Episode 5

The bruises hadn’t even faded before the next storm arrived.

For three days, Kang Joon-Ho tried to live as if nothing had changed. He went to school, avoided Min-Suk’s smirks, and endured the whispers in the hallways. But everywhere he went, eyes followed him. Students who once ignored him now stared openly, measuring him, questioning him.

“Is that really him?”

“They say he climbed from Rank 1 to Rank 3 in a week.”

“Impossible. Must be rigged.”

Joon-Ho clenched his fists under his desk. He hadn’t asked for this attention. But it was too late to turn back.

---

That night, as he left the convenience store with a bag of instant noodles, a car pulled up beside him. The tinted window rolled down, revealing a familiar face.

The man in the leather jacket.

“Get in.”

Joon-Ho hesitated, heart pounding. He could walk away. Pretend he didn’t hear. But something in the man’s cold eyes told him there wasn’t a choice.

Inside, the car smelled of smoke and gasoline. The man drove in silence for a while, city lights streaking past. Finally, he spoke.

“You made waves, kid. Too big for your own good. People are calling you a glitch in the system. Some think you’re a fraud. Others… want to test you.”

Joon-Ho swallowed hard. “Test me?”

The man smirked. “There’s a fight tomorrow night. Not like the scraps you’ve had so far. This one’s official. A Rank 7.”

The words hit like a punch. Rank 7. That was more than double his own. A canyon of difference.

“Why me?” Joon-Ho whispered.

“Because you broke the rules. And now everyone wants to know if lightning can strike twice.”

---

The warehouse was bigger this time. The crowd louder, more restless. Money flowed like water, phones held high as gamblers placed bets.

Joon-Ho stood in the center of the ring, heart hammering, sweat slicking his palms. His opponent stepped forward—tall, broad-shouldered, his presence radiating confidence.

Choi Jin-Woo. Rank 7.

Unlike the thug from before, Jin-Woo moved with precision. His steps were steady, his gaze sharp. He wasn’t just strong—he was trained.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the crowd. “Tonight, the miracle climber faces his first real test! Rank 3… versus Rank 7!”

The crowd roared, voices chanting, betting, daring Joon-Ho to die trying.

Joon-Ho’s stomach churned. He knew the gap was massive. His body was still healing, his skills rough, unrefined. But when he glanced at his wrist, the glow of 3 burned back at him.

He couldn’t run. Not now.

---

The bell rang.

Jin-Woo didn’t waste time. He came forward with a swift, precise jab that cracked against Joon-Ho’s cheek, snapping his head back. The crowd roared as Joon-Ho staggered, nearly falling before catching himself.

Another punch slammed into his ribs. Pain flared white-hot.

“Pathetic,” Jin-Woo muttered. “You’re nothing but hype.”

Joon-Ho gasped for breath, clutching his side. Every instinct screamed at him to stay down, to give up before he was broken beyond repair.

But then he saw the crowd. The same people who once dismissed him as trash now leaned forward, eyes wide, waiting.

Waiting to see if he’d fall.

And deep inside, a spark ignited.

No. Not yet.

---

Joon-Ho ducked under the next swing, his body moving more from desperation than skill. He threw a clumsy punch that grazed Jin-Woo’s jaw. It wasn’t much, but it landed. The crowd gasped.

Jin-Woo’s eyes narrowed. “So you can hit back.”

The fight turned brutal. Jin-Woo’s fists were faster, stronger, every blow landing like a hammer. Joon-Ho’s vision blurred, his legs wobbled, but he refused to collapse. He absorbed punishment, gritting his teeth, waiting—searching—for an opening.

When Jin-Woo grew too confident, lowering his guard for a split second, Joon-Ho lunged. His head smashed forward, colliding with Jin-Woo’s nose. Blood spurted as the bigger man stumbled back, cursing.

The crowd exploded.

Joon-Ho swayed on his feet, chest heaving, pain blazing across his body—but he was still standing.

---

Minutes dragged into eternity. Jin-Woo hammered him again and again, but Joon-Ho refused to stay down. Every time he hit the floor, he clawed his way back up. Every time the crowd thought it was over, he proved them wrong.

Blood filled his mouth. His vision swam. But somewhere inside, the fire only burned hotter.

“I’m not… trash…” he rasped, dragging himself upright once more.

Jin-Woo snarled, his patience snapping. He charged, fists flying in a furious barrage. Joon-Ho blocked what he could, took the rest head-on. Then, with the last of his strength, he swung upward.

His fist cracked against Jin-Woo’s chin.

The Rank 7 froze, eyes wide, before crumpling to the floor.

Silence.

Then chaos.

The warehouse erupted with screams, curses, disbelief. Money flew, phones flashed, the crowd chanting his name.

“Kang Joon-Ho! Kang Joon-Ho!”

He collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, barely conscious. But when he glanced at his wrist through the blur of blood and sweat, the glow shifted.

3 → 5

He smiled through broken lips.

He was climbing.

---

After the fight, Joon-Ho lay on a cot backstage, body screaming in agony. The man in the leather jacket entered, expression unreadable.

“You’re insane,” he muttered. “No one expected you to last two rounds. And yet…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “The crowd loves you. They’re calling you the Climber.”

Joon-Ho blinked. “Climber?”

“Yeah. The boy who refuses to stay at the bottom. The boy who climbs.”

The name lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.

The man smirked faintly. “But don’t let it get to your head. For every rank you climb, there are stronger enemies waiting. And some of them… won’t just want to beat you. They’ll want to break you.”

Joon-Ho closed his eyes, pain lancing through every nerve. He didn’t doubt the warning.

But deep inside, beneath the fear, the fire still burned.

He wasn’t done climbing.

Not yet.

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