Episode 3
3. The Monster Who Vanished Like the Wind
The boxing championship tournament was of a slightly lower caliber than other competitions.
The reason was simple.
To begin with, take note that this tournament was held in September.
Just one month later was the National Sports Festival, the pinnacle of all amateur sports in the country.
What would they do if they got injured right before the National Sports Festival?
In that regard, national-class or top-tier athletes did not participate.
There were additional restrictions as well.
“Any athlete who advanced to the finals of a national-level tournament in the corresponding year is ineligible.”
In other words, since winners of other national tournaments could not even enter, the athletes were not particularly outstanding.
That was only in comparison to the champions, of course.
Still, at least quarterfinal-caliber fighters or those who did not care about the National Sports Festival did show up.
‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
The tournament began from the Round of 16. Baekho was climbing into the ring now with coaches from Flex Gym.
Director Na Jeong-ho adjusted Baekho’s headgear again.
“Hehe. I suppose this is your first boxing tournament too? MMA really needs more active amateur competitions.”
“MMA’s a bit too brutal, so it’s tough to do as an amateur.”
Baekho took the mouthpiece from the director and bumped his gloves together.
In the center of the red gloves was stamped the name ‘Winning.’
While waiting, his opponent had also come up to the corner.
‘Height is around 177 cm. He’s 75 kg, but that skinny?’
His opponent had an emaciated body with thin arms. He just had a somewhat fierce look about him.
In contrast, Baekho was 181 cm with clearly defined muscles.
‘He doesn’t seem to have dropped down from a higher weight class either. Maybe he’s just young and can’t put on weight easily.’
There are more skinny kids during adolescence than you’d think. Everyone bulks up and gains weight once they hit the professional stage.
In fact, looking at how most people move up in weight class when turning pro after competing as amateurs in the light division, his opponent was probably the same.
“To the center of the ring!”
The referee, having finished the body check, called the two over.
“Watch out for butting. Strikes with knees or elbows are prohibited. Ducking below the belt to evade is also not allowed.”
What the referee says is similar no matter which combat sport you watch. Only the rules differ; in any case, it is telling you not to commit fouls.
Baekho was more preoccupied with examining his scrawny opponent than listening.
‘Not feeling much.’
Baekho could not sense anything from his opponent. It was time to test in actual combat everything he had built up over the past three years.
‘Sparring and actual combat are distinctly different. I think I just need to adjust a little.’
Bridging the gap between practice and actual combat, and moreover, displaying one’s practice abilities in a real match without pressure, was every athlete’s task.
Baekho had that experience.
“Ready? Fight!”
Finally, the ring bell rang and Round 1 began.
Amateur boxing is three rounds of three minutes. It features headgear and blue and red attire.
Baekho wore the blue uniform and slowly approached his red-clad opponent.
“…….”
The opponent was the same age, a third-year middle schooler. He bounced his steps as he slowly closed in on Baekho.
“…….”
Baekho swung from a distance as if throwing jabs. With that, one step.
Another step. Moving forward, he began measuring the range between his arms and his opponent.
Five seconds after the bell rang, the moment the distance closed to about one step, both sides moved.
At that instant, the opponent quickly threw a jab and stepped back.
“…….”
Baekho made a strange expression.
‘This is… more than I thought…’
Meanwhile, the opponent straightened his torso and threw a one-two before initiating a clinch.
A textbook Korean amateur boxing style. It was just clumsy, fitting for a middle schooler.
The one-two was unstable, his chin was raised enough that he would have been hit defenselessly had Baekho stood still, and the footwork was off. The clinch itself was a ‘let’s just stick first and see’ approach.
‘Hit and run. Quickly retreat or close in.’
But even then, Baekho wore a strange expression. Until about two minutes into Round 1, he maintained this look without taking aggressive offensive action.
“Baekho! What’s wrong? Are you nervous? Just fight like you always do! Reach out!”
Na Jeong-ho shouted from behind, and Baekho relaxed his strange expression.
However, at that moment, the opponent’s fist was already heading for Baekho’s abdomen.
He would land the body shot and get out.
The moment everyone thought that, the impact sound of gloves that should have rung out did not.
Baekho’s left hand had already parried the opponent’s right to the body.
“Huh?”
While the surprised opponent panicked and hurriedly reached for a clinch, Baekho’s right hook was already in motion.
He had already moved his right hand while parrying.
Bam.
Only a single impact sound rang out. The poor opponent now lay sprawled in front of Baekho.
“Down!”
The referee urgently shouted, checked the condition, and soon crossed both arms above his head.
Match over.
Baekho alternated looking between the fallen opponent and his own gloves.
What had puzzled him throughout the match was his opponent’s skill.
‘…I can see everything. And above all, he’s slow.’
He had sparred with pros at Flex Gym. But even taking that into account, his opponent was slow.
‘Compared to me during my third year of middle school, this is definitely easy.’
Parrying and predicting the opponent’s attacks were so effortless it was absurd.
He did not know anything about the opponent, but to knock him down this easily?
“Interesting.”
The third-year middle schooler before regression and the current third-year middle schooler armed with various training were clearly the same age, yet there was a drastic difference.
Realizing this, a smile spread across Baekho’s face.
* * *
Day 2 of the tournament, with the quarterfinals underway. A new opponent appeared before Baekho.
True, the championship tournament was not one where top athletes usually appeared, but for those who needed a career, it was a desperate competition.
In any case, it was a national-scale tournament, and countless strong fighters who just had not won championships came for their futures.
Han Seung-dae, a third-year at Minwon Middle School, was one such fighter.
“What is it this year, another streak of quarterfinals? I have to reach the finals.”
Han Seung-dae, having repeatedly only reached the quarterfinals in middle school tournaments, was one of the favorites to win this tournament.
