Fighter of the Wind

That night, I dreamed. Memories of a moment when I had fought the Roman army to defend Greece surged vividly through my mind. Those horrifying scenes spread out before me, stirring up fear.

Flash.

At the sound of someone's presence, I snapped awake and instinctively snatched the wrist that had already reached my face, wrapping my legs around it. In an instant, I pulled the person's upper body in and squeezed their shoulder and neck together with my inner thigh. A triangle choke.

But it was far too easy. My sister, who knew nothing of jiu-jitsu, hadn't even managed to struggle—she'd simply become prey ensnared by an anaconda.

"Ghhk…"

I had applied the technique on instinct, and even after confirming the opponent posed zero threat, a mischievous impulse took hold of me. I pushed away Shin Hae-in's small head, drew her hips in close, and swung my outer leg over to the inside. Suddenly her arm was trapped and her head compressed, and my sister cried out.

"Ah—agh!"

I wasn't applying any real force, only holding the position, but from her perspective, her body must have felt like it no longer belonged to her. Fear would be the natural response.

Knowing that full well, I went back into the triangle anyway, then shifted my angle and flowed smoothly into an omoplata. With that, Shin Hae-in's arm, laced around one of my legs, wrenched behind her back and she collapsed face-down onto the bed. I sat up, my lower body pinning down her shoulder blades, and asked:

"Tap?"

"What the hell are you doing, you psycho!"

I hadn't used any real force, but her arm was twisted behind her and she was bearing part ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of my weight—a genuinely uncomfortable position. Shin Hae-in shrieked in outrage.

"Sorry."

I readily admitted my fault and released her. Only then did Shin Hae-in regain control of her own body, rubbing her shoulder and glaring at me with smoldering eyes.

"Are you insane? Ow, that hurts!"

"The opening was there."

I'd gotten ahead of myself. This urge to immediately try whatever you've learned—that's a beginner's bravado.

"So this is the jiu-jitsu you've been learning?"

"That's right."

Unlike wrestling, jiu-jitsu didn't exist in the ancient world. The broad framework of joint locks applied to the human body shared some common ground with the techniques of my era, but it felt far more novel. That was why I'd gotten hooked.

"Lately, every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time I see something, I keep wanting to tie it up and dominate it."

"…"

Still, my veiled intent seemed to have landed, because even while wearing an expression of pure contempt, my sister's eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"Jiu-jitsu is kind of cool…"

She had no idea of my true motive—wanting to spark an interest in exercise in a family with no athletic hobbies whatsoever, and eventually teach them self-defense. She just shook her head.

"Anyway, do that one more time and I'm calling the cops! Answer your phone. It's ringing."

"My phone?"

"You left it in the bathroom yesterday, I think."

I picked up the phone my sister had brought over, now rolling around on the floor. The call timer was approaching a full minute. The caller was—

"Kang Ji-won?"

"It's not like that. I'm a wonderfully considerate older brother."

"It's true. I pour her water, I cook her ramen, I even turn off her light when she asks—"

"What is?"

"So what's up this early in the morning?"

"Figures."

"Really? I guess my channel's gained some subscribers too."

"Oh, did I not mention that?"

I continued.

"I'll send you the link. Want to like and comment for me?"

36,000 subscribers.

The video of me sparring with Nam-rae hyung, [A Middle Schooler Who Hits Pretty Hard], at 30,000 views.

The [Amateur One-Day Tournament] video I'd edited from yesterday's three matches, at 52,000 views. The shorts I'd cut from each of those three matches were each racking up over 100,000 views as well.

"It's blowing up."

And that wasn't all. Pinned at the very top of the comment section of yesterday's upload was a comment from Lee Ho-sung—the fighter who, during his active years, had become the first Korean ever to reach the UFC featherweight rankings.

It felt good to have a former UFC fighter personally leave a comment cheering me on. But this was only the beginning.

Then—

Thud.

I collided with someone coming out of another classroom.

"Oh, sorry."

"Ah damn, where are your eyes—"

The person cut himself off mid-rant, eyes going wide.

"Uh… Yugyeom?"

He stammered, backing away in small steps.

"S-sorry. I should've watched where I was going. You okay?"

"It's fine. I was looking at my phone."

That was true, so I brushed it off and passed him into the classroom. I'd been noticing it for a while—everyone was looking at me.

