still, and hammered a jab into his potato face.
"Ain't another retard like you in the world. What a freak show today."
"Y-you little shit..."
"Baaaw."
Raging hard, he ripped off the mask. Pure murder in his eyes. Noted the eye tattoo on his jaw... odd ink. Unlike before, I sprinted straight to the police station.