The Strongest Man in the World
Summer vacation finally rolled around. Kang-chan and Min-hyuk wanted to hang out and have some fun, but I didn't regress just to kick back and enjoy peace. I was always thirsty for it—constantly itching to step into the octagon right that instant. The only frustration was that I was still too young to do it. Still, there was plenty left to prepare. I wasn't planning to grow in the WFC; I had to enter already perfect.
With that, I flew off to America today too, dreaming of stepping into the octagon.
After landing and greeting my family, I headed straight to Whittaker's boxing gym. I shared a light hug and greeting with Whittaker, whom I hadn't seen in a while. And there behind him was Colin.
I'd heard that after losing to me, Colin had gone under Whittaker and trained like a madman, boxing nonstop. It was hard to believe he'd turn pro in April this year.
"Hey, Oriental. Get in here."
Colin was shorter than me, sure—but at nearly 180cm, it wasn't by much. Even after getting wrecked by me before, his eyes hadn't dimmed a single bit.
"You swing those legs again, you're dead."
"...Tch. Just sparring, that's all."
"Anytime, man. Just need to warm up first."
After loosening up for about 30 minutes, I put on the headgear and gloves, then popped in the mouthpiece I'd brought.
Under Whittaker's guidance, we went full sparring for 8 rounds.
His punches exploded from fundamentals honed to the extreme— the fastest fists I'd ever felt. I barely slipped one, then ducked a follow-up hook, pulling my upper body back to evade the rising uppercut. I fired back over his solid guard.
Spang!
His rapidly improved skill even impressed me. I'd planned to take it easy, but suddenly my blood was pumping.
I jabbed to create distance, but true to his infighting style, he rushed in targeting my side.
Thwack!
I switched to crab guard to escape the light hook that followed, then whipped out a jab using my long arms.
Pang!
I landed a few punches while dodging, and Colin's face started turning red. He looked like he wanted to tear me apart.
Then, in an explosive burst of speed, he charged with a straight. I sidestepped with footwork and cracked a check hook at his face.
Crack!
His legs buckled, and he hit the mat.
"Shit!"
Thud!
He slammed the mat and rose with bloodshot eyes. Whittaker held him back for a moment.
Colin tried to shove off Whittaker's hand to glare at me, but Whittaker lightly smacked his cheek.
Slap!
"You see your fingers?"
"Huff... huff."
"In that state, you're just tasty prey for Leon."
"Hoo..."
"Look at that bastard's face."
"..."
"Doesn't look bored like you...? What're you gonna do?"
Whittaker always talked to me like that—it felt like I was back in the octagon. Unconsciously, I shook out my muscles in my routine.
His words felt aimed at me too.
"Never stop thinking, no matter the situation."
Whittaker glanced back at my mutter. Colin, regaining his senses, nodded to Whittaker.
And we resumed sparring.
I'm an extreme outfighter. I only go infighting during training—for the WFC. But for boxing, outboxing helps more. Still, Colin made it feel like facing a real pro.
Of course, he still got thoroughly worked by me.
By round 6, with no breaks in the full sparring, Colin's breathing was ragged. His face had been red from my punches for ages. But nothing was broken or critically damaged.
It'd been a while since I'd sweat this much, so I wiped my face with my t-shirt. In front of me, Colin panted, glaring.
That look in his eyes was unique. Whittaker hates punks excessively, so I could see why he'd take on a punk like Colin himself. No one I'd met before—or after regression—glared like that even on the brink of death.
Colin was the most beastly guy I'd ever seen.
The bell signaling the start rang amid that thrilling vibe, and I shifted into high gear.
In round 8, Colin dropped from a liver blow.
I took off my gloves and slicked back my wet hair. Whittaker watched me with shining eyes.
"Tired?"
"Hoo... You kidding?"
"Crazy bastard... Put the gloves back on."
I'd ground down his basics and stamina like mad, so Whittaker even brought punch mitts to drill me.
We sparred while he taught counters for all kinds of situations.
Colin, catching his breath, bit his lip watching my still-fresh movement. Whittaker smiled at him.
"In my old age, guys like you show up... Lucky, huh?"
"Yeah?"
"You'll be the best boxers in the world."
"But I'm doing MMA."
