Family First
I'm the type who offers solutions over sympathy. This fight with Bruno is set for Denver, Colorado. It lines up perfectly with Young-hoon's break from school, so we headed out a month early for training. Even though he'd gotten permission from his parents, his face didn't look great. According to the coaches, his family situation is pretty rough. His mom even asked if she could get a refund on the six months of training fees I'd covered.
I can't wrap my head around a parent wanting to refund their kid's training costs, no matter what... but I figure there must be extenuating circumstances. I heard his dad passed away young, and his mom's battling cancer. Young-hoon, who actually had the drive for studies, is facing college entrance exams soon. Maybe she's trying to soothe her regrets over not being able to support him by cashing in on that money. In short, desperation probably played a part.
I'm not exactly the optimistic type, and there's a specific reason I see it that way. Young-hoon never looked shadowed when he talked about his mom. Money—cash tied straight to survival—changes people. It creates situations where talent has to rot. That must be why, at our first meeting, he just took hits without fighting back.
Boarding the plane, I spotted Young-hoon in first class, totally engrossed in his ice cream. The way his face lit up over the in-flight meal was kinda embarrassing. He's one of mine now... I should take him out more often and treat him to something nice.
"Family in a bad spot?"
"...Yeah."
"Can't know other people's family drama unless they spill it."
"....."
"That bad? Messing with your training focus?"
He paused mid-bite, head slowly dropping. Just thinking about it stresses him out, huh.
"How much?"
"Huh...?"
"How much debt?"
Asking about his family's debt—like it was his fault—must've embarrassed him. I crossed my legs and leaned back.
"Round trip first class? That's 12 million won. Basically two years' salary for a regular joe, including your share."
"...!?"
"Makes you uncomfortable taking from a guy like that? Most people shut up, stab you in the back, or ghost when they feel that way."
"N-no, that's not it!"
"Or you planning to pay back just the training fees and steak dinners, call it even, and wipe the slate?"
"Never. Absolutely never."
I yawned and reclined further. Young-hoon's got the frame for lightweight? Nah. He's already hit 180cm and still growing.
"Said I'd use you as a bodyguard if the talent wasn't there, right?"
"....."
"If you're committing your life to me, you're family from that moment on."
"...Yeah."
He nodded seriously.
"And I can't stand seeing family struggle."
"....."
"Little late, but one question: You enjoy training?"
"Yeah. Ever since following you around... it feels like I can breathe."
No hesitation, eyes straight on me.
"Then tell your mom. Say I bought it."
"....."
"I'll take responsibility for life. Starting with clearing that debt. Your mom's sick too—only just found out. Time for proper treatment."
I flashed a grin, and he bit his lip, eyes turning red. Can't stand seeing a guy cry, so I pulled out my laptop and finished editing some game footage.
We landed in San Francisco and headed to the house Might—now at military academy—used to use.
"This is your place, hyung...?"
Young-hoon gawked at how nice it was.
"Cousin's spot. Usually crash at Grandpa's, but borrowed it for you."
"Ah...?"
Even pre-regression, Might's place felt like our hideout. He worked odd jobs with me and did the same with his siblings. Guy's sharp like that—bought his own place right after turning adult.
Checked the garage: the Honda Accord he insured, America's classic first car.
"Not bad."
Not my house, but no Korean would trash a relative's spot. Dragged Young-hoon to the mart, stocked up on essentials. I could live on Coke instead of water, donuts, and pizza, but I'm not pushing my pancreas superpower on others. Grabbed a variety of meats and veggies, filled the fridge.
"Gonna say hi to Grandpa. Make yourself at home—use the computer if you want."
"Got it."
"Basement gym too. Check it out or train."
Headed to Grandpa's for the vacation check-in talk. Slipped Big Aunt some rent money for Might—Big Uncle wouldn't take it.
Back home, Young-hoon was already working out in the training room. Doesn't take long to warm up to places, huh. We did some light sessions, kept the first day chill.
