Viral Back Kick and Clueless Challenge
They called me a street fighter, but my back kick KO had caused a massive stir. Questions flooded in about whether all Koreans could pull off Taekwondo like that, and WFC's Kim Hak-su and Seong Chanh Ho showed off their own kicks in response. It was like my claims were getting validated. Just as I'd said, Brown slapped him with a suspension for his out-of-ring antics and fined him half my fight money. But he snuck me a bonus on the side, and I wasn't about to turn that down.
SNS was blowing up with that photo of me taunting Callum amid the crowd, flashing a relaxed smile and flipping him off. Amid all that, the compliments on my looks were especially satisfying. They say you can never hear "you're handsome" enough, and I was starting to get it. Fighters back then weren't big on SNS, but once I showed them its hype potential, they started jumping on one by one. For those without mic time, it was a godsend.
My small great-uncle loved cars, so I borrowed his brand-new 6x6 G-Wagon. With Might's help at home, we shot some pics. My plan was to poke Callum on SNS. Might snapped me leaning against the car, arms crossed.
"A ton of my buddies from boot camp turned into your fans, man."
"Yeah?"
"That back kick? Gave me chills."
"Pure luck, really."
Might went quiet watching me focus on SNS. I posted the pic he'd taken next to one of Callum at 19, chomping a cig in some alley.
Then I hopped in the driver's seat and snapped my wrist with the Royal Oak Blue Ceramic dangling off it. My thick hands and wrists made the watch look like a turd, but whatever. Finally, I linked my YouTube highlight reel.
After posting, I drove us to In-N-Out and demolished a mountain of burgers with Might. Callum tried firing back, but my follower count crushed him—it just got buried. Back at the mansion, I played with the kids. After getting hero treatment at Grandpa's estate and crashing there overnight, I finally headed back to Korea.
On the plane, my phone rang.
"Is this Yi Beom-ho?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"This is MBC's Clueless Challenge. WFC's hot right now—any chance you'd do a shoot?"
"Huh? How'd you get my number?"
"Through Daniel."
Dad—how the hell did he even know? Though if they really wanted me, they'd find a way. Kim Hak-su had some entertainment connections.
"Ah? What'd Dad say?"
"He said you'd ignore us unless we convinced you."
"And Mom? She'd love it."
"W-well... haven't asked her yet."
"Cool, I'll check with her and call back."
"We'll be waiting."
The guy was persistent. Hung up and dialed Mom—she picked right away.
"Mom? You hear about the TV gig?"
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Clueless Challenge. Should I do it?"
"Do whatever you want~"
"My heart just decided to follow yours—what now?"
Mom went quiet for a sec, so I waited. Then she spoke.
"I'd love to see you on TV. Who knows when your face'll get wrecked."
"Never happening. Got it."
Hung up and decided to do it. Might as well preserve the looks while I'm young. Called the PD back and greenlit the shoot. The episode was an MMA challenge, and they sent the schedule via phone file.
Back in Korea, I hung with family. Routine of picking up the kids from school continued as I headed to the broadcaster for the contract. A few folks recognized me, eyes popping. Brushed past to the Clueless Challenge meeting room.
"Ah! You're here! Hi!"
"Whoa... even better in person."
"Bigger than I thought..."
Chat with the PD started light: gotta cover the tats. Four fighters booked, pay 2 million won per day. One new fighter daily, then after three days, a panel discussion on MMA viability.
"Six hours a day? Normies would die after 30 minutes."
"Oh... right? Tone down the intensity then—thanks."
"Hmm...? You got the venue sorted?"
"Yep, Kim Hak-su vouched it's solid for training."
Sandbag's all you need anyway—rest via sparring. Felt like teaching kicks, so asked for my preferred heavy bag. Schedule had me last. Signed and headed home. TV exposure builds diverse fans. YouTube wasn't big with adults yet.
Time flew; shoot day arrived. Showered, long-sleeve gym gear, makeup, off to set. Everyone gawked at my size. Height unmeasured lately, but pushing 196cm?
"Damn, you're tall."
PD showed prior footage on request. Contestants demoing specialties—looked brutal. Hak-su hyung's low kicks folding folks. When the members arrived, I hid per instructions, waiting for my cue.
"Here's your Day 1 master! Big cheers, everyone!"
Yoo Yeon-seok, already in the know, clapped; others faked enthusiasm. Probably dreading hellish training.
"Hi~"
"Whoa... you're huge."
Shook hands one by one—eyes bugged at my fist size.
"First time seeing someone this big. Shoulders like..."
"Feels like staring at Kang Man."
Choi Kang-man, Korea's 218cm giant—vanished post-surgery, but my build shut 'em up.
"He's famous. Mixed heritage, right?"
"Born in the US, dual citizen—ditched US for Korean."
"Ooh~"
Quick intro vid played, showing who I was. Barely 50 seconds total.
"What got you into WFC?"
"It's where they crown the toughest bare-knuckle fighter. Wanted to be that."
"Big ambitions."
Vibe got heavy, so I joked.
"If I win, it's like being the strongest in whatever game I'm playing."
Laughter broke the ice. Another castmate chimed in.
"Born in '94...?"
"Whoa, just turned adult?"
"Fast birthday—friends are '93. And I'm four years older than our mom."
"...!?"
Pointed at Yoo Yeon-seok; jaws dropped.
"W-wait!? What year?"
"Mom's '76."
"Whoa... so at 18...?"
"Yep."
Chat flowed till I cut the fluff.
"First shoot and you're smooth."
"Gotta be engaging for WFC—it's tied to hype."
"Haha! Same as us."
Great vibe. Skipped training for more talk, but Yoo pushed.
"So, young master—what'll you teach?"
"Basics matter, but you'll all prioritize stamina. Let's scout your talents instead."
"Ooooh."
"See if you got real MMA potential."
Donned fat gloves, eyed the heavy bag.
"Learned basic punches?"
"Yes sir!"
"Forget 'em—hit with everything. Kicks too."
I set stance, snapped two jabs. Thwack! Thwack!
"I'm a natural hard puncher. Match my power, and you could drop a WFC pro."
"Ooh..."
"Now, KO power demo."
Body torque, light lead hook. CRACK!
"......"
"That's pro-knocking power. Your turn."
They swung wild—Ha Min-su goofed kicks and headbutts.
"Hiyah!"
Pretending to fight imaginary foes, all playful. Variety show style, but spotting talent amid it was grindy. Checked sounds, bag shake.
"Last: reaction speed."
Mitts on—instruct to slip my punches. Went fast; none dodged.
"No fair! You try, master!"
Grinned, donned headgear. Leaned forward for fairness, slipped easy.
"Swing away."
"No regrets!"
Rushed, wild haymaker—weaved, controlled head, light knee to ribs.
"Guh! S-sorry!"
"Heh heh."
"Almost pissed myself."
"Piss this, piss that."
"Levels totally different."
Ranked 'em per scores. "No way!" or teasing last place.
"But. Talent ain't absolute."
"......"
"Difference between 1 unit per hour or 3. Effort time is king. Even 1 unit/hour, 12 hours daily for years beats months of anything else."
"You'd win, right teacher?"
Squared shoulders, arrogant double guns, grinned at palms.
"That's how guys like me reach WFC."
"Whoa."
Even staff eyes sparkled at my smooth talk.