The yellowish light of the lamp flickered in the neglected room, casting undulating shadows on the peeling walls. Jeok Ryeong opened his eyes abruptly, his breath quickening and a cold sweat covering his forehead. An unknown sensation was piercing through him, a torrent of images and memories that didn't seem to belong to him. His heart was pounding as he tried to understand what was happening.
He turned toward the broken mirror hanging on the wall in front of him. His intensely red eyes looked back at him, almost as if another person was staring from inside the glass. His hair, bright red like flames, fell in messy strands over his forehead, adding a wild air to his youthful appearance. His face had the softness of a child, but there was something in his expression—a kind of aura of determination and authority that didn't seem to belong to someone his age.
"Where am I?" he murmured with a thin voice. And then, memories hit him like an avalanche—a mother who abandoned them, a father crushed under the weight of debts, debt collectors that stormed in like hungry vultures seeking prey. His fist clenched tightly, nails digging into his skin.
A loud bang on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. The deep voice of a man resonated: —We know you're in there, kid. Open the door.
Jeok felt his blood turn cold. Carefully, he walked, trying to keep calm, and turned the rusty doorknob. Three men were on the other side, their faces tough and their eyes filled with threat. One of them, the bulkiest, stepped forward. —Where's your father? —he demanded in a rough tone.
—He... he left —Jeok responded, trying to sound firm but feeling his voice tremble.
The muscular man let out a dry, bitter laugh. —Typical. They always run like rats. But someone has to pay. Do you understand that, kid?
Another man, with hair slicked back, interrupted with a malicious smile. —Maybe we can fix this. There's an underground club nearby. You fight there, earn some money for us. And if you don't win... well, at least you tried.
Jeok clenched his teeth, feeling a mix of anger and desperation growing inside him. He knew what this meant. This was the real world—a place filled with fights, hierarchies, and survival.
—What do you say, kid? —the burly man looked at him with a mocking smile—. Unless you'd rather we find something more... interesting to do with you.
Jeok's gaze hardened. Something inside him awakened, a fierce determination burning like a fire that couldn't be extinguished. He lifted his head, directly facing the man's eyes. —I will fight.
The bulky man raised his eyebrows, surprised by the response. Then he nodded, satisfied. —That's what I like to hear. Get ready. We start tomorrow.
The men retreated, leaving Jeok alone in the room. He closed the door and slid down against it until he sat on the floor. His hands trembled slightly, but his eyes maintained that intense red look—determined. This wasn't the path he had wished for, but if he had learned anything from this world, it was that only the strong survive.
He got up, once again looking at his reflection in the mirror. —If this is my destiny —he said softly, clenching his fists—, then I will make it mine.
....................
Morning arrived like a gray fog, accompanied by the distant sound of sirens and the relentless hustle of the city. Jeok Ryeong stood once again in front of the mirror, observing his red eyes that seemed to burn with unwavering determination. He had decided to face what lay ahead, but deep down, he knew that every choice he made would mark him.
The men returned punctually. One of them, the burly one, handed him a small backpack. —This is for you. A change of clothes. We don't want you showing up at the club looking like a beggar —he grunted with a mocking smile. Jeok took the backpack without responding. The clothes inside were simple: a black T-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of hand wraps. There was nothing else.
On the way to the club, the men barely exchanged words, but Jeok couldn't help but look around. The streets were filled with figures moving in an unsettling silence. It was a different world from the one he had known before, although many faces seemed familiar from the memories of the future he carried with him.
Upon arrival, they led him to the back of a building. The place was dark, with flickering lights barely illuminating the graffiti-covered walls. The smell of sweat and metal filled the air. From a distance, he could hear shouts and dry thuds from fighters inside.
One of the men turned to him. —Listen, kid. Nobody here cares about you. You're just a number. Fight, earn money, and do whatever you can to not come out broken. Do you understand?
Jeok nodded, his gaze unperturbed. —I understand —he replied firmly.
The burly man let out a dry chuckle. —I like your attitude. Let's see if you survive.
The interior of the underground club was an organized chaos. In the center of the room, there was a circle outlined by chains and bars, where fighters faced each other under the hungry eyes of bettors. Jeok watched a man exit the ring, staggering with blood dripping from his face, while an deafening cheer celebrated the opponent's victory.
A slender man dressed in cheap clothes approached Jeok. —Is this the kid? —he asked disdainfully, looking at the burly man. —Yes. He's new, but he's got guts —the burly man responded, patting him on the shoulder.
The slender man crouched slightly to look directly into Jeok's eyes. —Do you know what you're doing here, kid? Because if you go in there without knowing, the only place you'll end up is on the ground.
Jeok kept his stare fixed on him. —I know why I'm here.
The slender man smirked with a mixture of surprise and amusement. —Well, we'll see how long that spirit lasts. Get ready, you go in ten minutes.