"...What?!"
Whittaker and Colin's sudden unison drew stares from all the trainees.
For some reason, Colin looked flustered too.
"Wh-what the hell... out of nowhere."
"MMA proves the world's strongest, right?"
"You gonna do that thug sport?!"
Guess that's how he saw it back then.
"Boxing's strong too, but it's the difference between sport and fighting."
"Kid... You're gonna be undisputed champ. You could unify belts, conquer three divisions, rewrite history!"
I hadn't realized he thought that highly of me. The trainees looked shocked too—first time seeing Whittaker praise anyone like this.
"Then MMA guys would say they can't beat me at boxing."
"Same as them losing at boxing! And the pay gap alone..."
"Pay?"
Anyone could tell I looked a bit like a rich kid. Coming to America for training during vacation screamed well-off family.
"I don't need money. I just wanna be the strongest man in the world."
"..."
The trainees stared at me like I was the main event. Felt like an audience.
I glanced around.
"Even in countries I've never been to, kids hitting gyms to train—there must be some."
"What's that got to do—"
"When you ask those kids who’s the strongest in the world."
"..."
"My name comes to mind naturally for that dead simple question... That's the glory I’ll claim."
Even Colin, who had plenty to say, clamped his mouth shut.
"So boxing's just a stepping stone?"
"Nah? It's a weapon for my plan."
I didn't use boxing steps. I used the ones that made me champ in my past life—based on taekwondo footwork.
I loaded recoil into my body for rhythm, then slammed the ground hard to launch myself, slamming a roundhouse into the heavy bag.
Thud-wham!!!
Trainees plugged their ears at the sudden boom. Whittaker's eyes widened at the bag swinging like a broken hinge. Colin, who'd felt it firsthand, flinched.
Overwhelming destructive power utterly unlike punches—from my still-growing, skinny kid body. They couldn't find words.
"I'll be the world's best in bare-knuckle fighting. I need you in the seat next to mine, Coach."
Whittaker's eyes lit up crystal clear at my words.
Colin stepped out unusually. But Whittaker dove into coaching me full throttle, ignoring the empty spot.
"You'll do the youth circuit at least, right?"
"Obviously~"
"Then I'll drop boxing ambitions there. But can I be next to you when you're the world's best?"
"You'll be my top mental pillar, master and partner."
"That satisfies me. Boxing's Colin then."
True to the ex-undisputed champ who raised me chasing romance. When I won my belt, he'd celebrated harder than my parents.
"MMA, huh... Guess I gotta watch one. Any recommendations?"
Back then, BJ Penn, Jose Sang-il, and Judo Son were the MMA names. Their fights were solid intros.
I recommended those three and kept training.
Colin pulled me aside later.
Under the blazing sun, he sat on the curb, looking troubled. Seven years older than me, but deeply shaken.
I stood quietly in the tree shade.
"You... really not doing boxing?"
"Why? Was I your goal or something?"
I teased, but his face was dead serious.
"Then I'm going to the WFC too."
"Think you can beat me at MMA?"
Colin knew better than anyone how real fights differed from boxing. That's why he bit his lip.
"Fuck... World's strongest my ass—forget getting schooled by an elementary kid?"
"..."
"I'd bite my tongue and die before admitting that."
I'd heard about Colin from Whittaker over the phone. No standout talent, but he opened his eyes to what Whittaker valued most: obsession that never satisfied itself.
Passion that wouldn't stop even if choked out.
Colin had fixated on me. That's why he'd ditched his old coach, come earliest and left latest under Whittaker like a maniac.
And I was his fuel.
"Even in boxing, weight class gaps mean we might never meet."
"..."
"Am I your goal, or beating me? If it's the latter, as Whittaker's disciple, you'll always get a shot. Not quitting boxing."
He seemed to sort his thoughts quick at my words. Maybe getting punched simplified his brain.
Standing, Colin eyed me.
"Don't refuse if I call for sparring."
"Why ask to get beat? I'm still growing—20cm height gap makes me feel like a bully picking on a shrimp. Not my hobby."
"...Keeping that attitude to the end."
It wouldn't be full 20cm. Colin was nearly 180cm. Anyway, he smiled relieved and headed back inside first.