Next morning, early hit to AKT. Where Young-hoon learned wrestling for the first time.
"Who's the shrimp?"
"Kid I'm raising. Might make a Team Monster or something later."
"Hahaha. That Thierry fight? Pure art."
"Yeah?"
"Spotting those angles perfectly—born talent?"
I haven't watched my own fights, so no clue on the footage. But praise for my boxing? Kinda embarrassing.
AKT's packed with trainees now—plenty of sparring partners for Young-hoon. Lots lined up hoping to spar me... but outside striking, I'm regular joe level. Big letdowns. Plus his footwork was awkward, so we had a chat.
"Why move like that? Ditch the kicks you learned."
"Well... mixing kicks with boxing feels..."
He's only drilled basics so far. Figured once fundamentals clicked, MMA adaptation would be quick. Probably his early-matured personality from money woes. In the fight world, where hierarchy sorts daily, that meekness is worthless. Gotta know the guy in front of you could snap your neck anytime.
"You scrapped a lot as a kid, right?"
"....."
Head down, embarrassed.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. MMA's a sport, sure—but I see it different."
"...Yeah?"
"Legal slaughterhouse. Be as brutal as rules allow. Execution arena."
"....."
"You betting your life—why half-ass the stance? Dump every technique you know. That jiu-jitsu takedown defense? Why so sloppy?"
He pondered hard.
"Don't wanna be the one executed? Kill 'em first."
Family crap neutered his aggression. Said he fought plenty young. For MMA, gotta revive it.
He steeled himself, jumped back into sparring. Finally decent movement. Not super aggressive, but passing grade.
AKT head coach approached me.
"What'd you say? Kid improved overnight."
"Not words—just MMA newbie."
"...What?"
"Separate jiu-jitsu, taekwondo, boxing till now."
"Oh..."
"Told him to fight, not 'sport' it."
"Fight over sport... hit home for him."
Coach looked enlightened.
Morning at AKT, afternoon to Whittaker's boxing gym. Colin had a fight too—place was buzzing. Colin demolished Young-hoon mercilessly. Guess introducing him as Baby Monster backfired. Wants the title himself...?
Time passed; hydrated a ton for acclimation. Hit Denver, two weeks air adaptation training. No mic work—unranked perks. Final day, hotel water cut.
Weigh-ins: Crowd roared at my entrance. Water cut hits gravity hardest—like swimming, reactions slow. But recalling dragging my unused body through workouts? This ain't shit. Passed easy, flexed muscles, bellowed.
"Let's go~!!!"
"Woo~!"
Face-off done, back to hotel for stable rehydration. Hit 98kg next day—perfect condition.
Young-hoon stuck by me, watching every step.
"Me debuting next year?"
"Huh? Jump in now, you'd get dog-walked and tapped. Can't even beat amateurs."
"....."
"WFC shot's once-in-a-lifetime. Polish up first—maybe year after next?"
Chatting with Young-hoon holding kick pads—taekwondo roots shining—Whittaker approached.
"Condition?"
"Perfect. Tahar not coming?"
"Doesn't wanna be your specialist. Helping Dominic's camp."
"Shame."
"Shame? Means he can't spot real gems."
Ref entered locker room. I hit the bathroom for routine. No rush. Destination ain't just champ-level. Only my second fight.
Still, marketability proven—Brown booking me January.
At the entrance, Kanye West's Power thumped. Inspector ref opened the door; I grooved to the rhythm.
Cameras on me. Carefully draped Young-hoon's Taegukgi like a cape, entered. Roars hit; shadowboxed for my close-up cam—I'm pulling real heat.
Lyrics hit my ear:
"Superheroes gotta have an entrance theme or it's lame."
Grimaced, beat-dropped tiger tattoo on my right pec with a fist. Leaned into the camera, Korean:
"I'll show you again."
To inspector ref, folded Taegukgi for Young-hoon, stepped up. Ignored ref a sec, eyed the octagon. Bruno stared down, warming up.