Drake Gym in Colorado, USA—usually buzzing with activity.
“Jack! Draco! Homekin! What the hell—where is everyone?”
But today, the gym was eerily silent.
If the lights had been off, it might’ve looked like the place had shut down for good.
“Keep it down. The match is about to start.”
Perry Jayco turned toward the voice behind him, looking puzzled.
“Match? What match?”
“The Asian qualifiers for the Olympics.”
“The heavyweight division?”
“Yeah. Everyone flew out to Asia to watch it. We’re waiting here to watch the broadcast.”
“Wait—Jack and Draco both went?”
“Of course. The Young Boss is fighting.”
The truth was, they didn’t go just to watch.
“There’s always something to learn from the Young Boss’s fights. You have to see it in person and record everything.”
“Is it really that serious?”
Perry’s question drew a look of disbelief from the others—
like he’d just outed himself as a complete amateur.
“You’ll get it once you see it for yourself.”
Following their lead, Perry turned to the TV.
The screen showed Kim Donghu walking toward the ring at a slow, deliberate pace.
“Man, how does he look so much like a beast?”
“Look at that body. The presence—wow... No wonder he sold 1.2 million copies. My wife loved that magazine when I brought it home.”
“Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, the Philippines... This is their first time seeing him, huh?”
The older fighters listed off boxing powerhouses from Asia,
shrugging like it was no big deal.
“This is his world debut, isn’t it?”
“You could call it that.”
“Lucky bastards. That feeling when you fight the Young Boss for the first time—you never forget it.”
“Hell yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”
They all nodded knowingly.
Every one of them had been through the same thing.
A Korean. From a small country. A heavyweight.
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At first, they’d all laughed at the idea.
Korea wasn’t known for producing heavyweight boxers,
so to them, it had been a joke.
But then—
“The moment you lock eyes, you can tell something’s wrong.”
“It doesn’t take long. Once the bell rings, it hits you.”
“Oh, this guy’s here to kill me.”
Hitman.
That was the word they always came back to.
They turned back to the screen just as the camera focused on Donghu’s opponent—a Mongolian fighter who looked relaxed, even cocky.
'No matter how much muscle you pack on, you’re still just a Solongos.' (Slang for a Korean in Mongolian)
The Mongolian loosened his guard,
thinking his sheer size advantage meant one clean punch would end it.
'How should I handle this little guy?'
The bell rang.
Ding!
And in that instant—
“?!”
The Mongolian lost sight of him.
A split-second lapse. Just a few seconds.
In that time,
Kim Donghu had already slipped inside his guard.
Too late to react.
The Mongolian started to lower his guard and brace himself—
BANG!
Donghu’s punch landed faster than his thoughts.
CRACK!
One hit.
The sound of ribs fracturing.
“Khuek...!”
Pain shot through his body, forcing his arms down.
His legs wobbled.
But his training wasn’t completely wasted—
his legs held him up just enough to keep fighting.
‘I can still do this!’
Clinging to hope—
BANG!
Donghu’s rear-hand uppercut smashed into his chin.
The movement was sharp and clean,
wasting no energy.
Two strikes.
Nothing but lethal efficiency.
The Hitman in the ring ended the fight in just 13 seconds.
Watching that incredible performance,
Jack Drake—the gym’s head coach—grinned.
“Show them who you are, Young Boss.”
The world realized something.
Surrender wasn’t cowardice.
It was the safest defeat you could choose.
And Kim Donghu’s pre-match interview—
“You should just throw in the towel if you want to survive”—
Wasn’t a bluff after all.
*****
Ordinary spectators with no knowledge of boxing.
“W-Wait... what just happened?”
“I couldn’t even see it properly—it was like whoosh, bam, and then he just collapsed!”
The match had ended so quickly that most viewers couldn’t process what had just unfolded.
All they knew for sure was that Kim Donghu had won.
Donghu’s acquaintances immediately reached for their phones to send congratulatory messages.
Tap tap tap tap tap.
As if on cue, they all began typing out lengthy messages, praising his performance and commenting on the match.
“So the qualifiers run until March 30, right?”
“No, actually... qualifiers go until March 29, semifinals are on the 30th, and the finals and third-place matches are on April 2.”
“Ah, got it. Okay.”
They casually double-checked the schedule.
Being top-tier actors, keeping their calendars in order was second nature.
“So we’re basically taking a week off, huh?”
“Man, Donghu looked amazing out there.”
“Seriously, wow... Our youngest is incredible.”
“Should we stop calling him ‘youngest’ now? He’s practically a captain.”
“...I’ll ask him next time if it’s still okay to call him that.”
They joked around lightheartedly,
but meanwhile—
‘I could’ve done better.’
Kim Donghu was sharpening himself even further.
A 13-second match.
Even as he reviewed those 13 seconds in his mind, he was already searching for ways to improve.
“Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan are the real threats in Asia. We’ve analyzed their styles already, so let’s go over them when you have time.”
Baek Sangha, Donghu’s coach, was already anticipating what he’d need next.
“We’ve recorded the match too, so don’t overthink it now. Rest up first, and we’ll watch it later.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“You’re doing great as it is. Sure, there are areas we can improve, but you’ll only spot them properly after taking a breather.”
