The roar of the crowd slammed into him like a physical force, their chants vibrating through the air as though trying to crush his resolve. The arena's dim, flickering lights cast distorted shadows on the bloodstained canvas. The sweat on his brow felt cold despite the heat of the packed underground chamber.
Across from him, Min Jun stretched his arms with a theatrical flourish, the taut muscles of his lean frame glistening under the lights. Every movement was deliberate, every smirk a taunt.
"You got lucky in the first round," Min Jun sneered, rolling his neck until a loud crack echoed. "Let me show you why they call me the Phantom Kick."
The protagonist swallowed hard, his throat dry. Why am I even here? His thoughts were a storm of confusion and frustration. One minute I'm in the gym, the next I'm fighting some anime villain wannabe?
He glanced at his taped fists, the once-clean wraps now darkened with grime. The reality of his situation hit him like a freight train: this wasn't just about winning—it was about survival.
The bell rang.
Min Jun moved first, his feet gliding across the mat with uncanny grace. The protagonist barely had time to blink before a kick whistled past his face, grazing his temple.
Too fast.
Min Jun's footwork was like a dance, every step calculated, every movement flowing into the next. He transitioned from a feint into a spinning crescent kick, the sole of his foot aimed directly at the protagonist's jaw.
Block!
Instinct took over. The protagonist raised both arms, absorbing the impact, but the force sent him stumbling back, his heels skidding against the canvas. The crowd erupted, their cheers blending into a cacophony of noise that pressed against his eardrums.
"Is that all you've got?" Min Jun mocked, his smirk widening.
Damn it, focus! The protagonist shook his head, trying to clear the fog of disorientation. He wasn't just fighting Min Jun—he was fighting the weight of this surreal situation. This isn't the gym. This is life or death.
Min Jun closed the gap again, this time unleashing a barrage of strikes—low kicks aimed at the knees, rapid jabs targeting the ribs, and a devastating axe kick that carved through the air like a guillotine.
The protagonist dodged and weaved, his movements clunky compared to Min Jun's precision. His arms burned from blocking, his ribs ached from the glancing blows, but his mind churned with frantic analysis.
He's flashy... but predictable.
That's when he noticed it—Min Jun's kicks were devastating, but they left him slightly off-balance if they missed. It was a small window, but it was there.
Min Jun launched into another spinning kick, the motion blurring with speed. This time, the protagonist stepped in, ducking low and driving his shoulder into Min Jun's chest.
The impact wasn't perfect, but it was enough to knock Min Jun back a step.
The crowd gasped.
"That was cute," Min Jun said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes gleamed with amusement—and something darker. "Let's see how long you can keep this up."
The next exchange was brutal. Min Jun abandoned his flashy moves for raw aggression, closing the distance with rapid punches and knee strikes. The protagonist could barely keep up, his defenses crumbling under the relentless assault.
A knee strike slammed into his abdomen, driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over, his vision swimming.
Get up. Move. Don't stop!
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, raising his arms to block another kick. He saw the opening again—Min Jun's overextended leg leaving his ribs exposed for just a moment.
Now or never.
With a roar, the protagonist drove his fist forward, putting every ounce of strength into the strike. His knuckles connected with Min Jun's ribs, a solid, satisfying crack echoing through the arena.
Min Jun staggered, his eyes wide with shock. The crowd's cheers faltered, replaced by murmurs of disbelief.
The protagonist stood there, panting, his body trembling from exhaustion. But for the first time since the fight began, he felt a spark of hope.
Min Jun straightened, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk curled across his lips.
"Not bad," he said, his voice calm despite the pain. "But I'm just getting started."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the second round.
The protagonist stumbled back to his corner, collapsing onto the stool as his chest heaved with labored breaths. His mind raced, torn between the thrill of landing a solid hit and the dread of what was to come.
What kind of monster is this guy?
Across the ring, Min Jun stretched his arms, his smirk never faltering. The look in his eyes was a promise: the real fight was just beginning.