Not a Predator, But a Monster
Not some predator—I'm a monster. The referee's voice cut through the quiet space, signaling the start and drilling straight into my ears, right up to my brain.
"Box!"
It was like time, frozen until then, suddenly lurched forward the instant his words ended. An unknown Mexican fighter charged at me. Faster than expected, but not so fast I couldn't react. And I had no intention of trading blows with that fist full of grit.
I twisted my head to slip it and stepped with footwork. Feinted left, then ducked to evade the hook and slipped out to the right, beyond his attack range. To keep him from turning easily, I shoved his shoulder and fired a jab focused purely on speed to gauge his skill.
Spang! He couldn't dodge but deflected it—proof his talent was the real deal.
As he swung back for a counter, I raised my guard, retreated, and slipped away. He pursued relentlessly, throwing a hook. Crack! The crisp sound of his fist meeting my arm. They called him a hard puncher, but light as a feather given his age.
Speed, reactions, power, even physique. They hyped him as a generational rookie, but... I wasn't behind in a single thing. Seeing that, certainty washed over me. Whittaker had always insisted I focus on boxing, and today I finally realized he wasn't wrong.
I slipped back from his follow-up left hook and snapped a straight. Pang! It took him ages to blink back open. Lacking seasoned distance sense, he retreated too far. I thrust my leg forward, closed in explosively, and unleashed a front-hand smash uppercut.
Thwack! My fist grazed his chin. Flustered by my speed, he lunged for a clinch. I shoved his shoulder and broke free.
"Whoa..."
Murmurs of awe from the crowd rippled briefly through the darkness after our short exchange, then faded. In front of me stood the guy raising his guard. At this level, he'd have crushed all his peers.
I threw a jab to obscure his vision, then loaded up a straight into his guard's right arm. Pang! Tensed my legs hard, ducked low, footworked deep inside, and ripped a body shot through the loosening guard.
Crack! Too late raising his guard—his body wobbled from the impact. I pivoted on my ankle, spun torque into my shoulder, and blasted a right straight. Pang!
Remembering the last one, he backed up fast, guarding his gut. I peppered quick jabs; again, eyes shut as he retreated. No idiot misses the same opening twice. So I stepped in deep, stomped the mat hard.
Thud! The shock traveled up my knee and hips, converting to rotation that raced to my shoulder. I poured every ounce of that power into the fist I'd pulled back to its limit. Drove it straight into his exposed chin.
Squaaang!
My first full-power swing since reincarnating. A no-holds-barred straight, ignoring the risk of a whiff. He stiffened like a speared fish, brain rattled, and crumpled backward onto the canvas.
"...!!!"
Only now did the darkened arena come back into focus. His coach scrambling up, thinking his kid was done. The crowd filled with shrieks laced with shock. Everywhere I looked, spectators clutched their heads.
Then Whittaker's familiar bellow hit me.
"Kuhahaha! A monster! Not some beast—this kid's a whole different breed of monster! You all saw that!? Didja see it!? The guy I found!"
His exhilarated voice rang in my ears. Monster... Perfect ring name, not a shred of doubt.
"Leon!!!"
Dad, Great Uncle Big, and Grandpa were hollering from the stands. Everyone buzzing with energy. I bowed politely to the opponent's worried coach, then grinned at Diego beside him. He beamed back, face flushed with excitement. Yeah, you're a champ too, huh...
I turned away from Diego for now, faced Dad and Grandpa, and hit them with shoulder dance theatrics.
"Wooooah!"
"Yeah~"
Time passed, and Diego never showed for our spar. Said he had a packed schedule, rain check. Didn't feel like fear. Borrowing Whittaker's words, he'd decided who to pass his boxing belt to.
The issue? I wasn't doing boxing. No need to broadcast that, though—me and Whittaker kept it quiet.
We boarded the flight home to Korea with Dad in tow. Stuff to handle back home. First, rope Mom into opening an account. Time to play the stock market, but hell if I knew what was popping off right now. So, dump the full $6,000 prize into Apple stock. Then Bitcoin.
Bitcoin felt different back then. No exchange trading—you had to mine it yourself. But don't think future-scale mining. Any old computer could do it now, performance be damned. It had some nominal value, but with nobody actually spending it, almost no one bothered mining beyond a tiny few.
Still, needed to check if mining was feasible in Korea or the US. After, I hit up this community called Reddit, posted on the token board about buying mined Bitcoin. Modest goal: 20,000. Early buzz had it hitting $20-30; sell then. Annoying daily checks till it did.
Back in Korea, Dad and I grabbed a meal. Chowing down in the living room, Dad wouldn't shut up.
"You had to see it yourself! Our Beom-ho was insane!"
"I showed you the video~"
"Those top-tier kids worldwide couldn't touch him! That's the Becker blood!"
"I get it, okay?"
"This is Becker!"
"Fine! You're all amazing!!!"
Sounded pissed, but Mom smiled at Dad's rare glee. She'd wanted me normal. Straight A's? Just a chuckle and dinner. Harin never missed top of her class nationwide, but Mom never bragged.
She didn't even love straight-A's much. Preferred us gaming, living ordinarily. But the Becker clan? Obsessed with fighting prowess. And deep down, they all preferred me in MMA over military, I recalled.
So yeah, MMA it was from the jump. Harin seemed thrilled by Dad's joy too.
"But you won prize money—ain't spoiling your parents?"
"Weekend dine-out?"
"Sounds good?"
"And need an account for stocks."
"What 15-year-old does stocks?"
"Heard it's best to park spare cash in blue chips. Money makes money."
Mom figured it'd teach me something useful, nodding to herself like always.
Post-meal, played with Harin and Beom-jun. Felt a twinge for Hayun. Parents dote on her enough; pile on from me, and the others get jealous. Explains why Harin loves me over Dad. Beom-jun's already self-centered at 5—less "playing with me," more "new toy arrived." Sees everyone but Mom as meh.
Can't complain; that's on me. Five years old now, kindergarten next year. Dad and I took him to Seoul Forest for light catch. Tossing the ball, Dad's grin wouldn't quit. Our new place? Prime real estate—Daeyeon Motors buying it soon anyway. Land value maxed; their building goes up here.
We're moving right by my old school. No yard, but Seoul Forest's a one-minute walk. Perfect for our park-loving family. Mom said move by year's end—already in motion.
Still, business first: family photo.
Move day neared. Morning chaos as usual.
"Mom! You had Beom-jun and Hayun 'cause I asked, right?"
"Yup~"
"See? Wouldn't exist without me, but they act up~ Switch cartoons already."
Beom-jun, shell-shocked. Harin claiming dibs on siblings. Fight started over living room TV rights.
"Hyuuung."
She figured it applied to me too. Thought she could boss me. Smart cookie—who'd she get it from? But no claim on me. Knowing I was Team Harin, she struck a cocky pose.
"I... didn't ask for siblings?"
Mom nodded—spot-on. Beom-jun's pitiful "help me" gaze soured to disappointment. Two TVs total; Dad's glued to the master bedroom one, sports only. Weekends, he parks there to "watch the kids."
"Wanna kick a ball with bro?"
"Soccer?"
"Yeah. Soccer."
Just light dribbling, but Beom-jun wanted real soccer. At 5? Whatever—saved him from cartoon hell. Quick park trip.