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“Weight, 82.7 kilograms. Heart rate, 76. Normal.”
The digital display blinked as the numbers stabilized.
Standing in just his underwear, Beomjin nodded. His heart started to race—it had been so long since his last measurement. That old, familiar blend of tension and thrill washed through him, the same feeling from when he used to step into the pro ring. Heat surged inside his chest.
“Next, Hwang Ki-seon.”
Heavy footsteps followed the staff’s voice.
Relaxed strides. Loose shoulders. Calm, but never careless. Ki-seon, his black hair slicked back, lifted his sharp jawline as he approached.
The moment their eyes met, a sting of old memories flashed across Beomjin’s mind.
It had been when he’d first started boxing—cocky and full of himself, knocking down sparring partners with ease, convinced the world was his. Then came the opponent known as the “Prodigy Boxer,” Ki-seon. That match had taught him what real fear and defeat felt like.
Ki-seon had been destined to rise even higher, but one day, he vanished. Rumors spread—drugs, gambling—but soon he was forgotten. And now, here he was again, standing in the Forest of Beasts.
Ki-seon, beside Beomjin, spoke casually.
“New face, huh? Which camp you from?”
“I don’t belong to any. First match tonight.”
“Oh? A rookie? Haven’t had one of those in a while—and a tiger, too? Guess the organizers wanted to make it fun.”
That same hyena grin. Cold amusement twisting his lips as his eyes ran up and down Beomjin.
“…But still, they’re putting a rookie up against me? Seriously?”
The air around him changed. The malice in Ki-seon’s gaze sharpened. He leaned closer and murmured.
“Nothing personal, kid—but I’ll beat you until you wish you were dead. So hang on to your life if you can.”
He patted Beomjin’s shoulder—a heavy, venomous touch.
Under normal circumstances, Beomjin would’ve brushed it off with a smirk. But this opponent… this was different. There was history here. There was emotion.
“…We’ll see about that.”
Tension rippled through the air like a live wire.
“…What?”
Ki-seon shoved his face closer in provocation. Beomjin didn’t flinch.
Staff rushed in to pull them apart before it escalated.
After changing back into his clothes, Beomjin was guided to the waiting room.
His heartbeat quickened. He could feel the anticipation tickling under his skin as he walked down the hallway.
Thirty minutes before the match.
The waiting room held three staff members—one with a radio, two assigned for security.
“I’ll step out for the restroom,” Beomjin said calmly, rising from his seat.
“All right.”
At the radio staff’s signal, the other two stood as well.
“…Restroom’s this way. We’ll wait outside.”
Their polite tone barely hid the firmness beneath. Even so, Beomjin smiled faintly and nodded.
“I won’t be long.”
He stepped into the dim corridor.
Gray walls. Lights hanging just low enough to cast a restless glow. The preserved skeleton of the old subway structure gave the place an eerie stillness.
Of course, the restroom wasn’t his goal. He needed to scout the Forest of Beasts—and find any clue about the missing Jeong-woo.
Pretending to wander, Beomjin changed directions a few times. Then he froze. Faint voices echoed from somewhere ahead.
“…So what, now you’re telling me we’re one fighter short for tonight’s event?! You call that an excuse?!”
Through the narrow crack of an almost-shut door came the sound of angry shouting. Beomjin stopped, phone in hand, pretending to scroll as he focused on the voices.
“So what are we supposed to do? We pumped him full of injections, and now the guy’s barely breathing!”
“Damn it, I told you not to overdo it! Sure, berserk mode makes the fights more exciting, but we need the fighters alive to actually have fights!”
“What should we do then? Tonight’s a special event…”
Their voices cut off. Holding his breath, Beomjin turned slightly, ready to bolt if anyone came out.
Luckily, the conversation resumed.
“How many backups do we have?”
“None. That’s why I said we’re screwed.”
“…Then what about the monitoring room?”
Monitoring room?
Beomjin instinctively leaned closer.
“Where’s that?”
“Oh, for—! I mean the one at the end of the east corridor. How many are in there?”
“There are a few, but their condition’s not great…”
“If it’s urgent, use them anyway. We don’t have a choice.”
Beomjin quietly slipped away down the hall and made his way back toward the waiting room.
He’d learned the location of the monitoring room—and that the Forest of Beasts’ staff were using some kind of dangerous drugs.
But one word stuck in his mind.
Berserk mode.
He was certain now that the boar lunatic from before had been affected by it. Still, there were too many pieces missing, too many questions left unanswered.
One thing was clear: the Forest of Beasts wasn’t just a place for underground duels.
For now, he had to play along, keep his cover, and wait for the right moment.
With his thoughts in order, Beomjin pushed the door open and stepped back into the waiting room.
“Ten minutes until the match.”
The staff member holding the radio turned to him. From beyond the walls came the roar of the crowd—dozens, maybe hundreds, of spectators filling the underground arena.
Beomjin’s heart fell into rhythm with their noise, his pulse syncing with the chant and drum of the crowd. His fingers and toes tingled with adrenaline.
Then, suddenly, the staff with the radio stood up and opened the door. Two men in black suits entered first—and between them walked a middle-aged man with the calm presence of power.
Neatly combed hair. A luxury watch. Behind him followed Yoon Sang-hak and several others. It was clear who the important one was.
The man approached Beomjin with a warm smile and extended his hand.
“I’ve been looking forward to tonight’s opening match. You’re the new fighter, right?”
Even his tone carried polish and authority. Sang-hak gestured toward him. “This is the Chairman of the Forest of Beasts. He came personally to show his support.”
