Chapter 8: What do you call a person with no arms?

Gen stormed into the boxing gym, the doors slamming open with a loud BANG. His eyes locked onto Isamu, who was hammering a punching bag, beads of sweat dripping from his bare torso. Dressed in boxing shorts and gloves, Isamu looked completely in his element. He noticed Gen and smirked.

"Oh? Look who actually showed up," Isamu said, stepping into the ring, motioning Gen forward. "Come on in."

Without hesitation, Gen stripped off his shirt, revealing a determined physique, and changed into a pair of gym shorts. He cracked his knuckles, eyes filled with fury. "I try to keep this place clean, you know," Isamu continued with a smirk. "But with all the blood flying around, it's a bit difficult."

"Shut your damn mouth. I'm going to end you," Gen growled, stepping into the ring.

Isamu laughed, tightening his gloves. "Big words. Let's see if you can back them up."

The bell rang, signaling the start of the fight. Gen wasted no time, closing the distance with explosive speed, aiming a direct punch at Isamu's face. But before the blow could land, Isamu effortlessly dodged, weaving just out of reach. What?! Gen's eyes widened.

He's fast.

Before Gen could react, a brutal right hook connected with his cheek, sending him stumbling back. The impact rattled his brain, his balance thrown off.

"Not what you were expecting, huh?" Isamu taunted, rolling his shoulders. "You think all tall and heavy guys are slow? That's a mistake."

Gen gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. He had to adapt. His muscles tensed as he braced for Isamu's next move, but his opponent was already in motion. A devastating left hook crashed into Gen's liver.

A searing pain erupted in his torso. He gasped, falling to his knees. His stomach churned violently, and he couldn't stop himself from vomiting onto the canvas.

"Oh, that's disgusting," Isamu said with mock disappointment. "How could you do that?"

Gen barely had time to register the insult before a powerful kick landed against his side, flipping him onto his back. Isamu loomed over him, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. Then, with a brutal stomp, he crushed Gen's face into the mat.

"How's that for a pretty face?" Isamu sneered, grabbing Gen's arm. "You know, even though I'm a boxer, I'm also a street fighter. That means I don't play fair."

Panic surged through Gen as he realized what was about to happen.

"No—"

A sickening CRACK filled the air as Isamu snapped his arm.

"GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Gen's scream echoed through the gym.

Isamu merely laughed, relishing the moment. "Oh, you've got another one." He grabbed Gen's other arm.

"NO! STOP—"

CRACK.

Another scream. More laughter.

Isamu stood over Gen's broken body, shaking his head in mock pity. "Toss this loser out on the streets."

His lackeys obeyed without question, grabbing Gen's limp form and dragging him outside. Rain began to drizzle, dampening the alley as they unceremoniously dumped him into a nearby dumpster.

Taehyung happened to be passing by, enjoying a box of hot Takoyaki as he strolled through the rain. The warm aroma mixed with the scent of wet pavement. Just as he popped another piece into his mouth, he caught sight of movement near the boxing gym.

He squinted. His eyes widened in shock. Gen?

Without hesitation, Taehyung ran toward the dumpster, tossing his food aside. He reached in and carefully pulled Gen out, his hands shaking slightly as he took in the sight before him.

"Damn it..." Taehyung muttered under his breath. He hoisted Gen onto his back and carried him through the rain. The dojo wasn't far—he just needed to get him there.

The taekwondo dojo was silent except for the occasional whispers of students gathered around Gen's broken body. The instructors worked swiftly, wrapping his arms in makeshift casts and tending to his wounds. Taehyung stood to the side, arms crossed, watching intently.

Gen lay on the mat, pain pulsating through every nerve in his body. He could barely move, let alone speak. But something inside him burned—rage, humiliation, desperation.

As Taehyung prepared to leave for the night, Gen, with every ounce of strength left in his battered body, reached up and grabbed his shirt. His grip was weak, but his eyes were filled with an unyielding fire.

"Please..." Gen's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I'm begging you... Teach me Taekwondo."

Taehyung's eyes widened. He stared down at Gen, silent for a moment. Then, a slow smirk formed on his lips.

"Heh," Taehyung chuckled, shaking his head. "You really don't give up, do you?"

He crouched down beside Gen, studying him closely. "You're beaten to a pulp, both your arms are broken, and you're lying on the floor like a damn corpse. And you're asking me to teach you?"

Gen's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Yes."

Taehyung exhaled through his nose. "You start tomorrow. Be ready."

Gen let go, his body finally giving in to exhaustion. As his vision blurred, a single thought remained in his mind.

I will become stronger.