Family Ties and the First Spotlight
Too bad it wasn't the octagon. Not much changed after the move. The little ones just needed time to adjust to the unfamiliar space. Harin was quietly scared of all the moving around—she was still too young for that kind of thing. Beom-jun headed off to kindergarten, Harin to school. That left me some precious time to warm up to Hayun, who was still a bit wary of me.
Bonding with Hayun is no easy feat. Harin and Beom-jun are like puppies—eager and affectionate—but Hayun's all cat: aloof and independent. She takes after Mom, so the only way in is for her to open up on her own terms. And who knows when that'll happen with me.
She climbed onto my lap and glued her eyes to the TV. At least my lap passed muster. If it hadn't, she'd have bolted faster than anyone. I wanted to knead those chubby, sturdy thighs of hers, but she only tolerates that kind of touch from Mom or Dad. So I just straightened her hair and let her watch in peace.
Mom sidled up and sat next to me. "How's the new place?"
"Eh, it's alright."
I watched her sip her coffee for a moment. Compared to the Mom in my memories, she looked incredibly young still.
"Mom."
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm gonna be in America for a while. Starting to itch to head back for training."
Flying on my own dime was a stretch financially, so trips to the States always meant looping in the parents.
Mom pondered it seriously, weighing what I wanted against letting her grown son spread his wings.
"If you go so soon, the kids'll miss you like crazy."
"Psh, you'll miss having me around to drag you out of parenting hell~"
"Tsk. That's why sharp kids like you are such a handful..."
"I'll swing by every quarter~"
Even with our comfortable setup, round-trip flights every month would've been a budget-killer. But as the eldest son, they were willing to invest that much. Overseas, the WFC was gobbling up other fight orgs left and right. I couldn't just sit idle in Korea—I had to make waves somehow.
After catching up with Kang-chan and Min-hyuk, I jetted back to the States. I crashed at Grandpa's place and hit the boxing gym daily. Sure, I'd come back early, but there's a one-year age gap between Dad and Big Uncle, so I had an older cousin named Might Becker. He's smaller than me in height and build, but the guy's military-bound. We'd been tight back in the day, always stirring up trouble together. Unlike me, the walking disaster, Might's a good dude. With my mentally matured mindset now, it was my job to steer him right.
Our routine kicked off with mowing the massive lawn in the yard. There's something zen about it—peace washes over you. We weren't doing it for free, though. A hundred bucks pocket money per weekly mow. Word spread around the neighborhood, landing us two-hundred-dollar gigs that we split. Might handled the brute-force mowing, I fine-tuned the details. We sweet-talked Big Uncle into pro gear, threw in car washes, and pocketed fifty bucks each time. Minimum wage back home in Korea was 4,000 won an hour—this is why they dream the American Dream. Hustle hard, and even back then, you could clear ten million won a month easy.
Afternoons after school, Might and I worked odd jobs or tagged along with Big Uncle to the range. Seems my youth boxing tourney run had blown up a bit. Mid-morning training at Whittaker's gym, and in walks a MMA reporter wanting an interview. His face rang a bell—he'd become a WFC specialist down the line.
"Hey! Bruce Newman here. Just call me Bruce. You're that hot rookie, right? Diego said a monster just popped up?"
"Yeah?"
First I'd heard of it, so I checked online articles. My last fight vid must've dropped after Diego's shoutout.
"Whittaker shot down everyone else, so here I am."
Whittaker must've known I had WFC ambitions and greenlit it. He shot me a grin from across the gym. Diego's nod had fast-tracked my buzz more than expected. But without momentum, it'd fizzle fast.
"Mind a quick interview?"
I drew a circle in the air at Bruce. "Cash up front?"
"Hahaha. What's the fighter rate these days?"
"Kidding. Fame's good—fire away."
He snapped pics as I stripped to the waist and lounged in the ring. Gotta give 'em the full show.
"...Damn."
For a 16-year-old, my frame was absurd. Heavyweight bulk on a lean, wiry build.
After a few shots, Bruce dove in.
"When'd you start boxing?"
"Nine. Half-Korean, so summers here Stateside for training."
"No boxing in Korea?"
"Nah, Taekwondo."
"...Impressive."
He recorded that, then pivoted. "Korean but English like a native—how?"
"Mom's side's old military lineage. Dad served with USFK, met Mom there. Grew up chatting with him."
"No shit!? Kinda figured from the look—half-white?"
"Yep."
Era demanded some race talk. Bruce's face lit up right after— not him being racist, but knowing his readers ate that up. I'd once trended as spawn of an elite US military dynasty that churned out stars. That hype would keep boosting my draw.
"Tried all sports—why boxing?"
"To be the world's strongest."
"Solid. Military blood. Proving it through boxing?"
"Write this straight?"
"...? Shoot."
"Boxing champ ain't the world's strongest. WFC champ—that's the real deal."
Whittaker smacked his forehead from afar. Luis gawked—boxing prodigy name-dropping a rival org. Basically, I'd just burned my bridges in pure boxing circles.
"Rich family, don't need the cash."
"....."
"Just wanna be the strongest ever. The name that tops every 'GOAT' list, no debate."
"....."
"That's all I want."
A bit juvenile, but America eats that up. Bruce grinned through it all. Formals followed: role model? Whittaker.
Might hates babysitting his brothers. Two little ones under him—three bros total. Cute kids, but he despises playing with 'em. Energetic little terrors, sure.
"Leon hyung! Let's swim!"
"Sure thing?"
I played with them instead of Might's games, then gossiped with Big Aunt and Little Uncle—who'd married last year—and Little Aunt.
Time flew; summer hit, back to Korea. Spoiled my actual siblings this time. Had to keep the long absence from making things awkward. Took Beom-jun to the playground since he begged. Kid conked out hard—Mom just smiled.
"Have kids with a big age gap later. Easier."
"Why? Free childcare's a steal?"
"Look at you, hurting my feelings."
Mom wouldn't get bummed over that. She smiled down at sleeping Beom-jun.
"Who'd our baby boy take after to be this handsome~?"
"Not you? Dad's genes, obvs. Handsome firstborn takes after Mom, though."
"Bull. Scram."
She muttered under her breath. No offense taken— just her way with me. We're tighter than with the other kids. Somewhere along the line, she started leaning on me. Treating me like an adult, basically.
I grinned and checked my face in her hand mirror.
"Hm... handsome."
"...Creep."
She was speechless at the self-praise. But my flawless mug held up pretty well. Middling next to Harin or Beom-jun, but top-tier for normies. Objective self-assessment's tough, sure. Cleaned up nice lately— even I barely recognized myself. No exotic vibes like I'd thought; intact nose bridge and brow bones screamed Dad. No dumpling ears either—easy on the eyes.
"Whoa. That's your face straight up."
"...Tsk. Quit bullshitting and play with Hayun."
"Dumping childcare again?"
"Can't I?"
"No skin off my nose."
Approached Hayun—her nap schedule's random. Tired eyes blinking as she fiddled with her doll. I'd learned the trick: do something intriguing right in front of her. Stacked wooden blocks into a castle nearby. As it grew grander, her eyes sparkled; she plopped down to help.
"Oppa, this too."
"Stack it here?"
"Yeah."
Ecstatic over that? Rare pretty smile from her. Unlike Harin's constant grins, this felt precious.
Next day, light jog then shower. Grooming with Mom paid off—looks on point. Pre-regression, I ignored appearance, but for early title shots and hype, it's essential. The more they wanna smash this pretty-boy face, the better.