The alley behind the warehouse reeked of sweat, blood, and alcohol, but Ji Ho barely noticed. His body still pulsed with the lingering current of adrenaline. Every nerve felt alive, twitching like a wire left exposed in the rain.
He climbed into the back seat of Tae Min's rust-eaten sedan. His hoodie clung to his back, soaked through with sweat and the stale scent of victory. One of his eyes had already begun to swell shut, and his knuckles were torn open, the skin split where bone had met another man's jaw.
Tae Min sat behind the wheel, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a bass-heavy track blaring from the car's aging speakers. Jun Seok lounged in the passenger seat, holding up his phone with a grin stretched wide across his face.
"Yo. Look at this slow-mo," Jun Seok said, turning the screen to show the video. "Right here—bam. You cracked his jaw clean in half."
Ji Ho smirked and tilted his head lazily against the seat. His voice came out low, rasped from shouting and fatigue. "Told you he'd drop. The kid didn't even have proper footwork."
"You should've finished him in round one," Jun Seok replied, replaying the clip again. "It felt like you were dragging it out for the cameras."
"I was pacing," Ji Ho muttered without much conviction.
Tae Min glanced up into the rearview mirror and arched an eyebrow. "You almost lost round two."
"Almost," Ji Ho said, grinning slightly. "But almost isn't losing."
Their laughter filled the car, uneven and half-drunk. It was the kind of laughter that only came after surviving something violent and walking away intact.
Ji Ho leaned forward with a wince, his ribs tight and sore, and grabbed a bottle from the floor. He poured the last of the soju into a paper cup and raised it with a loose hand.
"To the undefeated," he said quietly.
"To the lunatic who thinks bare-knuckle fights are a viable career," Jun Seok added, tapping his cup against Ji Ho's.
"To long-term organ failure," Tae Min said with a smirk, raising his own.
They drank without ceremony. The liquor went down hot and bitter, scraping against their throats. Ji Ho welcomed the sting. It settled in his chest like something solid, something earned.
Outside the car, Seoul passed them in blurs of neon signs and shifting silhouettes. The streets were alive, lit like a circuit board running hot. Inside, everything felt slower, thicker somehow sealed by the heat of their breath and the thrum of bass.
Jun Seok twisted around in his seat. "So. What's next?"
Ji Ho looked at him, eyes half-lidded. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what's the plan? You've won eight straight. You've got bruises for trophies and enough footage to go viral. You just gonna keep crawling through back alleys, hoping not to get stabbed before payday?"
Tae Min joined in. "You're talented, Ji Ho. But you're not invincible. You either go pro or get out before someone kills you."
"I'm going pro," Ji Ho said, his voice calm.
Both of his friends laughed, but Ji Ho didn't.
"Going pro?" Jun Seok repeated between chuckles. "You don't even have a coach, man. You've got no sponsorship, no gym, and definitely no PR."
Tae Min threw him a look through the rearview. "Your old man finds out, and he'll have you yanked off the street and handcuffed to a boardroom chair."
"He doesn't get to decide anymore," Ji Ho said.
"He literally built an empire for you to inherit," Tae Min pointed out.
"I didn't ask for it," Ji Ho replied.
Jun Seok gave a sharp exhale. "You keep saying that like it matters."
Ji Ho leaned his head against the cold glass window and let his breath fog the surface. Outside, the city pulsed. But none of it felt as real as that cage had. Not the lights. Not the streets. Only fists and silence and the roar of the crowd when someone fell—that was reality.
"I'm going to take down Kang Min Jae," he said softly.
Both of his friends fell silent.
"Kang Min Jae?" Jun Seok asked, his voice flat.
"Korea's middleweight king," Ji Ho said. "Twenty-one straight wins. No challengers. No losses."
"You're out of your mind."
"Probably."
"You're not even licensed," Tae Min muttered.
"I'll get licensed."
"With what? You going to show up to Korea MMA HQ with some phone clips and a busted face?"
"I'll do what it takes."
Jun Seok gave a long look. "Ji Ho… that guy isn't just a fighter. He's a brand. He trains with world-class coaches. He's a machine."
"I don't need to be a brand," Ji Ho said. "I just need to hit him once."
Tae Min gave a low whistle and shook his head. "You think your father's furious now? Wait until he sees your face on a fight poster."
Ji Ho didn't respond. Instead, he opened the back door and stood up, half out of the car, letting the night air strike his face like a slap.
The wind was fast, cold, and clean.
"Still undefeated!" he yelled into the sky. "Breaker of jaws! Destroyer of legacies!"
"Get your dumb ass back inside!" Jun Seok called out, half-laughing.
"You'll fall!" Tae Min added, his eyes on the road.
Ji Ho raised his arms and closed his eyes. He felt alive. More than he had in years.
Then it happened.
A horn blasted through the night, long and sharp.
Tae Min turned forward. His smile vanished.
The red light had already passed.
A pair of headlights surged forward. Too fast. Too close.
"Shit—!"
He swerved hard.
The tires screeched.
Ji Ho lost his footing. His body pitched forward.
He flew into the air.
The wind tore at his clothes. The world flipped.
Street. Sky. Headlights.
Then the ground hit him like a hammer. His body bounced across the grass.
Behind him, the sedan collided with the lorry.
Metal groaned. Glass exploded outward. The front end of the car folded like paper.
Everything went still.
Ji Ho lay in the grass, his breathing ragged. Blood trickled down his temple. The cold bit into his skin.
Jun Seok's phone had stopped playing.
Tae Min was slumped over the wheel.
Neither of them moved.
A distant siren began to wail, but it sounded like it came from underwater.
Ji Ho's mouth moved. He barely recognized his own voice.
"I'm… still undefeated…"
Then everything faded to black.