The stench of sweat, blood, and desperation hung thick in the air like a miasma. The arena was alive with deafening shouts, the crowd a swirling mass of faces shouting for carnage. The lights above flickered, casting long, jagged shadows across the cracked concrete floor. Every inch of the underground ring exhaled a silent promise of brutality. And in the middle of it, standing like a lone figure in a storm, was the protagonist.
His chest heaved, lungs burning with every labored breath. His skin was slick with blood and sweat, and yet—he still stood. The bell had rung to signal the next round, and now there was no backing down.
I'm still here. Still alive. But why? What is this?
His mind was a tornado of confusion. One moment, he was just a regular guy, thrown into a world of normal combat sports—routine. The next, he was fighting for his life against someone who seemed to exist in an entirely different league, a world where reality bent and speed was an art form.
Min Jun was not like anyone he'd faced before. The man had made a mockery of him in the first two rounds, but this was different now. This time, the protagonist had fought back. And now… now it was personal.
Min Jun wiped his lip, the crimson streak of blood staining his fingers. He stared at the protagonist through narrowed eyes, the cocky smirk replaced with something darker. Something dangerous.
"You're still standing?" Min Jun's voice was almost a whisper, dangerous, like a snake ready to strike. "Impressive… but not enough to survive me."
Survive you? The protagonist clenched his fists, trying to ignore the tremor in his arms. I'm not just going to survive. I'm going to prove I belong here.
Min Jun's body tensed, his stance fluid like a panther preparing to pounce. His eyes were locked on the protagonist, measuring, calculating his next move.
Then, like a flash of lightning, Min Jun moved.
The world blurred.
The first strike was a spinning back kick that seemed to come from nowhere. The force of it made the air around the protagonist crackle, his instincts barely keeping up. He ducked under the kick, but the wind from it still slapped him hard across the face. His feet staggered, but he didn't have time to steady himself before Min Jun was already on him again.
A left jab, a right cross, and then—bam!—a brutal elbow aimed straight for his temple.
Shit, too fast!
The protagonist twisted his torso, feeling the sharp edge of Min Jun's elbow graze the side of his skull, sending a jolt of pain racing down his spine. But he barely registered it. His body moved on pure instinct, ducking and weaving, avoiding Min Jun's strikes by fractions of an inch. The sweat pouring off his face blurred his vision, but he refused to close his eyes.
"Come on!" Min Jun taunted, laughing as he danced around his opponent like a seasoned fighter. His movements were fluid, controlled—he was playing with the protagonist now, savoring each moment of the struggle.
But the protagonist's frustration boiled over. What the hell am I doing?
He was an underdog in every sense of the word. Min Jun had the skill, the speed, the confidence—everything that the protagonist didn't. And yet, here he was, being pushed to the brink. This isn't just a fight. It's a test. A test of who I am.
With every blow Min Jun landed, the protagonist's resolve hardened. It hurt—God, it hurt—but he had to keep fighting. This was more than survival now. This was about proving to himself that he wasn't just a pawn in this twisted game.
Min Jun's next move was a blur—a low kick aimed for his knees. But the protagonist had already anticipated it. His right hand shot out, grabbing Min Jun's leg mid-air. With a grunt, he twisted, using the force of the kick to spin Min Jun off balance.
The crowd roared.
For the briefest moment, everything seemed to freeze. Min Jun was falling, his body twisting through the air in a desperate bid to regain control. It was the opening the protagonist had been waiting for.
With all his remaining strength, the protagonist charged forward, stepping in close. He lifted his knee high, smashing it into Min Jun's midsection just as the man's feet hit the ground. The impact was sickening—like a punch to the gut—but it didn't stop there. The protagonist spun around and threw a heavy right hook, connecting with Min Jun's jaw with a sickening crack.
Min Jun's body jerked back, and for a split second, he was dazed. The crowd's roar reached a fever pitch, their bloodlust turning into disbelief.
Had the underdog actually landed a hit that sent Min Jun reeling?
The arena fell silent for a heartbeat—then erupted in wild, frantic cheers.
The protagonist stood there, chest heaving, adrenaline surging through his veins. His body ached, his vision was blurry, but there was a glimmer of something in his chest. Hope.
Min Jun staggered, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of surprise and rage.
"You…" Min Jun growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You're starting to piss me off."
The protagonist's heart hammered in his chest. He knew that look. He knew what came next. The fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
But for the first time in this twisted arena, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he had a chance.
The bell rang again, signaling the end of the round. Both men stood, battered and bloodied, but neither one willing to give an inch.
This fight was far from over.