The Chairman’s gaze rested on Beomjin, curiosity and interest flickering between the lines of his weathered face.
“I hear you’re a tiger Beast-Blooded. Director Yoon spoke highly of you—said you’d be a name worth remembering. I’m counting on a great match tonight.”
Beomjin bowed his head respectfully.
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
The Chairman nodded, took a brief look around the room, then departed with his entourage.
Even after he left, the silence lingered for a moment.
Then the red lights blinked, and an announcement echoed through the speakers.
“Opening match participants, please proceed to the ring. The first match will begin shortly.”
The staff moved in unison. The hallway pulsed with red light and roaring cheers. Electronic music and drumbeats shook the underground structure to its core.
Guided by staff, Beomjin walked toward the ring. As he passed through the narrow tunnel, the view ahead burst open.
A vast circular arena. The stands were packed—hundreds, maybe close to a thousand spectators. At the center stood the ring, suspended under white spotlights and draped in black fabric, like a stage built for gods and monsters.
The crowd’s roar was deafening. Some beat thundersticks together, others raised wine glasses, eyes locked on the ring.
Beomjin drew in a deep breath.
It begins.
All the lights went out.
The Forest of Beasts sank into darkness. Then, a slow crimson glow spread downward. A ripple of anticipation rolled through the crowd, low and heavy.
Woooom.
A deep announcer’s voice thundered through the speakers.
“Now, for tonight’s first opening match! The true hunters of the Forest of Beasts, here to thrill you all!”
Spotlights swung to the opposite gate. The door opened, and Hwang Ki-seon walked out with leisurely confidence—black trunks, a red cape, and golden gloves gleaming under the lights.
“The genius boxer! The undefeated legend of the Forest! The Grim Reaper of the Ring—the ravenous hyena—Hwaaang Ki-seooooooon!”
The arena exploded. The crowd waved, screamed, chanted his name—almost feral in excitement. Ki-seon raised a hand, soaking it in, and the cheers only grew.
Then the spotlight shifted to Beomjin’s side.
“And facing him tonight—the tiger has risen from the mountain! The challenger who dares to conquer the Forest of Beasts—Paaark Beom-su!”
The gate opened.
Beomjin—under the alias Park Beom-su—stepped forward. He made no gesture, gave no showy grin. But the moment the word tiger echoed, the audience stirred.
He climbed onto the ring in a light motion. Slowly, the spectators’ eyes began to shift—from the hyena to the tiger.
Standing across the referee, the two fighters faced each other in the center.
“A tiger, huh… premium meat,” Ki-seon muttered, clicking his tongue.
The hunger in his gaze gleamed like a blade.
Beomjin didn’t answer. He just listened—to the rhythm of the man’s heartbeat, to the pulse of his killing intent.
The lights focused on the ring. Two predators locked eyes, their stances low, coiled.
The referee lifted his hand.
“Fight!”
The word snapped like a gunshot.
“Hah!”
Ki-seon lunged first—his jab perfect, textbook clean. Speed, range, angle—everything executed with surgical precision.
Beomjin tilted his head aside, letting it slide past without countering. Ki-seon pressed in, hooking wide, but Beomjin had already shifted half a step back to keep the distance.
“Slippery little rat.”
Ki-seon’s mouth curved upward. His eyes glittered with the fever of the hunt.
A hyena.
Drawn to the scent of blood. Relentless. Biting until nothing was left.
He was the real deal.
Ki-seon’s attacks were razor-sharp—not wild, but disciplined, the movements of a trained professional.
He slipped past Beomjin’s jab, pivoted sideways, and switched footing, throwing off the rhythm. Then came the straight—the same punch that had once handed Beomjin his first, bitter defeat.
Ki-seon’s fist slammed into Beomjin’s abdomen as he twisted his head to avoid the punch.
Thud!
Beomjin reacted a split second too late—his body folded slightly from the impact.
Gasps erupted from the stands.
“That’s Ki-seon for you!”
“One more shot!”
But Beomjin didn’t flinch. If anything, the blood in his veins surged faster. His heartbeat hammered at its limit.
Yes—this feeling.
The tension of the ring came rushing back. His dormant nerves were waking, one by one.
He could even hear Ki-seon’s heartbeat now. The tiny shifts of muscle contraction. The faint weight transfer before each strike. The rhythm of his breathing.
Everything was clear.
Ki-seon lunged again, this time with a right uppercut. Beomjin dropped his center and struck the opposite line.
Thwack!
The counter uppercut buried clean into Ki-seon’s solar plexus. His body jerked back.
Beomjin didn’t let go.
Half-step in—and a flowing combination.
Thud, thud! Crack!
Both cheekbones, the jaw, then the body. Each hit landed sharp. Ki-seon tried to raise his guard, but his body lagged behind his will.
“Son of a—!”
The curse broke with a breath.
He reset his stance, but it was like fighting through mud—too slow.
Beomjin seized the opening and threw a right hook.
Tonk!
The clean impact snapped Ki-seon’s head sideways.
His body twisted through the air and crashed down, motionless—like someone had flipped a switch. Silence for a heartbeat—then an eruption.
“Waaaaaaaah!”
The arena exploded. The Forest of Beasts roared with beastlike frenzy, the lights shaking, shadows flickering in rhythm.
Breathing hard, Beomjin looked down at Ki-seon.
Ki-seon was glaring back up at him—eyes burning, the eyes of a predator who knew the hunt wasn’t over yet.
This is only the beginning.
Those eyes said it all.
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