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 breathing quickened, and a cold sweat covered his forehead. An unknown sensation washed over him, a torrent of images and memories that didn't seem to be his own. His heart pounded fiercely as he tried to understand what was happening.
He turned toward the broken mirror hanging on the wall opposite him. His intensely red eyes looked back at him, almost as if another person was observing from inside the glass. His hair, bright red like flames, fell in disheveled strands over his forehead, giving him a wild appearance. His face had the softness of a 15-year-old boy, but there was something in his expression, a sort of aura of determination and authority that didn't seem to belong to someone his age.
"Where am I?" he muttered in a weak voice. And then, the memories hit him like an avalanche, an abandoned mother, a father crushed under the weight of debt, debt collectors barging in like hungry vultures looking for prey. His fist clenched tightly, nails digging into his skin.
A loud bang on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. The deep voice of a man echoed: "We know you're in there, kid. Open the door."
Jeok felt his blood turn cold. Carefully, he walked, trying to stay calm, and turned the rusty doorknob. Three men stood on the other side, their faces hard and their eyes full of threat. One of them, the most muscular, stepped forward. "Where's your father?" he asked gruffly.
"He... he's gone," Jeok replied, trying to sound firm but feeling his voice tremble.
The muscular man let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Typical. Always run away like rats. But someone has to pay. Do you understand, kid?"
Another man, with his hair slicked back, interrupted with a malicious smile. "Maybe we can fix this. There's an underground club nearby. Fights there, you win 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 grow inside him. He knew what this meant. This was the real world—a place full of fights, hierarchies, and survival.
"What do you say, kid?" the burly man looked at him with a mocking smile. "Unless you'd rather us find something more... interesting to do with you."
Jeok's gaze hardened. Something inside him awakened—a fierce determination burning like an unquenchable fire. He lifted his head, directly facing the man's eyes. "I'll fight."
The burly man raised his eyebrows, surprised by the response. Then he nodded, satisfied. "I like that. Get ready. We start tomorrow."
The men retreated, leaving him alone in the room. He closed the door and slid down to sit on the floor. His hands trembled slightly, but his eyes maintained that intense red look, determined. This wasn't the path he had wanted, but if he had learned anything from this world, it was that only the strong survive.
He got up, looking once again 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 bustle of the city. Jeok Ryeong stood once more 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 shape him.
The men returned punctually. One of them, the muscular one, handed him a small backpack. "This is for you. A change of clothes. We don't want you to arrive at the club looking like a beggar," he grunted with a mocking smile.
Jeok took the backpack without replying. The clothes inside were simple: a black T-shirt, sweatpants, and hand wraps. There was nothing else.
On the way to the club, the men exchanged few 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, though many faces seemed familiar from the future memories he carried with him.
Upon arrival, they took 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 hits from fighters inside.
One of the men turned toward him. "Listen, kid. No one here cares about you. You're just a number. Fight, win money, and do your best not to get beaten up. Do you understand?"
Jeok nodded, with an impassive look. "I understand," he replied firmly.
The muscular man let out a dry laugh. "I like your attitude. Let's see if you survive."
The interior of the underground club was 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 gaze of bettors. Jeok watched a man leave the ring, staggering with blood dripping from his face, while a deafening cheer celebrated the opponent's victory.
A thin man dressed in cheap clothes approached Jeok. "Is this the kid?" he asked dismissively, looking at the muscular man.
"Yes. He's new, but he's got guts," responded the muscular man, patting him on the shoulder.
The thin man crouched slightly to look directly into his 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 gaze fixed on him. "I know why I'm here."
The thin man smiled with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Well, we'll see how long that spirit lasts. Get ready, you're up in ten minutes."
Jeok adjusted the wraps on his hands while listening to the last screams from the ring. His hands were small, thin, and his heart was racing.
The announcer called his name: "Next up, a newcomer! Jeok Ryeong!"
The screams filled the room as Jeok entered the ring. The intense light on him made his red hair shine like flames, and his red eyes gleamed 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 mocked.
Jeok didn't answer. 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 an almost claustrophobic circle of shouts, bets, and hungry looks for violence. Jeok Ryeong entered the center with firm steps, although his heart was pounding uncontrollably. His opponent, a muscular fighter with knuckle scars, looked at him with contempt and mockery.
"Come on, kid. Make me laugh," he said, 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 alone wasn't enough. The first move was made by the man, launching a quick jab straight to Jeok's face. He tried to dodge it, instinctively moving to the side, but the fist grazed his cheek, leaving a burning sensation.
The fight had just begun, and Jeok found himself reacting more than attacking. His opponent didn't give him a moment's rest; he threw a series of quick punches, each more precise than the last. Jeok dodged some, with quick but imprecise movements. Still, several blows impacted his body: a hit to his ribs, another on his arm as he tried to block. The pain accumulated quickly.
Jeok tried to counterattack. He lunged forward with a punch aimed at the man's stomach, but the strike 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 take a few steps back.
"Is that all you've got?" the man mocked as he slowly approached like a predator stalking prey.
Jeok clenched his teeth, feeling a mix of rage and pain. He tried to attack again, launching a series of quick punches to the torso and face of the man. However, each was blocked or dodged easily.
The man responded with a direct punch hitting Jeok in the stomach, causing him to bend over for a moment. 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 still fought.
He slowly got up, staggering as the crowd watched with a mix of surprise and expectation. His opponent looked at him with contempt, 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, trembling. "But in the future, yes."
The man growled and threw the last punch—a straight punch to Jeok's face that knocked him completely down. Jeok's body hit the ground with a loud thud, vision blurring as the crowd's shouts echoed around him.
Their shouts were cruel, some laughing at Jeok's evident disadvantage, others cheering him as if it were a cruel form of entertainment.
"Don't fall, kid!" someone from the crowd yelled.
"Entertain us more!" another shouted.
But although his body wanted to get up, Jeok's limit had been reached.
"Victory!" announced the ring judge, and the shouts grew even louder.
Although he had lost, Jeok Ryeong didn't feel defeated. As he lay on the ground, his mind began to fill with ideas, strategies to survive in this world. He knew it 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 just be endurance. It would be strength, strategy, victory.