📅 TIME & PLACE
Date: January 14, 2020
Day: Tuesday
Time: 4:37 PM
Location: Gangnam District, Seoul, South Korea – Outside Dragon MMA Gym 🇰🇷
The winter wind bit at exposed skin as Ji-Ho pulled his thick navy hoodie tighter, his breath forming small white clouds in the cold afternoon air. The digital clock on the convenience store across the street flashed 16:37 – he'd been standing here for almost ten minutes, staring at the red and black sign above the gym's glass doors like it was a portal to another world.
"Kim Ji-Ho, 17 years and four months old… turning 18 in September," he mumbled to himself, tapping his phone screen to check his birthday reminder one more time. His 182 cm frame was hunched over slightly – old habit from trying to make himself smaller in crowded hallways. Even with his athletic build, the shy high school senior looked more like he was heading to cram school than to learn how to fight.
A group of loud, muscular guys in compression shirts filed out of the gym, laughing and slapping each other on the back. One of them glanced at Ji-Ho, noticed his wide eyes fixed on the entrance, and snorted.
"Lost, kid? This isn't a video game arcade – we actually hit people here," he said, and his friends chuckled as they walked away.
Ji-Ho's cheeks burned, but he didn't move. In his pocket, his phone buzzed – a text from his best friend Deagon:
"Dude u still standing there??? I told u just go in!!! I already texted Coach Park that someone's coming to sign up 😤🔥"
Ji-Ho smiled weakly, typing back a quick "Almost" before shoving his phone away. Six years ago, when he was eight, he'd stumbled on a UFC PPV – UFC 156: Aldo vs. Edgar – while his parents were out. He'd sat frozen on the couch, watching Demetrius Johnson fly through the air to submit John Dodson, and something inside him had clicked into place. Every knockout, every submission, every moment of raw heart he'd seen since then had only made his dream burn brighter.
But every time he'd mentioned it to anyone – family, teachers, classmates – the response was the same.
"Fighting isn't for someone like you, Ji-Ho."
"You're too nice to hurt people."
"Stick to studying – you've got good grades, why throw that away?"
He'd never told anyone that he'd spent years watching fight footage in secret – hours of Khabib's wrestling, Pacquiao's combinations, Roger Gracie's BJJ, Samart's Muay Thai. He'd practiced moves in his backyard until his knees were scraped raw, run until his lungs burned, and done push-ups until his arms shook – all while pretending he was just staying in shape for track and field.
The gym door swung open again, and a woman with short black hair and worn-out Muay Thai pads stepped out, wiping sweat from her forehead. She looked at Ji-Ho, then at the gym sign, then back at him.
"You waiting for someone?" she asked, her voice calm but firm.
Ji-Ho jumped slightly, then shook his head. "N-no… I'm here to… to sign up for training."
She raised an eyebrow, then glanced down at his hands – he was clutching a crumpled piece of paper with the gym's address written on it. "First time?"
"Y-yes ma'am."
A small smile crossed her face. "I'm Coach Lee – I teach Muay Thai here. Coach Park's inside waiting for someone who's been putting off walking through that door for ten minutes. You gonna make him wait longer?"
Ji-Ho felt his chest tighten, then took a deep breath. This was it – the moment he'd been dreaming about since he was eight years old. He'd watched hundreds of fighters walk to the cage with determination in their eyes… now it was his turn to take the first step.
He nodded, straightened his back, and walked forward – his sneakers making soft thuds on the concrete sidewalk. As he pushed open the heavy glass door, the sound hit him first: the sharp crack of pads being struck, the grunts of grapplers rolling on mats, the distant hum of a TV showing a GLORY Kickboxing replay.
The air smelled like sweat, disinfectant, and leather – and to Ji-Ho, it was the best smell in the world.
A man with a bald head and thick forearms looked up from behind a front desk, a clipboard in his hand. "You must be the kid Deagon was talking about – Kim Ji-Ho, right?"
Ji-Ho stepped inside, trying not to gawk at the rows of punching bags, the large grappling area, and the wall covered in posters of Road FC, UFC, and ONE Championship events. "Y-yes sir. I want to learn how to fight… I want to be a champion."
Coach Park set down his clipboard and studied Ji-Ho for a long moment. Then he let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"Every kid who walks through that door says the same thing. Most of them last two weeks before they realize how hard it really is. You look like you've never been in a real fight in your life – what makes you think you can be a champion?"
Ji-Ho's hands clenched at his sides, but his voice was steady when he spoke – the first time he'd been able to say it out loud without stuttering.
"I don't know if I can, sir. But I know I'm willing to work harder than anyone else to find out."
Coach Park raised an eyebrow, then gestured toward the mats. "Alright then – let's see what you've got. Take off your hoodie and shoes. We'll start with some basic movement… and then we'll see if you can actually back up those words."
As Ji-Ho pulled off his hoodie, revealing the plain gray t-shirt underneath, his eyes drifted to the TV in the corner. It was showing a replay of Kade Ruotolo winning a submission grappling match – the young fighter's fluid movements making the impossible look easy.
This was where it began. No more watching from the sidelines. No more letting people tell him what he couldn't do.
January 14, 2020 – the day Kim Ji-Ho stopped being just a fan, and started walking down his road to be a champion ✊
[END OF PROLOGUE]