Chapter 7: The Art of Warning Someone with Their Face Almost in the Floor
I rolled my shoulders slowly, each movement deliberate. The muscles beneath my skin responded like trained animals—controlled, powerful, never wasteful. My body wasn't built to impress. It was built to survive.
To protect.
To win.
Still, I saw the way Queen's eyes flicked down at my physique, her jaw tightening. Not with desire—this wasn't one of those cheap fantasy scenes—but with challenge. Pride. She was sizing me up.
Good.
I didn't want an easy opponent.
"I don't want to sound arrogant or anything," I said, keeping my tone even, "but you have no real chance of beating me."
Her eyes flared. Not shock. Not fear.
Indignation.
I could almost feel the heat radiating off her fists.
Moon Young let out a quiet gasp. Even Dal Dal, standing at the edge like a spectator who had stumbled into a gladiator pit, straightened.
I kept going.
"I'll show you my skills. It might feel like I'm just playing with you, so please don't take offense—just try to learn from what you see."
That was it. The fuse was lit.
Queen's fingers twitched into fists, her breathing controlled, sharp.
She was strong. No doubt about that. Maybe even the strongest in her school, her city, her league.
But she didn't know what it meant to need victory.
Not like I did.
Not like someone who had fought for rent money, hospital fees, or to keep the lights on for his siblings.
To her, this was pride.
To me, this was life.
Still, her anger didn't blind her. She was analyzing me, hunting for a trace of arrogance in my posture, a smirk, a smug tilt of the head—anything that would justify hitting me harder than the rules allowed.
But she found none.
Because I wasn't taunting her.
I was warning her.
She didn't get it. Not yet.
Lee Na did.
"Song Jae Gu," she said, voice clipped like a general giving a cold order. "Please refrain from such boastful comments."
I looked at her calmly. Then at Queen.
"I understand how my words sound," I said. "But I meant them as a warning, not an insult."
"If you believe I'm wrong, then prove it to me."
Queen's eyes burned.
Challenge accepted.
The referee stepped between us. His expression was calm, but his body was tense.
Even he could feel it.
Something was going to break.
"Gloves on," he said.
We both slipped them on silently.
"No lethal strikes. You can go for pressure points, but no permanent damage. Tap out or knockout. Understood?"
We nodded.
Queen inhaled once. Deep, controlled.
Trying to keep her rage from blinding her instincts.
Trying to remember her training.
I respected that.
She was better than most.
But not better than me.
The referee's hand rose.
Then dropped.
"Fight!"
She exploded forward like a bullet from a chamber.
And I smiled.
Time to show them what a real warning looks like.
-----------------
If I had a drachma for every time someone looked at me and thought "He's not that scary"—right before getting flipped into a wall—I could probably buy Olympus a new elevator.
The ring was so quiet, you could hear the sweat hitting the mat. Across from me stood Queen. Yeah, I know—intimidating name, right? And she was. Sharp eyes, stiff posture, like a hawk in sneakers. She didn't fidget, didn't blink too much. This girl had obviously read every book in the "How to Break Your Opponent and Look Awesome Doing It" series.
And me?
I just stood there. Relaxed. Calm. The exact opposite of what people expected from a guy about to spar with the top-ranked fighter in her league.
But here's the thing about Queen. I'd watched her fights. She had patterns.
She always opened with jabs or a side kick—never reckless, always calculated. She didn't make mistakes. And if she did, she didn't repeat them.
But none of that mattered.
Because I wasn't just strong.
I was Rock Lee strong.
The train-until-you-drop-then-do-one-more-rep kind of strong.
So when the match started, I wasn't nervous. I was... curious.
She moved first. Straight punch—perfect form. Textbook sharp. Most people would've flinched. I didn't move.
Well, not yet.
Because she dipped. Smooth level change. Going for a single-leg takedown.
Clever girl.
Unfortunately for her, I had seen more feints than a Greek hero sees monster attacks in a week. My balance shifted, weight danced backward just enough to say "Nice try" without words.
Still, she got in close. Arms around my thigh.
"Uh-oh," the audience probably thought.
"She's got him!"
Yeah. No.
I didn't fight the takedown. I redirected it.
A twist of the hips. A butterfly hook.
Her momentum spun her like a Beyblade, and boom—Queen met mat.
Don't worry, she bounced back up faster than most people check their phones in class.
We locked eyes.
And for the first time, I saw it.
That flicker.
That tiny, dangerous gleam.
She was having fun.
Okay. Game on.
This time, I went first.
A flicker jab. Fast. Smooth.
She swatted it away like a fly—confident, cool.
That's when I followed with the actual attack. A roundhouse kick aimed for her ribs.
She blocked it. Props to her. That impact could've made a grown man do algebra backwards.
But I wasn't done.
Same leg, second kick—high. For her head.
Double roundhouse. I call it "The Nope Special."
She ducked. Barely. Air whooshed over her ponytail.
She countered, fast. Hook to the ribs—classic.
I twisted my torso, Matrix-style. Her punch whiffed.
Then her knee came up. Close-range. Sneaky. Smart.
I caught it mid-air.
Yeah. I caught it.
That's when her eyes said it all:
"Oh no."
Because I had her.
Sweep.
Flip.
Down again.