Naturally, since those who had reached the finals could not compete here, he, being the next highest ranked, was the strongest candidate for victory.
Having already decided to take the entrance exam for Seoul Physical Education High School as a special talent student, he had entered this tournament before the National Sports Festival while he was at it.
‘I absolutely have to win and go back motivated. Let’s go, Han Seung-dae! The opponent is someone I’ve never seen before.’
Winning once improves your momentum and your willpower.
It means enduring the pain of losing and somehow maintaining a tenacious competitive spirit.
He recalled the previous day’s Round of 16 RSC victory—where the referee stops the match.
When there is a severe skill gap with the opponent, or if a fighter takes too many hits, the referee halts the match early.
It had probably been a while since his last RSC victory, so Han Seung-dae was in high spirits.
Moreover, this opponent was neither famous nor a face he recognized.
“He’s tall?”
Even though he was clearly in the middleweight class (75 kg), his physique was considerable.
‘He looks slender, but is that natural given his height?’
Han Seung-dae’s height was 173 cm.
He was definitely about 8 cm shorter, but he was overflowing with confidence that he could beat his opponent with fast footwork and skill.
‘Whoever you are, think of yourself as unlucky to meet me.’
It was not bluster. Given the participant level, Han Seung-dae’s words were confidence, not empty boasts.
That was why he was so relaxed even against the larger Baekho.
That is, until Baekho smirked.
“Whoever you are, think of yourself as unlucky to meet me.”
“!”
Han Seung-dae was astonished that his opponent had said exactly what he had thought.
‘Similar to what I said… No, it’s exactly the same?’
But Han Seung-dae just snickered at his opponent’s words.
He was a skilled athlete who had won various tournaments in middle school and made the quarterfinals in every one this year.
Yet an opponent he had never once seen despite attending so many tournaments was saying such things?
‘Bluster. Empty bluster, you idiot. That requires the skill to back it up.’
He had no intention of losing to some random third-year he had never seen.
When the ring bell rang in his ears, Han Seung-dae bounced forward with a smile.
‘The pleasure of putting guys like him down is incredible.’
The opponent now came forward as if flicking out his hand to measure distance.
But Han Seung-dae snorted at that.
‘He thinks he can measure distance just because he’s seen a thing or two? I’ve never seen a single person do it properly.’
Only an extreme minority of athletes could properly utilize distance at the middle school level.
That extreme minority were the future national team members.
So Han Seung-dae snorted at that clumsy distance-measuring(?) and stepped with his footwork.
‘I’ll just rush in suddenly.’
Without the range being set, Han Seung-dae instantly closed in on Baekho.
He did not need to land this attack. Just twist a bit against someone pretending to know boxing, and beginners will panic—that was basic.
‘I didn’t just rush in blindly! I went in with a plan.’
Han Seung-dae’s strategy was not bad; rather, it was praiseworthy.
Because it was common for beginners to waver and collapse from a single blow.
The only problem was that his opponent was not a beginner.
He tried to dig in and throw a hook, but it did not connect and missed in the air.
He had expected that much. Because he had gone in without setting the distance.
The problem was what came next.
When he tried to clinch after missing, he saw the opponent retreat more than a full step back.
‘Fast…’
The moment he felt his opponent’s reaction, his vision grew strange.
Baekho appeared to tilt.
‘Huh?’
And soon Han Seung-dae realized his body was crashing to the ground.
He hit his head and his whole body began to tingle.
‘What? Why did I fall? Why?’
He did not know. Had his foot slipped?
The moment Han Seung-dae tried to get up, puzzled, he remembered that his legs were trembling.
‘This is…’
He remembered. One of the pains he always felt in the quarterfinals.
‘A down? Me?’
When Han Seung-dae came to his senses, the referee was counting in front of him.
“Ah, I’m fine!”
Han Seung-dae tried to get up, but his legs kept shaking.
‘Damn it. What? Did I get hit by a lucky punch?’
He had been punched.
When? Right as he approached to clinch. Baekho had precisely countered the missed attack with a hook.
But right now, Han Seung-dae could not process it and was barely maintaining his stance.
‘I let my guard down. I need to recover and catch my breath.’
Early Round 1. Han Seung-dae raised his guard and tried to hold firm.
Baekho began flicking out jabs.
And the moment he pounded the guard with a one-two, Han Seung-dae was pushed all the way to the ring ropes in a single blow.
‘It hurts.’
The pressure felt on his guarded arms and gloves was no normal punch.
‘Why is it so heavy!’
It was then that Han Seung-dae realized those heavy attacks were coming continuously without a moment’s rest.
Jab. Jab. Jab. One-two.
This was not punching power a middle schooler could produce. Before long, just as he predicted another one, then two—
Baekho’s second punch drew a hooking arc. He had changed it to a hook.
‘Hold on! Hold! If I just hold on!’
Realizing it was too late to open his guard, Han Seung-dae gritted his teeth and tried to endure.
And the moment his head rang, he immediately lost consciousness and collapsed.
“Match over!”
With the referee’s signal, his championship tournament ended that day.
“…….”
With a hollow face, he exited the ring with his coach.
“Just think that you had bad luck.”
“Yes.”
The coach consoled him, but it brought no comfort.
‘Who is he?’
Han Seung-dae’s depression did not last long.
Because the tournament itself had encountered a natural disaster.
He was not the ‘only’ one; even ‘he’ had simply been swept away.
Four matches, four consecutive KOs.
Baekho’s first and last middle school tournament ended, having swept away everything like a storm.
‘I’ll get you back later.’
Han Seung-dae gritted his teeth, but unfortunately, such a thing never happened.
Because Baekho would not appear again until a full ten months later, at the July regional representative selection for the National Sports Festival.