Sparring with the Beast

Baek Sangha, the gym coach, took a deep breath, trying to suppress his nerves. Sparring shouldn’t have felt so daunting, yet here he was, bracing himself.

"Donghu’s stats are… what, 180 cm and 81 kg, right?"

By Olympic standards, that placed him in the heavyweight category, a division notorious for its sheer destructive power. Each punch carried the force of a runaway truck.

"He’s almost my size… though I’m still taller."

The only difference was that Donghu was still growing. And now, Baek Sangha had told him to go all out.

Gulp.

The sound of his saliva swallowing echoed in his ears as the bell rang, signaling the start of the round.

Ding!

Following proper sportsmanship, they tapped gloves lightly. Then, as Baek Sangha adjusted his stance and raised his line of sight slightly—

Whoosh.

Donghu disappeared from view. It wasn’t just a quick duck; it was as if his feet were rocket-propelled, propelling him into striking range in an instant.

"He’s so fast."

Then came the impact.

Bang!

Before Sangha could react, an explosive blow struck his midsection. The sensation was like being hit by a sledgehammer.

Staggering backward instinctively, he felt thankful he’d managed to twist slightly at the last second. Otherwise, the punch would’ve landed directly on his liver, potentially ending the sparring session right there.

"Is this… my protégé’s 100%?"

There was no time to dwell. Defense alone would never win a match.

"I have to fight back."

Baek Sangha threw a punch, his movements honed over 30 years of relentless practice. Yet—

Swish.

Donghu effortlessly slipped the punch using a shoulder roll, his defense elegant and precise. Unfazed, Sangha followed up with a series of attacks, relying on relentless aggression to turn the tide.

Drawing in a deep breath, he charged forward, closing the distance rapidly.

"I’ll corner him against the ropes."

It was the only strategy he could think of to limit Donghu’s movement. At close range, there’d be no room for the younger boxer’s slippery maneuvers. Pouring all his energy into his assault, Sangha pushed forward.

But—

Shuffle, shuffle.

Donghu evaded with a few light steps, retreating into a defensive stance. His gloves stayed high, barely revealing his sharp eyes beneath. It was a textbook peek-a-boo style, one of the legendary techniques in boxing.

"This little…!"

What followed was a blur of head movement—ducking, slipping, rolling—all culminating in a thunderous counter.

Boom!

Even though Baek Sangha anticipated the punch, it still broke through his guard. The sheer force left his forearm numb, and subsequent blows rendered his defenses useless.

He attempted an overhand counter, but Donghu was already gone, having repositioned like a sniper switching targets after every shot.

"Is he predicting my every move? What is this, some kind of manga?"

Before he could process his disbelief, a crushing punch landed square on his solar plexus.

Thud!

For the first time in his life, Baek Sangha felt like he was staring death in the face.

"Why did I tell him to go all out?"

With one blow to the stomach and another to the diaphragm, his legs gave out. Unable to withstand the relentless assault, his body crumpled backward.

Crash!

Fortunately, Donghu caught him before his head hit the ground, preventing a concussion.

"Coach! Coach, are you okay?"
"H-ha… huff… cough…"

Baek Sangha struggled to breathe, unable to form coherent words.

"I should’ve told him not to go all out."

He’d thought he’d been raising a tiger, but now he realized he hadn’t been raising anything at all. This wasn’t a pupil—it was a force of nature.

"I never even taught him the peek-a-boo style."

In hindsight, he should’ve suspected something when Donghu began flawlessly using flicker jabs in real matches.

"Did I just get KO’d by my own student in the first round?"

Normally, the humiliation would’ve been unbearable. Yet—

"Why… does this feel so good?"

A strange sense of pride welled up within him. To be the first to experience Donghu’s 100% power… it wasn’t a bad title to hold.

Three minutes later, as he regained enough breath to speak, Baek Sangha looked up at Donghu and said with genuine gratitude:

"Thanks for not punching me in the face."
"I couldn’t bring myself to do that, no matter what."
"...."

Hearing Donghu’s calm response, Sangha thought:

"You weren’t going all out."

If Donghu had truly been at 100%, he wouldn’t have hesitated to land a clean shot to the face. That realization both comforted and frustrated him.

"He could’ve ended me anytime he wanted."

Despite his gratitude, there was a twinge of disappointment. His chance to be the first man knocked out by Donghu’s full power had slipped away.

"Honestly, Donghu, if you’d hit my face, I would’ve been out cold."
"Haha, no way, Coach. You could’ve handled it, right?"
"Y-yeah, totally! I’m your coach, after all! Of course!"
"I can never keep up with your jokes, Coach."

"It’s not a joke."

Baek Sangha forced a laugh, thinking about the future.

"What happens when Donghu goes all out in a real match?"

The image of a 911 call flashed through his mind.

Elsewhere: The Chaos of First Love

"Why, why, why?! How could this happen?!"

Kim Sujin, a girl navigating both her first love and unrequited feelings, was throwing a tantrum in her room.

"How could this happen to me?!"

Desperate, she darted toward her vanity mirror to inspect the culprit behind her crisis.

Plop.

"Aaaaaah!"

There it was: a single pimple on her forehead. Despite monthly trips to the dermatologist, this abomination had dared to appear.

"Any other day, I wouldn’t care! But why today?!"

Tomorrow was fine; it would’ve disappeared by then. But today? Today was crucial.

Checking her phone, Sujin scrolled through her chat with Donghu.

<What are you doing tomorrow?>

Probably the usual—working out or maybe visiting Yerim.
<Yerim? You mean that girl from the agency?>
Yeah, she’s got an evaluation at her modeling academy. Thought I’d sneak a look.

"Is he insane?!"

How could he even think of seeing another girl when she was right here, alive and well? Sujin clenched her fists.

"Over my dead body!"

But as she reread the chat, a glimmer of hope surfaced. He hadn’t made any solid plans yet, which meant there was still a chance to change his schedule.

<You know we have that Rushman shoot next week, right?>

Yeah, I know.
<I heard we’ll be running a lot. Can you check my running form?>
Your form? Isn’t that kind of hard to spot?
<So you’re not going to help me?!>
Just kidding. I’ll come to your place tomorrow to help.

She had done it—secured a date with him. But now, this pimple threatened to ruin everything.

"Why did this have to happen now?!"

Kim Sujin glared at the offending blemish, cursing the nap she had taken earlier. She could only hope tomorrow would go smoothly.