The apartment as he had left it.
The white-yellowed ceiling. The damp stain in the left corner. The still air.
Ji Hun Min closed the door behind him.
He sat on the floor with his back against the bed.
He opened the phone.
Name: Do Hyun Seok.
Age: twenty-six.
Active professional boxer. Record: seventeen matches. Fifteen wins. Two losses.
The notes in small handwriting:
His style is aggressive and relentless. Multiple violations from the federation — strikes after the bell, provocation inside the ring and outside it. Talented but doesn't know limits. He enters this world for pleasure, not money. He doesn't need the money.
Then:
Family name: Do.
Ji Hun Min remained looking at the screen.
Do.
The same name.
He closed the phone.
He looked at the ceiling.
He didn't think about the match.
He thought about an old corridor. A brown envelope. A photograph that was published.
And a friend he hadn't seen since that day.
He began wrapping the bandages.
Slowly. Carefully.
This isn't a coincidence.
In this world nothing is a coincidence.
One week later.
A new building in the Mapo industrial district.
Smaller than Gasan. The walls closer. The air heavier.
Kang Ha Eun in the front row. Alone — Han Jae Won wasn't there. Baek Sung Chul wasn't there.
For the first time since entering this world — Ji Hun Min stood at the edge of the ring alone.
No voice in his ear. No final sentence.
Only the ring before him.
Across from him — Do Hyun Seok.
Twenty-six. Ten centimetres taller than Ji Hun Min. Broad shoulders in the way of boxers born for the ring, not those who built their bodies for it. His face carried something resembling contempt — not for Ji Hun Min specifically. For everything in front of him.
He looked at Ji Hun Min.
Then smiled.
"Ji Hun Min."
Said it loudly. Like someone reading a name from a list they don't give much attention to.
Ji Hun Min looked at him.
Didn't answer.
Do Hyun Seok nodded — like someone saying as I expected.
"I've heard about you." A step forward. "You sold yourself once for money."
The word fell.
Ji Hun Min didn't move.
Do Hyun Seok continued — in the same tone. Quiet. As though talking about something that didn't concern him.
"Did you sell that match for your mother?" A pause. "Or for yourself?"
The silence.
Ji Hun Min looked at him.
In his eyes no anger. No pain.
Something colder than both.
He didn't answer.
Do Hyun Seok smiled again.
"I thought so."
No referee. No bell.
Do Hyun Seok moved first — directly. With the confidence of someone who doesn't need to read his opponent.
Ji Hun Min stepped to the side.
Do Hyun Seok followed — with a speed he hadn't anticipated.
A right strike to the left eyebrow.
Ji Hun Min stepped back. His hand on his face.
Do Hyun Seok didn't stop — a quick knee.
Ji Hun Min caught it but the weight pushed him two steps back.
A minute passed.
Do Hyun Seok attacking. Ji Hun Min reading.
But Do Hyun Seok was different — he didn't stop. Gave no time. As though he didn't know the word wait.
A strike into the left rib.
Ji Hun Min bent.
Do Hyun Seok came with an elbow to the back of the head.
Everything shook.
Ji Hun Min went down on one knee.
The floor under his hand.
In his head — an old voice. Seung Woo Park in the gym:
"The body goes before the mind thinks."
He got up.
Do Hyun Seok waiting.
Something changed in his eyes when he saw him rise — real interest for the first time.
They closed again.
Ji Hun Min struck first — a quick left.
Do Hyun Seok caught it. Pushed it aside and brought his knee.
Ji Hun Min avoided it — but barely.
Elbow strike to the left cheek.
Do Hyun Seok stepped back one pace.
For the first time in this match — he stepped back.
Ji Hun Min followed.
But Do Hyun Seok regained his balance.
He charged with his whole body.
Ji Hun Min flew backward. Hit the floor.
The left shoulder — something deeper than usual pain.
He got up slowly.
Do Hyun Seok didn't attack — waiting.
"Why do you keep getting up?" Said quietly. "No one is waiting for you."
Ji Hun Min looked at him.
Do Hyun Seok's first sentence still in his head:
Did you sell that match for your mother? Or for yourself?
And the answer he hadn't given — because the answer carried two faces he couldn't separate.
But the sentence no one is waiting for you —
He looked at him.
"You won't understand."
Do Hyun Seok raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because you never had a mother to begin with."
The silence.
Something in Do Hyun Seok's face — that hadn't been there a second before.
It wasn't anger.
It was something older than anger.
He moved.
But not the way he had moved throughout the match.
This time — without calculation. Without reading. With everything in him.
The strikes coming in sequence — right, left, elbow, knee.
Ji Hun Min retreating. Catching. Avoiding what he could.
But one landed on the left shoulder with full weight.
Ji Hun Min on his knees again.
The shoulder didn't want to get up.
In his head — not Seung Woo Park's voice this time.
Another voice.
His mother:
"Ji Hun, did you eat?"
He got up.
Do Hyun Seok looking at him.
The old thing in his eyes had changed shape.
It was no longer anger.
It was something closer to exhaustion.
They closed — this time slowly.
Ji Hun Min moved forward directly.
Do Hyun Seok opened his right side for one moment.
Elbow strike to the right temple.
Do Hyun Seok went down on his knees.
Silence in the room.
Kang Ha Eun:
"Enough."
In the back corridor.
Do Hyun Seok sitting alone on the floor. His back against the wall. His head low.
Ji Hun Min passed in front of him.
Do Hyun Seok didn't raise his head.
But as Ji Hun Min passed — he said in a low voice. Expecting no reply. Perhaps not expecting to be heard.
"My mother died when my brother was born."
Ji Hun Min stopped.
Didn't turn.
Said nothing.
After a second — he continued walking.
But he slowed.
One step.
Then continued.
Kang Ha Eun stood in front of him at the end of the corridor.
She looked at the shoulder.
"You need a doctor."
"I know."
"The test is over."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
"And what's the result?"
Kang Ha Eun looked at him the way she had looked at him in Banpo-dong.
"My father will contact you."
She turned her back.
Ji Hun Min came out of the building.
The motorcycle at the post.
He rode slowly.
The shoulder hurting with every turn.
The night cold. Seoul quiet.
In his head — Do Hyun Seok's sentence in the corridor.
He could still hear it.
He just rode.
And left.
After the motorcycle had disappeared into the street.
Do Hyun Seok still in the corridor.
Sitting alone on the floor.
The room empty now. The sounds gone.
He raised his head.
Looked at his hands.
He had been three years old when he stood alone in the corridor.
His father carrying a small infant and crying — and no one carrying him.
He hadn't understood then what it meant for his mother to disappear.
He only saw that something had gone and would not return.
And that his father had chosen the new child instead of him.
At eighteen — he found her old notebook in a box of her things.
One sentence in her handwriting:
"Boxing is the only sport that tells the truth."
He walked into the gym the next day.
And never left it.
He looked at the empty corridor.
Where Ji Hun Min had been standing.
Where he had slowed one step before continuing.
Do Hyun Seok didn't understand what that one step meant.
But he had seen it.