Episode 3

The circle of spectators pressed in, their voices a storm of laughter, jeers, and shouts. The stench of sweat and cheap alcohol hung heavy in the air.

Kang Joon-Ho stood at the center of the makeshift ring, his legs trembling so badly he could barely keep his balance. The faint glow of Rank 1 on his wrist felt like a target, pulsing against his skin.

Across from him, his opponent cracked his knuckles, smirking. A tall boy with short-cropped hair and broad shoulders, his rank—5—burned proudly on his neck. Not high by most standards, but compared to Joon-Ho, he might as well have been a giant.

“Are you serious?” the Rank 5 scoffed. “They’re letting a Rank 1 fight? This is going to be quick.”

The crowd howled with laughter. Money exchanged hands, the majority betting on the obvious winner.

Joon-Ho’s mouth was dry. His heart pounded so hard it drowned out the noise around him. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to escape before it was too late.

But his feet stayed planted.

Because if he ran now, nothing would ever change.

The man in the leather jacket—apparently the organizer—stepped forward, raising his hand. His voice cut through the chaos.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we’ve got a special treat! A Rank 1 challenger, risking it all against Rank 5! Will he surprise us, or will this be over in seconds?”

The crowd erupted again.

“Fight!”

The signal rang out, and before Joon-Ho could react, the Rank 5 lunged.

A fist slammed into Joon-Ho’s stomach like a hammer. Air exploded from his lungs. He stumbled backward, clutching his gut, gasping for breath. The world spun around him.

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Is that all you’ve got, trash?” the Rank 5 sneered, striding forward. He swung again, this time a hook aimed for Joon-Ho’s head.

Instinct took over. Joon-Ho ducked, the fist whistling past his ear. His knees buckled, but he managed to stay upright.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. He had dodged.

But he couldn’t celebrate. The Rank 5 recovered instantly, driving a knee into Joon-Ho’s ribs. Pain exploded through his side. He cried out, collapsing to one knee.

The crowd jeered louder. “Pathetic!” “End it already!”

Joon-Ho’s vision blurred. He tasted blood in his mouth. Every breath was agony. He could end this—he could surrender, crawl away, and go back to his miserable life.

But then Min-Suk’s face flashed in his mind. The laughter. The humiliation. The way everyone looked at him like he wasn’t human.

Something inside him snapped.

Not courage. Not yet. But defiance.

As the Rank 5 raised his fist to finish him, Joon-Ho lunged forward, ramming his shoulder into his opponent’s stomach. The impact wasn’t strong, but it caught the Rank 5 off guard. He staggered back a step, surprised.

The crowd gasped again.

Joon-Ho didn’t hesitate. He swung wildly, his fist connecting with the side of the Rank 5’s jaw. Pain shot up his arm—it felt like punching a brick wall—but the shock of the blow was enough to make his opponent stumble.

A spark of hope flared in Joon-Ho’s chest.

The Rank 5’s expression darkened. He spat blood and grinned. “So the trash bites back, huh? Fine. I’ll make you regret that.”

He came at Joon-Ho with a flurry of punches. Joon-Ho tried to dodge, but he wasn’t fast enough. Fists pounded into his chest, his shoulder, his cheek. Each hit rattled his bones, driving him closer to collapse.

But with each blow, Joon-Ho forced himself back up.

He couldn’t win. Not with strength. Not with speed. But maybe… maybe with desperation.

The Rank 5 grew careless, overconfident. His punches became wider and sloppier. Joon-Ho’s blurry vision caught the opening—just a fraction of a second, but enough.

He ducked under a hook and drove his fist upward into the boy’s chin.

The crack echoed through the alley. The Rank 5’s head snapped back.

The crowd roared.

Joon-Ho panted, his body screaming in pain, but inside—inside he felt something he hadn’t in years. Power. Control.

For a brief moment, he wasn’t Rank 1. He was a fighter.

The Rank 5 staggered, then snarled, wiping blood from his lip. His eyes burned with fury now. “You’re dead.”

He charged. Joon-Ho tried to move, but his body was too slow, too broken.

The fist connected with his jaw, and the world went white.

He crashed to the ground, vision spinning, ears ringing. The glow of his 1 pulsed faintly, as if mocking him.

“Stay down, trash,” the Rank 5 growled.

The crowd shouted, some cheering for more, others calling for the fight to end. Joon-Ho’s consciousness wavered. He could give up. He could surrender and crawl away, humiliated but alive.

But then he remembered his mother, working herself to exhaustion for him. He remembered Soo-Jin’s worried eyes. He remembered every insult, every shove, every punch he had taken without fighting back.

His hand twitched. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up.

The crowd gasped.

Rank 1 was standing again.

The Rank 5 stared in disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you? Stay down!”

Joon-Ho’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “No.”

He staggered forward, fists trembling. His body was broken, but his spirit refused to yield.

The Rank 5 roared in fury and swung. Joon-Ho didn’t dodge—he couldn’t. The fist smashed into his face. Pain exploded, but he didn’t fall.

He swung back, his fist crashing into the boy’s cheek.

The crowd went wild.

Back and forth they traded blows—sloppy, desperate, brutal. Joon-Ho’s vision blurred, his body screamed, but he refused to fall.

Finally, the Rank 5 reared back for one last strike. Joon-Ho saw the opening.

With the last of his strength, he drove his head forward.

The headbutt connected with a sickening crack.

The Rank 5 stumbled, eyes wide, then collapsed to the ground.

Silence fell.

Then the alley erupted in chaos.

“Did he just—?”

“No way! A Rank 1 won?!”

“Unbelievable!”

Joon-Ho swayed on his feet, his body barely holding together. His vision dimmed. But before darkness took him, he saw it—his rank, glowing faintly on his wrist.

1 → 2

The crowd roared.

And Kang Joon-Ho collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

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