The Talk of the Town

"Over ten thousand views already."

Then again, unless the whole thing was rigged, where on earth could you watch — live — a single middle schooler, not even a fighter, subdue three delinquents all by himself?

It might be the only video of its kind on the planet. Which is exactly why, the moment I googled it—

The title of a post on a certain site shot straight to the top. I tapped it.

The thread had already hit the front page of an anonymous community, buried under a mountain of comments. I read my fill, tapped the back button — and another headline caught my eye.

The intel was startlingly accurate, and I was scrolling through it with genuine interest — right up until the final line froze the expression on my face.

"...So that's why."

...Hold on. Wasn't this posted by one of Choi Woo-seok's little cronies?

"Even I didn't know that..."

I couldn't help being suspicious. Reasonably so.

But still — why go after me over an ex-girlfriend liking me? Not even a current one?

"That's so damn unfair."

Tears welled up in my eyes.

"Should I just start my revenge tomorrow?"

For a moment the devil on my shoulder whispered, but I let out a long breath and shook my head. With this much buzz already, I'd landed my blow.

The smart move was not to get tangled up any deeper. If the guy snapped and came at me with a knife, there'd be no winning that. And I was far too busy to waste time.

Far busier than I'd expected, actually.

"Word of mouth already, and I haven't even promoted it."

Clicking my tongue under my breath, I sat down at the computer the moment I got home. Then, to keep pace with the ripple effect of the video on Kang Ji-won's channel, I unleashed every ounce of the editing skills I'd been sharpening all this time.

The title: [A Middle Schooler Who Throws Hands]. For the thumbnail, a close-up of me trading blows with Mr. Park Nam-rae — his sturdy(?) face and hulking frame captured in full, a stark contrast to mine.

The content was carved into three tight segments — sparring prep, the sparring itself, and closing thoughts from Mr. Park Nam-rae and the gym master — edited for cinematic punch, fully subtitled, and uploaded.

Click!

Uploading a video far too good for a four-subscriber channel, I felt a surge of something like gratitude.

"At last."

I had finally started YouTube. The first stride toward my dream.

Better still, I'd built it around fighting — the obsession that had rocketed to the top of my list since my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠past-life memories came back — so every video fed my own curiosity while it fed the channel. Two birds with one stone, or as we say, catching crayfish while digging the ditch.

"Besides, on YouTube, anything you set your mind to, you can study at the highest quality."

Without hesitation I hunted down lectures from famous MMA fighters and coaches. Every one of them gave away their finest techniques — distilled from years of experience and knowledge — without holding anything back.

Of course, whether I could actually land them on a live opponent was another question entirely.

"This one's close to a joint lock we used in pankration."

I nodded along.

"...I'll have to test this one at the gym too."

I muttered it while pinning the life-sized plush of the KPop Demon Hunters heroine — borrowed from my sister's room — flat against the floor, mounted on top of it.

"Compared to the real thing it's way too docile, so—"

Smacking my lips, I glanced up without thinking — and stopped dead. My sister had just opened the door, and our eyes met.

"Uh, um..."

Shin Hae-in, frozen solid on the spot, finally found her voice.

"I respect your tastes."

My what?

"I'll leave you to it. Sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

I asked, but she just walked out without answering. What the hell is that girl on abo—

No way. Right?

"Fuck."

What kind of lunatic on this earth practices breaking limbs, choking people out, and ground-and-pound on a character they love?

And besides.

"I don't even know her name."

Just what kind of older brother had I become to my one and only sister?

The next day, I went to school like any other. I'd just settled into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my seat and opened YouTube, about to look up how the techniques I'd studied until last night actually played out in live combat—

"Hey, Shin Yugyeom!"

Kang Ji-won whispered from the desk beside mine the instant she walked in, before her bag had even left her shoulder.

"Why haven't you been answering me?"

Now that she mentioned it, I'd been so buried in YouTube that my notifications were off and I hadn't checked my messages once.

"Ah, sorry. I've been caught up in something since yesterday. We'll talk."

Kang Ji-won shook her head.

"The video that blew up overnight — that was you, wasn't it?"

"Me? What about me?"

"You're telling me it wasn't you?"

"How would I even pull that off?" I shrugged. "The video's just irresistible bait, that's all."

"It was past a hundred thousand views when I checked this morning. My subscriber count barely budged, though."

I hadn't gone looking for the video since yesterday, but word was clearly spreading, so it tracked.

"Huh. Good to know."

