Joining AKT and Crushing the Youth Circuit
Too bad it wasn't the octagon. Time passed, and the new year dawned. By Korean age reckoning, I was now a high school sophomore, and I hopped on a scooter to head to the AKT Gym for my official MMA initiation.
At this point, AKT wasn't famous yet. A quick internet search just turned up that it was a gym training kickboxers. AKT was a kickboxing outfit, but my real target was Dominic, who trained there. I planned to do wrestling drills with Dominic, who would go on to become the light heavyweight champion.
Heads tilted curiously as I walked in. I'd have turned right around if Dominic wasn't there, but luckily, he was inside. Dad's jiu-jitsu sessions were plenty helpful, but finding a wrestling partner was tough. And Dominic, an Olympic wrestler, would be a huge asset to me.
AKT wasn't a powerhouse back then. Its brutal routines weren't infamous yet.
"I'd like to sign up. How do I do that?"
A white-haired coach leaned on the ring ropes and spoke up. "We don't take kids like you."
I was already 190cm tall. Guess my pretty-boy looks made me seem like a rich kid anyway.
But then Roberto, the head coach, overheard the commotion, spotted me, and his eyes went wide. "Leon? You're Leon Becker, right?!"
"You know me?"
Everyone turned to stare at Roberto's words.
"You little cutie! Glad you found us! Yeah, we need guys like you at AKT!"
"? Who's this kid?"
"The Korean kid who popped up out of nowhere last year, demolished the junior boxing qualifiers from prelims to finals, then vanished. Said he didn't need the money and wanted to do WFC instead? Hard to find stubborn bastards like that these days~"
The coaches chuckled, eyeing me.
"He was good at boxing but quit? Why?"
"Said he wanted to prove he's the strongest in the world."
"Hah. What a hothead."
The coaches chatted with Roberto, then grinned at me.
"But he turned down the money?"
"I've got plenty."
"...How much?"
"Two hundred grand."
"".....""
Not a fortune to them, but for a kid my age to have $200K in the bank proved I wasn't hurting for cash.
"I want to get into WFC. Can I train here?"
I had no plans to fully commit to AKT. Whittaker would be my main head coach. But I wanted to grind here hard for a year—their routines were hellish, or so they said.
5:30 a.m. I showed up early and drew stares. Right now, Dominic Carter was more known as an Olympic wrestler than a two-division champ—that was years away. I'd claim a title belt faster than him.
We each hammered personal workouts for three hours, took a short break, then at 9 a.m., it was wrestling time.
Jiu-jitsu has few takedown setups. That's why I needed solid wrestling offense. To maximize my jiu-jitsu, I chose wrestling over boxing. I wasn't a natural wrestler, but it amplified my ground game.
Nothing to learn from AKT's coaches. My real teacher was Dominic...
The much smaller Dominic was going easy, mindful of my age. Best not to show off—just gradually ramp up the intensity.
Lunchtime brought in bentos. They offered me some, so I ate with them.
"First day and he's keeping up fine."
"Look at him breathing—still got plenty left."
"Compared to other 16-year-olds, he's definitely different."
After eating, we chatted during the short break. Afternoon was kickboxing with the kickboxing coach. I skipped showing off my Taekwondo kicks, sticking to clean kickboxing technique.
"Damn... strong legs? Your weight shift is instinctive."
If that's instinctive, I'm the greatest prodigy ever. It was the destructive power from Taekwondo-honed kicks as my base.
They started praising me with smiles, but went quiet watching my strikes.
Thwack! Boom! Crack! Kwang!
"...He fits right in here."
"Roberto, this kid should do kickboxing."
"Kid ditched boxing—the real deal—for WFC."
I couldn't wait to step into the octagon. That's why I picked AKT, where Dominic trained.
There was a youth MMA world championship called IMMAF. It wouldn't debut until next year, with its first event in February. That's where I'd make my MMA debut.
Time passed, and I stuck to being Dominic's wrestling partner at AKT. No arrogance—they couldn't teach me shit in areas I already dominated, like distance control. And Dominic wanted to spar with me since my build matched his rival Dmitry's.
I skipped the rest of AKT's training. Mornings for sweating it out, afternoons part-timing in the garden, evenings finishing with boxing at Whittaker's.
Then, just like I remembered from history, Bitcoin exploded. I hadn't done jack besides train, and suddenly I had $600K. Left some pocket money and diversified investments again.
April rolled around, and I headed back to Korea. Another youth boxing tourney, so I'd rest at home before training.
My Korean routine didn't change much. Playing with the kids, buying gifts, sneaking them treats behind Mom's back. Or catching up with Kang-chan and Min-hyuk. Sometimes part-timing at Dad's PC bang.
Even in that peaceful life, the burning urge to enter the octagon surged. I'd dive deeper into training to quench that thirst, even a little.
In April, I met Whittaker in Azerbaijan. We rented a gym for a week of acclimation training. Then weigh-ins and drug tests. Finally, prelims began.
No octagon yet due to age rules, so a ring would do. But my 193cm frame and build had opponents shrinking from the start.
More than that, I'd gotten too famous in this junior boxing event. Scared stiff? A few jabs to the face and they'd crumple.
Ref called TKO after confirming no fight in them—and that was already my third bout. No real challengers. One kid even quit after eating my punches. No fun Mexican like last time... Hell, barely any entrants, and it felt like they were dodging me.
Might as well be light sparring with Colin—more fun. These non-workouts gave me wins on taps.
Finals time, and a fighter finally glared with real fire. First interesting face. Probably babied as a "genius" to get those eyes—and climb here in his debut.
Whittaker had no intel on him, so I probed with light steps and jabs. Solid reactions—befitting a finalist.
Straight, body, lead hook combo.
Pop pop pop!
Simple right straight, so I 90-degree footworked left, ducked.
Whoosh.
Dodged the punch, stepped deeper, rose into a lead smash uppercut.
Thud.
Beautiful chin rattle. Ref caught the collapsing white kid.
"Blue wins!"
""Woooaaah~""
Not thrilling. Victory too easy. Kinda hollow, actually. I'd trained my ass off for this, but what I craved wasn't sports—it was the raw fight beyond sports. Only the octagon could satisfy me.
Gazing at my gloves, Whittaker spoke up from behind.
"Think your opponents suck?"
"Yeah."
"You know Colin—the guy you spar with—is on a five-win streak now?"
"....."
"Thought youth kids could hang with a pro sparring partner?"
"....."
"Pros are different, sure, but you said WFC. Pros don't even count youth records."
I got what Whittaker meant. Don't get cocky over junior fights. Looking back, I'd overhyped the kids.
Out of nowhere, an AKT kickboxing coach who'd come to watch clapped beside Whittaker, beaming.
"An honor to meet you, Coach Whittaker."
"You brought Leon here?"
"Nah, Roberto's heading the training."
"Makes sense... MMA's getting pro."
"Fights are fireworks, right? Leon digs it too."
Whittaker had already seen the bouts I recommended and rated them solid. He'd even scouted for WFC, so he loved it.
After finals—more hassle than the flight—we headed back to the States.