"Shin Yugyeom!"

Kang Ji-won called out as I took my seat.

"You're basically a YouTube star now!"

"Star's pushing it."

That's what I said, but I could see kids who'd come out into the hallway to sneak a peek. Still, there's a hard ceiling on combat sports fandom. Even former UFC fighters who appear regularly on broadcast TV, even current UFC champions, rarely break a million subscribers. You can only break through that wall with content or character.

And I had a plan for exactly that. As I pulled my English textbook out of my bag, Kang Ji-won's mouth fell open.

"Oh right… you're good at studying, aren't you."

That wasn't all. On my way out that morning, I'd retrieved more books from the delivery box.

"Hmm? German, Russian, Slavic… what is all this?"

It wasn't just German and Russian. Just as Slavic languages use the Greek-derived Cyrillic alphabet, the Romance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠languages of Europe are all built on Latin. For someone like me who spoke ancient Latin and Greek, language acquisition could only be an advantage.

"I'm secretly a language genius, you know."

Rather—I was about to become one. And language is a universal subject with no loves-or-hates barrier across nations. There's a reason people say speaking English well changes how people see you entirely. So while others studied their textbooks, I—a man who spoke ancient Latin and Greek at native level—quietly devoted class time to acquiring new languages.

"Shin Yugyeom, what are you doing?"

When I got caught like that and found myself in an awkward spot, I answered politely.

"I'm sorry, teacher. The truth is, my goal is to become a fighter who competes around the world, so I thought learning a variety of languages would help. Science, aside from scientific training, doesn't interest me…"

Before I could even finish, a plastic ruler came flying from the teacher's hand. I could have dodged it. I chose not to.

Thwack.

It was a light tap, but it landed on the crown of my head, and it stung.

"You little—skipping around during class? Who do you think you are, some Fighter of the Wind?"

"Sir, Yugyeom really is famous."

"That's right!"

At Kang Ji-won's words, the whole class answered in one voice. Among those nodding hard, I spotted the Choi Woo-seung family, of all people—the very boys I'd once humiliated. Were they sucking up to the guy who'd beaten them?

"Back in my day I was the top dog of my school and everything. Just because you got a little famous…"

"Yugyeom's not just 'a little famous,' sir—he made his actual pro debut."

"…Pro? That scrawny thing?"

"The real fighters never look like it, sir."

"And why have you been glued to his side all morning taking his side? Are you his wife or something?"

Kang Ji-won's face turned scarlet.

"Sir!"

"All right, all right, enough racket."

Shaking his head, the teacher turned to me.

"Is it true? You're a pro?"

"Yes. I just need to sign the contract to make it official."

"So you competed in amateur tournaments too? Medical checks and all that?"

"No medical checks, but something like that."

"What's your record?"

"Three wins, no losses."

"Oh?"

"Three first-round KOs."

"Really?"

The moment the teacher narrowed his eyes—

"It's true!"

"Yugyeom really made his debut, sir. The other teachers all know."

"So that's what they were talking about this morning…"

Muttering to himself, the teacher let out a sigh in my direction.

"Like it or not, unless you're an official athletic club member, there's no special treatment during class! If that's what you want, bring me an official document."

"Yes, sir."

I slid the book I'd been reading out of sight. Just then, the break bell rang.

"Take care of your body."

Looking at the teacher's gruff tone, I replied,

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go that far…"

"No, no—take care of your body so you can keep training."

"Oh! Yes, sir!"

I'd misunderstood him, so I corrected myself. Kang Ji-won spoke up.

"Teachers don't hit kids with rulers these days, you know."

Of course, I didn't care.

"It wasn't really a hit anyway."

"Ah, right, because of the fighting—"

"…Well, this is rather interesting, though."

Even while I was in class, dozens more comments had piled up. And only one of them had risen to the top.

I tapped 'Translate'.

It matched roughly what I'd translated myself by piecing the words together. So I replied in Italian—a language rooted in the ancient Latin I knew so well.

(I'm at school right now, so I can't stay on my phone long. Soon the Fighter of the Wind will come to claim the title of Japan's strongest and carry it back to Korea. So you, Italian—nothing but a shrimp among the whales—shut your mouth and wait.)

Bravado? Delusion? No.

Riling up the crowd and provoking my opponents—for me, that had always been a matter of survival.