For someone pushing themselves this hard,
what Donghu needed wasn’t just rest.
‘I need to make him see rest as part of growth.’
If rest felt like a setback, it would only add stress.
Instead, Sangha framed it as preparation for the next stage.
‘And reviewing the footage while resting? That’ll force him to relax.’
Baek Sangha adjusted Donghu’s grueling schedule like this.
After all, sprinting too hard without pacing yourself could make you stumble—and pacing was what a good coach was there to ensure.
‘Still, though... He’s terrifying.’
Baek Sangha thought back to the match as he supervised Donghu.
Sure, the opponent had let his guard down—but only for a fraction of a second.
‘How many fighters in the world can exploit a gap that small?’
Donghu was already moving at a world-class level.
‘That hook and short uppercut? Gave me chills.’
There was a reason they called him Hitman.
And Baek Sangha wasn’t the only one who felt that way—
Online reactions exploded.
—What the hell just happened? Kim Donghu’s insane. He’s a beast.
—Breaking news: Kim Donghu’s nickname is “Hitman,” and he’s called the Young Boss at Drake Gym in the U.S. LOL.
—Are we watching history? Donghu, you absolute monster!
A country like South Korea,
where boxing had never been more than a passing interest,
was now completely shaken.
*****
"Holy shit, is that really the guy from High Dream?"
"He was just ‘that friend’ back then... Now he’s basically shooting people with his fists."
"What’s even crazier is that he didn’t look small at all next to the Mongolian fighter."
"He’s just pure alpha, man. Straight up."
It had only been one match,
but the impact was so overwhelming that it felt like more.
Trending Searches:
The real-time search rankings were dominated by Kim Donghu.
‘13 seconds. A flash. Nobody even saw it. Will “Hitman” Kim Donghu make it to the Olympics?’
‘The Embodiment of Alpha—Kim Donghu, the Wrecking Tank Rolls Out!’
‘Experts Stunned: “A Near-Perfect Performance.”’
Every headline sang his praises.
And it wasn’t just in Korea.
Following Donghu’s GOT Magazine October cover interview,
reaction podcasts overseas immediately went live.
"Wow, wow, wow."
"Be honest—totally honest—was that guy fighting at a pro level? 'Cause I keep hearing people say he was."
"Look, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan have amazing fighters. That’s true. But none of them hit like this."
"Who the hell knew Korea had a monster like this? And in the heavyweight division?!"
"I finally get why he said what he said in that interview."
"The Young Boss of Drake Gym. The Hitman! Damn! And he’s stupidly good-looking too."
Before the host could even steer the discussion,
the guests were already hyped up, practically shouting into the microphones.
"If he keeps this form, forget a medal—he’s guaranteed to qualify."
"That hook—no, that short uppercut right after? Insane!"
"Can we analyze the match, please? It was only 13 seconds!"
"Only 13 seconds?! Dude, are you even a boxing podcast host? That 13 seconds was packed!"
The guests kept replaying the footage, analyzing Donghu’s movements.
"He vanishes from view, then bam! A hook to the ribs."
"Judging by the sound, I’d say it cracked his ribs."
"And look—he keeps his stance low, so when he rises, the short uppercut hits with full force."
"It looks quick, but the momentum from standing up made it devastating."
The fight was over.
13 seconds.
But the strategy behind it was absolutely ruthless.
"I need to see his next match ASAP. This is driving me nuts."
"Mark my words—after this qualifier, brands will be begging to sponsor Kim Donghu."
"I mean, duh. That face and that skill? It’s insane."
The hosts and guests practically turned into Donghu’s fan club, singing his praises nonstop.
Not everyone was happy.
—Why are they hyping up an Asian guy so much?
—Typical pandering. Did they get paid?
But the host wasn’t having any of it.
"Mods, get rid of these idiots. Or better yet—why don’t you come here and say it to our faces? Seriously, it’s 2024—who still says this crap?"
With 20,000 live viewers,
the host didn’t even care about losing a few trolls.
"We’re already blowing up just by praising Kim Donghu. Why waste time on haters?"
And this stance—
‘America in Shock! Unstoppable Praise for Kim Donghu on Podcasts!’
—only fed back into Korea’s media cycle.
The Kim Donghu hype train had no brakes.
As time passed,
Donghu kept racking up flawless victories, climbing higher and higher.
And the more he won,
the more South Korea fell in love with boxing.
Meanwhile...
People started looking up stories about famous heavyweight boxers.
"Wait... Michael Tyson used to have sex before matches to relieve stress?"
Kim Sujin nearly dropped her phone in shock.
"So... he burned off energy like that to control his strength?"
Then, a horrifying thought crossed her mind.
"D-Does that mean Donghu might... do that too?"
Her face turned red.
"Would I have to... w-would I be the one to...?"
Touching, sweating, pressing against each other—
"No! No, no, no! No dirty thoughts!"
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Kim Sujin started punching her pillow like a sandbag.
That night—
"Hnngh... Ah... D-Donghu... If you need to... you can... just a little... okay? I’ll help you... I-It’s my first time, but..."
Kim Sujin had her first-ever dirty dream.
And of course, the man in that dream was Kim Donghu.