Episode 4

Darkness swallowed Kang Joon-Ho.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, scraps of noise reaching him: the roar of the crowd, the slap of money changing hands, the curses of gamblers who had lost everything betting against him. Then silence.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on a torn sofa in a dim, cigarette-smoke-filled room. His body screamed with pain. Every muscle ached, every breath burned his ribs. His jaw throbbed with a dull, relentless agony.

“Still alive, huh?”

The voice came from the corner. The man in the leather jacket—apparently the one who ran these Rank Battles—leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His sharp eyes studied Joon-Ho like he was some kind of rare animal.

“You’ve got guts, kid. No skill, but guts. That fight… you shouldn’t have won. But you did.”

Joon-Ho tried to sit up but collapsed back into the sofa, groaning. His entire body was battered, but one thought blazed in his mind.

He had won.

Not by luck. Not by accident. He had endured, refused to stay down, and clawed out victory where no one expected it.

“Why?” Joon-Ho croaked, his throat dry. “Why did… my rank change?”

The man smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Ah, so you noticed. Ranks don’t usually shift after one fight. Takes a lot of consistent results. But sometimes—just sometimes—the system recognizes something… irregular. A spark. You showed the crowd, and the system, that a Rank 1 isn’t always trash.”

He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “That makes you dangerous.”

Joon-Ho shivered. Not from fear of the man, but from the weight of those words. Dangerous. He had never been called that in his life.

The man tossed a small envelope onto the table beside him. “Your cut. Don’t spend it all in one place. And if you’re smart, you’ll disappear. Because after tonight, people are going to notice you. And not all of them will like it.”

Then he left, the door creaking shut behind him.

Joon-Ho lay in silence, staring at the faint glow on his wrist. 2.

It wasn’t much. But it wasn’t 1. Not anymore.

---

Morning light filtered through cracked blinds when he stumbled home. His mother gasped when she saw him—bruised, swollen, blood crusted on his lip.

“Joon-Ho! What happened?!”

He forced a smile through the pain. “I… tripped.”

It was a pathetic excuse, but she didn’t press. She just pulled him into her arms, her thin frame trembling as she held him.

“Please… stop getting hurt. Please…”

Joon-Ho closed his eyes. He wanted to tell her everything—the fight, the victory, the way his rank had shifted—but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he understood what it all meant.

---

At school the next day, the whispers started before he even reached his desk.

“Did you hear? Kang Joon-Ho fought in the underground.”

“No way, he’s Rank 1. He’d be dead.”

“That’s the thing. He won.”

Joon-Ho kept his head down, his hood pulled low. His body still ached from every step, but inside, a strange warmth burned. People were talking about him—not with disgust, not with pity, but with shock.

When he slid into his seat, Min-Suk and his crew were already waiting.

The bully smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “So it’s true. The trash got lucky.”

Joon-Ho’s stomach tightened. He forced himself to meet Min-Suk’s gaze.

“I fought,” he said quietly. “And I won.”

The classroom went silent. Min-Suk’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, then twisted into a grin. “Cute. You think one lucky fight makes you different? Don’t get cocky, trash. A Rank 2 is still garbage compared to the rest of us.”

His friends laughed, tension broken. But Joon-Ho saw it—the flicker of unease in Min-Suk’s eyes. For the first time, Joon-Ho wasn’t just a punching bag. He was a threat.

And that was enough.

---

At lunch, Soo-Jin found him sitting alone on the rooftop, picking at the bandages taped across his knuckles.

“You really fought, didn’t you?” she asked softly, stepping closer.

Joon-Ho froze. “How do you—”

“There are videos online.” She pulled out her phone, showing him a shaky clip of the fight. His battered figure staggering to his feet again and again, refusing to fall. The final headbutt. The crowd erupting.

The video already had thousands of views. Comments flooded the screen.

“Rank 1 trash actually won???”

“No way this guy’s normal. System glitch?”

“Respect. That was pure heart.”

“Bet he won’t last another fight.”

Joon-Ho’s throat tightened. The world knew.

Soo-Jin studied him, worry etched across her face. “Why would you do something so reckless?”

He looked down at his hands. Bruised. Bleeding. But not empty anymore.

“Because I’m tired of being nothing,” he whispered.

She didn’t reply. But her silence wasn’t judgment. It was… something else.

---

That night, Joon-Ho couldn’t sleep. His body ached, but his mind was alive, racing. He kept replaying the fight, the moments he should have fallen but didn’t. The roar of the crowd when his opponent hit the ground. The way his rank had shifted, like the world itself acknowledged his defiance.

For the first time in years, he felt alive.

But he also felt the weight of the man’s warning. People would notice. Already, strangers online were dissecting his every move. Some mocked him, others praised him, and more than a few wanted to test him.

He wasn’t invisible anymore.

And that was dangerous.

---

The following week, the underground buzzed with talk of the “Rank 1 who rose.”

Some called him a fluke. Others wanted to fight him, to prove their own strength.

But a few whispered something darker.

“If he can climb… what happens if others can too?”

In a society where ranks defined everything, even the idea that a bottom-feeder could rise was enough to shake the foundation.

And somewhere in the shadows, eyes turned toward Kang Joon-Ho.

---

One evening, as he limped home from school, a group of older boys blocked his path. Their ranks glowed faintly—3, 4, 5.

“You’re the one, right?” one sneered. “The Rank 1 miracle?”

Joon-Ho’s chest tightened. He was exhausted, still healing, but he stood his ground.

“What do you want?”

The boy grinned. “Simple. We don’t like trash pretending to be more than trash. So we’re going to put you back where you belong.”

They closed in, fists clenched.

Joon-Ho braced himself, fear knotting his stomach. He was still weak, still barely holding together. But as they lunged, that same spark flared inside him.

No. Not again. He wouldn’t stay down.

---

The alley exploded in chaos. Fists flew. Joon-Ho’s body screamed with every blow, but he fought back with everything he had—wild, desperate, unyielding.

And though they knocked him down, though blood filled his mouth, he rose again and again.

When the last boy finally stumbled back, nursing a split lip, they stared at him in disbelief.

“This… this isn’t normal,” one muttered. “He’s just a Rank 2…”

They retreated, shaken, leaving Joon-Ho battered but standing.

He collapsed against the wall, panting, blood dripping from his chin.

And on his wrist, the glow shifted once more.

2 → 3

His lips curled into a broken smile.

He wasn’t trash anymore.

He was climbing.

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