She didn't panic. She flipped back to her feet with gymnast-level grace. Honestly? I was impressed.
But I didn't let her breathe.
One-two combo.
Left hook? She deflected.
Right straight? Missed by a hair.
Then she spun. Spinning back kick. Her heel a blur.
I stepped into her rotation.
Her kick hit air.
My hands locked her leg.
Cue dramatic anime throw music.
One hip toss later, and Queen was on the mat, again. Harder this time.
And before she could blink—
I was over her.
Fist coming down like a meteor.
She saw it. Her brain understood it.
But her body?
Too slow.
Still, she didn't close her eyes.
That earned my respect.
I stopped the punch just beside her head. Let her feel the wind. The pressure. The fact that if I'd wanted to…
Yeah.
She stared up at me.
No fear.
No anger.
Just silence.
And maybe—just maybe—a touch of awe.
I met her gaze. No smirk. No mocking.
Just understanding.
A warrior recognizing another warrior.
And in that moment, she knew what I had known from the beginning.
She had lost.
But man, what a fight.
------------------
The sound of heavy breathing echoed through the gym like a busted engine. Queen was lying on the mat, limbs splayed out like someone had unplugged her batteries. Which, to be fair, I kind of did. Except, not in a cruel way. More like… a respectful shutdown.
She was beat up. Bruised. Totally spent.
And yet—she smiled.
That kind of tired, lopsided grin you give when you've just wrestled a bear, lost, but walked away with all your limbs still attached. It wasn't the first time she'd fought a monster. But it was the first time she'd fought me.
I didn't blame her for feeling weird about it.
Most people either get cocky or panic when they see someone like her in the ring. She's fast. Technical. Strong enough to suplex a full-grown man into another dimension. But me?
I studied her.
Respected her.
And, yeah, I made sure I didn't underestimate her just because I'd seen her fights online while eating ramen in my dorm room.
Still, the difference was obvious.
Her chest rose and fell like a runner at the end of a marathon. I stood nearby—calm, barely breathing hard. My clothes weren't even wrinkled. Not because I was arrogant. I just… didn't need to push yet.
"Do you still want to continue?" I asked, offering my hand.
Queen blinked up at me, squinting like she wasn't sure whether I was mocking her or offering her a secret potion of Respect +3. "I'm happy with what you've shown me," I added. "Just like I expected—you're not just beautiful."
Now before anyone gets all flustered—no, I wasn't hitting on her.
I meant her technique. Her grit. The way she didn't break even when it was clear she was outmatched.
For the first time since the bell rang, she hesitated. Then, with a huff, she grabbed my hand and pulled herself up. Her muscles were definitely filing complaints with Human Resources, but she ignored them.
"I can still fight," she said.
Of course she could.
Queen wasn't the type to fold just because her entire skeleton was reconsidering its life choices. I studied her, looking for signs of collapse. She was trembling slightly but still burning with resolve. I nodded.
Let's go.
The next fifteen minutes were—how do I put this?
Probably the worst spa day of her life.
She came at me with everything: jabs faster than thought, kicks that could knock down a truck, grapples that would've made a Brazilian jiu-jitsu champ weep with joy.
But none of it landed.
None of it mattered.
I saw everything. Read everything. Countered everything.
Every punch? Dodged.
Every kick? Blocked or redirected.
Every opening she thought she saw? Yeah… that was me setting a trap with a sign that said "free damage here," only to flip it last second to "just kidding."
And through it all—I didn't retaliate harshly. Not because I pitied her. I just didn't need to go all out. No killing intent. No ego. Just clean, efficient fighting.
Eventually, the fire in her movements flickered. Her rhythm slowed. Her footwork got heavy. That springy bounce in her steps? Gone like last year's memes.
I kept my stance steady, eyes on her, not saying a word.
Then—she dropped.
Not from a blow. Just… gave out. Her knees hit the mat like they were magnetically drawn to it. She was done. Out of gas. I could tell she wanted to keep going, but her body had filed for early retirement.
She gasped like someone had pulled the plug on her lungs. For a second, she just stared down at her hands, like they had betrayed her.
And that's when I saw it.
That flicker in her eyes.
Recognition.
The only other time she'd been manhandled like this was against Lee Na—Asia's strongest woman and the type of legend people whispered about at tournaments like she was Bigfoot with a black belt.
But me? I was seventeen.
Her brain was still trying to download what just happened.
How do you reach this level so young?
How much training does it take to make someone this unreadable?
Was I even human?
Moon Young, watching from the sidelines like a hawk with a clipboard, had gone totally silent. And trust me, that girl never goes silent. She'd expected me to win, sure.
But this wasn't winning.
This was control.
This was, dare I say it… a clinic.
Queen looked up at me again. I didn't smirk. Didn't gloat. I just stood there—calm. Composed. Maybe even a little bit bored.
And she realized: the gap between us wasn't something effort alone could bridge.
But here's the thing…
She wasn't mad.
Her fists clenched. Her jaw set. But her eyes—those were lit up like a storm was brewing behind them.
Not rage.
Not humiliation.
Excitement.
Because for the first time in a long time—
She'd found someone she couldn't beat.
And that meant only one thing.
She had a new goal.
A new rival.
And maybe… a new reason to fight.