The Strong Prevail
It's the strong who dominate. Young-hoon had no major injuries, but he was preparing for hospitalization to deal with any aftereffects. He looked at me with a serious expression, like he had something to say, so I approached.
"What's up?"
"Hyung... have you ever lost to anyone?"
He must have been mulling over what I'd told him. Come to think of it, I hadn't lost once since regressing.
"To my dad."
"...?"
His face said it all—like losing to my father felt as bad as his own defeat. No more excuses left. I left Young-hoon there, looking dumbfounded, and headed out.
My next fight in Korea was just two months away, so it was time to ramp up training. While I was resting at home, Brown held a press conference. He announced that Marius and I would headline WFC 177, along with a major reveal.
Brown smiled and stared straight into the main camera.
The crowd buzzed.
Watching the chaos, I turned off my phone and stared at the ceiling. Emerging powerhouses from around the world I couldn't even see in my previous life... I'd monopolize all their fame and popularity.
My phone buzzed—documents from Uncle Jake. All real estate listings: prime Hawaii land up for auction. He was bored enough to scout these, and every one was solid. I picked three to buy and sent them back, adding one more in Itaewon as a finisher, then called.
"Checked them all?"
"Yeah. No good real estate in Seattle?"
"There is, but prices are triple depending on the area. Gotta be Hunts Point?"
"Everyone raves about it, so I'm curious. Just saving money."
Seattle was like my third hometown. College nearby meant tons of students tanning for that golden skin. Cruising yachts to check out the young ladies... the fresh air, clean water, beautiful women—it felt like paradise. I still thought about it sometimes.
"San Francisco has a great yacht scene too..."
"It's fine."
After approving the four properties, I asked him to handle the contracts. At some point, buying turns into money breeding more money. Let it sit four years, liquidate before COVID hits. By then... maybe I'd hit that singularity where money doesn't even feel real?
With real estate as my money copier loaded up, I checked my separate slush fund.
Snyder, a wrestling coach in his late 30s, joined Team Monster. Not only top-tier skills, but he understood MMA and had two years of specialized jiu-jitsu. Korean fights meant easy access to American sparring partners. Korea doesn't have many over 2m tall. Lately, I was burning cash on training partners.
I stuck around the US briefly, sparring with Snyder's partner. Young-hoon's training shifted post-loss—hyper-focused on every move.
Even sparring with me, he analyzed my motions, so I paused.
"Time to send Young-hoon somewhere else?"
"I've been thinking that. Tell me if it matches."
His style was solidifying: all-in on dynamic vision, an extreme peekaboo jabber. Not running—advancing jabs, unique. A partner like me was useless now. Beating up normals to sharpen senses would help more.
"He improves more pounding civilians. Sparring me dulls his edge."
No way I'd waste his awakening on practice. If he weren't my guy, no mercy.
Tahar nodded in agreement.
"Young-hoon, if you want, I can send you to AKT."
"Will I get stronger there?"
"Obviously. Famous for wrestlers, but it's a kickboxing gym at heart."
Resolved, Young-hoon nodded. I called AKT head coach Roberto.
Colin had a fight in three months too. I left Whittaker, Colin, and Young-hoon in San Francisco, taking Tahar, Snyder, and my wrestling partner to Korea.
Upon arrival, I let Tahar, Snyder, and the partner tourist before training. I revisited the taekwondo dojo to sharpen my footwork. Mom showed up for her morning workout.
"Straight to the gym, not home?"
"Quick session."
She tied her hair, eyeing my kicks.
"Something from training juniors back in the day—want me to show you?"
"What? Kicks?"
"Yeah."
Out of nowhere, offering kicks. Harin would learn taekwondo from her too—she'd taught me bits as a kid.
"Saw your fights; might help."
She scratched her cheek; I nodded.
Mom positioned in front of the heavy bag, light steps. Then, foot up—thrusting side kick like a stab.
Thwack!
No clue the target, but efficient motion. Solid damage potential—very practical.
"We called it the Kook Kick."
She started explaining; I cut in. Better to feel it than hear it a hundred times.
"Try it on my gut."
"Hits the solar plexus—you'll die."
"I'm good. Go."
She set up far back, taekwondo instant step—accelerated foot spearing my solar plexus.
Thwack!
My thick core handles pressure fine. I braced, but it pierced like a bullet—chilling pain. Beyond hurt, dizzying cell shock froze my muscles.
"You okay?"
I nodded, but she saw I wasn't—ordered me to lie down quick. Lungs ignored me; cold organ shutdown from gut out. Cold sweat poured; I dropped. She lifted my legs.
"Open wide, yell 'Ha!'"
"Pff...!"
"Ha!"
"Hah! Gahhhhk."
Air finally rushed in; I exhaled.
"Who holds breath and takes it? Exhale first."
"Huuu... gut's wrecked."
"That's normal—shit yourself too."
Even insisting, slamming her son's gut like that? Peak mom. Had to learn it. Side kick variant, range crushed normal kicks.
WFC was blowing up in Korea. A Korean champion? Even indifferents checked it out. My foreigner-heavy SNS flooded with Koreans.
Tons of filming requests—all rejected. Running crew variety show tempted, but fight soon—gym bound.
Time flew to late July. Marius did interviews, oozing confidence.
Post-workout, dragging home—kids playing. Harin aced big-sis duty; always puzzling with Hayun. Exhausted, I sat; Mom came over.
"Ear clean?"
"Suddenly?"
"Bought this cool thing—works great."
Pro endoscopic ear picker with light. She eyed me flushed; past open master bedroom door, Dad clutched his ear.
"...Why's Dad like that?"
"Huh? Practiced fine, don't worry. Nicked the eardrum maybe."
Kids untouched—she planned practice on me.
"I get hurt, fight cancels. Hundred-billion main event."
Sudden injury bails Brown'd hate.
"Why so scared?"
"Remember who gut-punched her son."
"You asked."
I lay, head on her thigh. Long-missed coziness, safety... but tensed for her move. Phone on neck, scope in.
"Eek. Harin, check this."
"Oppa has tons!?"
"Worse than your dad."
"Really!?"
Harin and Hayun crowded, peering. Practice paid off—chunks out, refreshing.
"Whoa, Hayun's pinky came out?"
"Mom! Me too."
"Oppa hurts—no."
Blocking Hayun for "oppa hurts"... why so flushed and focused? Really... best I skip too?