"And just like you said, it got demonetized. If it weren't for that, it could've pulled in millions of won down the line." Kang Ji-won looked genuinely pained about it.

"That is a shame."

I fought down a laugh.

"Are you seriously laughing right now?"

She pressed on. "Seems like your whole life story got dug up too... You going to be okay?"

"Shouldn't that be the other kids in the video's problem to worry about, not mine?"

"What if a teacher asks?"

"I'll tell them we staged it together. Nobody wants to make a big deal out of it anyway."

"..."

Kang Ji-won clicked her tongue at my brazenness. But this wasn't shamelessness.

"Because of them, I suffered for years. Not a single one of them gets to point a finger at me."

At my flat declaration, Kang Ji-won, surprisingly, didn't argue. She lowered her eyes instead.

"I'm sorry. But that's not what I was asking about."

"Then what?"

"What I'm worried about is—"

Clack. Her words were cut short as the back door of the classroom slid open. My head turned on its own.

There stood Choi Woo-seok and his crew, their faces grim.

"Shin Yugyeom."

Choi Woo-seok called my name.

"What?"

When I asked, he said, "Come outside with me for a sec."

Sure, I could have dug in my heels and refused. But that isn't my style.

No — let me rephrase. Given the man I was in my past life, never turning away from a fight that walked toward me had become my creed.

"Why not?"

If death itself holds no fear, there is not one reason under heaven to avoid a fight.

Especially when I was so deep in fighting techniques that they'd followed me into my dreams. A moment like this was an opportunity to welcome with both arms wide open.

I rose without a flicker of concern, and Kang Ji-won asked:

"What are you going to do?"

"Make peace."

My way.

I swallowed the rest of the sentence and fell in behind Choi Woo-seok's crew. As I trailed them, my heart began to pound — just like before a sparring session.

The only difference was that the tension which used to burst like a soap bubble the instant I pulled on those thick boxing gloves was now sending out the faintest ripples through me.

We came out to the empty lot stretching behind the Buksan Middle and High School buildings, where three tall figures in high school uniforms were waiting. Every one of them wore a second-year name tag.

"There he is."

The punk — two years my senior, but built like a brick outhouse — hauled himself up from the flowerbed he'd been perched on and tapped out his cigarette.

"You little fucker."

A thick regional drawl — Busan, by the sound of it.

"What?"

When I asked, Choi Woo-seok answered. "My cousin. I didn't ask him for help."

Then he added, rushing the words out: "He played ball in Busan, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠got kicked off the team after causing trouble, and came up to Seoul. Then he saw my video on YouTube, lost his mind, and ordered me to drag you out here. He wants the video down before our families find out. He's seriously scary, so just take it down, say you're sorry, and I swear I'll never bother you again..."

I'd seen this exact scenario coming from the moment I followed them out, so I didn't even wait for Choi Woo-seok to finish. I gave a faint smirk, picked up my pace, and walked straight past him — stopping only when I stood before the Gyeongsang-accented punk himself.

"Take the video down, boy. Right now, while I'm watchin'."

The way he glared down at me through narrowed slits, a strike could have come flying at any second and it wouldn't have surprised me. All the more reason to speak before it was too late.

"You're an athlete, aren't you? Let's not do this here. When school lets out, come to the gym down the road and we'll settle it. You win, I take the video down. I win, you get stuffed and mounted right next to your cousin — a matching set. What do you say? We can wear thin gloves—"

Before the words had left my mouth, he swung that long arm of his. Maybe it was all those years pitching, because his palm came screaming in before I could blink. But I'd been locked onto him from the start; I dropped into combat mode and slid back out of range.

Whoosh!

His shoulder strength was such that the wind of the blow reached my face — and in response, an ancient survival instinct surged up, sharpening my focus to its limit.

"You little bastard!"

He snapped out his rear hand in follow-up — maybe he'd had some boxing training — but I drew back my upper body, sank my stance, and let it whistle past over my head. In the same breath, rather than stepping in and reaching with a punch, I seized his opposite arm in both hands and dragged it down. With his balance stolen, I rode his collapsing shoulder all the way around behind his back.

"Aaagh!"

"What the—, you fu—!"

By the time the screams tore out, my arm was already locked around his throat.

Squeeeze—

A jiu-jitsu technique I'd only studied the day before — yet it flowed in live combat as smoothly as water. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I was, after all, a man who had long since mastered the art of turning his own weight and an opponent's strength into weapons.