Jeok adjusted the wraps on his hands as he listened to the last shouts from the crowd in the ring. His hands were small, thin, but there was something in his movements—a precision that resonated in his mind as he remembered fragments of this world. He knew the next fight would be decisive to prove his worth.
The announcer called his name: —In the next round, a new face! Jeok Ryeong!
The shouts filled the room as Jeok entered the ring. The intense light on him made his red hair shine like flames, and his red eyes sparkle like rubies. His opponent was a sturdy young man, clearly more experienced, with a mocking smile on his face.
—What do we have here? A kid playing at being a fighter? —he sneered.
Jeok didn't respond. Instead, he adopted a firm stance and remembered every move he had seen in the memories of this world. He knew he couldn't lose.
The crowd roared around the ring, forming a nearly claustrophobic circle of shouts, bets, and hungry looks for violence. Jeok Ryeong entered the center with firm steps, though his heart was uncontrollably pounding. His opponent, a muscular fighter with knuckle scars, looked at him with contempt and mockery.
—Come on, kid. Make me laugh —said the man, adopting an aggressive fighting stance.
Jeok maintained his stance, mimicking what he had seen in the memories flooding his mind. But he knew that theory wasn't enough. The first move was made by the man, throwing a quick jab straight at Jeok's face. He tried to dodge it, moving instinctively to the side, but the fist grazed his cheek, leaving a burning sensation.
The fight had barely begun, and Jeok found himself reacting more than attacking. His opponent didn't give him a break; he launched a series of quick strikes, each more accurate than the last. Jeok dodged some, his movements quick but imprecise. Still, several hits landed on his body: an impact on his ribs, another on his arm as he tried to block. The pain quickly accumulated.
Jeok tried to counterattack. He lunged forward with a fist aimed at the man's stomach, but the punch missed, passing through the air. His opponent easily dodged and took advantage of the opening to throw a strong hook that hit Jeok's shoulder. The impact unbalanced him, forcing him to step back a few paces.
—Is that all you've got? —the man sneered as he slowly approached like a predator stalking its prey.
Jeok clenched his teeth, feeling a mix of anger and pain. He tried to attack again, throwing a kick toward the man's legs, but his lack of experience was evident. The move was clumsy, and his opponent blocked it easily, responding with a knee strike to Jeok's torso that left him breathless for a moment.
The crowd's shouts echoed around, some laughing at Jeok's obvious disadvantage, others cheering as if it were a cruel form of entertainment.
—Don't fall, kid! —someone shouted from the crowd.
—Entertain us more! —another yelled.
Jade, panting, got up again. His legs trembled, but his gaze remained firm. Although he didn't know how to fight, he knew he couldn't give up. This was his moment to prove he could endure, that he could fight for something bigger than himself.
His opponent lunged again with a direct punch. Jeok barely dodged, moving backward. The fighter's foot spun quickly into a roundhouse kick. Jeok ducked, letting the kick pass over his head, but when he got up, his enemy was already ready with another blow that hit his side.
The pain was unbearable, but Jeok refused to fall. Instead, he clenched his teeth and launched himself forward, driven by a mixture of determination and desperation.
His fist stretched, hitting the man's chest with force. The impact resonated in the air, but the man barely reacted, sneering. —Is that all? —he mocked—. You have no idea what you're doing, do you?
Jeok stepped back, feeling frustration grow inside him. His punch had hit its target, but it hadn't caused significant damage. He knew his lack of experience was a huge disadvantage, but still, he refused to give up. He tried another attack, launching a series of quick strikes to the man's torso and face. However, each was blocked or dodged easily.
The man responded with a direct blow that hit Jeok's stomach, causing him to double over in pain. The crowd cheered, some shouting enthusiastically, others laughing at the clear disadvantage of the boy. Jeok fell to his knees, gasping as he tried to catch his breath. The force of the blow had left him on the verge of defeat, but something inside him was still fighting.
He slowly got up, stumbling as the crowd watched him with a mixture of surprise and expectation. His opponent looked at him disdainfully, shaking his head. —You should stay down, kid. You don't have what it takes to be here.
Jeok raised his hands again, adopting a clumsy but determined stance. His gaze, with an intense red that seemed to burn under the lights, remained fixed on the man. —Maybe not now —he said firmly, though trembling—. But I won't give up.
The man growled and threw the last punch, a straight fist to Jeok's face that knocked him completely down. Jeok's body hit the ground with a loud thud, his vision blurring as the crowd's shouts echoed around him.
—Victory! —announced the ring judge, and the cheers grew even louder.
Though he had lost, Jeok Ryeong didn't feel defeated. As he lay on the ground, his mind began filling with ideas, strategies to survive in this world. He knew this wouldn't be the last time he entered that ring. He could feel it deep in his soul. Next time, he would be better prepared. Next time, it wouldn't be just endurance. It would be strength, strategy, victory.