I Became a Monster in a T*ash Game

“The messy ring was quickly and expertly cleared.
After rattling the cage and shooing people away, it seemed they’d accepted Muhae’s proposal.
Jin Muhae removed his glasses and tossed them to Joo-o, then unbuttoned his sleeve. Rolling up his arm, he saw spots of blood. He’d cleanly clipped the jaw, but evidently he’d drawn blood somewhere along the way.
“We don’t usually run things like this.”
The match organizer, who’d been holding his earpiece, signaled to a staff member. The man approached Muhae, scanning him with a body‐check device, confirming no weapons.
“Since you wrecked our show, we get to choose a new opponent, right?”
“Fine by me.”
No sooner had the organizer asked his ominous question than a small door behind the ring clattered open.
A massive silhouette—easily two meters tall, every inch solid muscle—strode through with heavy footsteps.
He was on another level compared to the fighters from before. His biceps bulged under a sleeveless shirt like drawn‐on graffiti.
Even though they’d said “pick anyone,” wasn’t this guy overkill…?
‘Looks like an enforcer.’
Every day the pit saw gamblers ruin themselves—and even fighters didn’t always meekly follow orders. There had to be guards on standby to prevent troublemakers—and this hulking figure had to be one of them.
By size alone he dominated, and his combat instincts were honed. Such a physique was rare in this city; even the usually towering Muhae looked slender by comparison.
From the crowd came a low, impressed murmur—definitely Joo-o’s voice. Better that he stayed mixed in the throng, just watching.
‘Yeah. It’s better he doesn’t stick his nose in.’
Muhae didn’t intend to back down. Even if he wanted to now, they wouldn’t let him leave, and he was no stranger to fights. He’d hunted beasts and anomalies—no one had ever bested him in strength.
“Bet one thousand dil on me.”
“Crazy bastards get beat down.”
A coarse, booming voice jeered him. Simultaneously—Beep— the buzzer sounded and the board lit up with new odds.
As expected, the ratio swung from about 8–2 to over 9–1 in minutes.
No matter. The more lopsided the payout, the better for us.
“Jin Muhae.”
Someone grabbed his arm as he stepped into the ring. Joo-o was pressed close behind.
“Lower your head.”
“Why?”
“Less of a stretch than me standing on tiptoe.”
It was such a ridiculous request that Muhae complied. He swept his gaze around, then bent his neck so their ears matched.
Just as Joo-o had waited to whisper, he murmured,
“That one’s arm’s a bit thinner.”

“He looks fine.”
“Trust me—it’s thinner. He’s injured.”
Joo-o’s eyes gleamed with certainty as he revealed the weak spot. Whether true or not, it was tempting intel. The enforcer standing opposite eyed Muhae with a chilling stare.
Ding!
In an instant, the match began. Despite the fresh cleanup, faint stench rose from the floor.
Muhae frowned, gauging distance. Up close, the man’s missing limb did seem slightly smaller… or maybe it was just an illusion.
Whoosh! The enforcer lunged, his long arm slicing through the air at Muhae’s face.
He was surprisingly swift. If Muhae’s guard had dropped for even a moment, that fist would’ve shattered his jaw.
‘Just as predicted.’
People assume big bodies move slower—that mass makes you sluggish. Partly true: extra weight can slow you down. But when muscle is honed like that, size becomes power and power becomes speed.
Wham! A frying-pan‐sized fist came at his head. Anticipating the shoulder motion, Muhae twisted aside, dodging.
Paak! Feigning a retreat, he lashed out at the man’s shin. The fighter hissed, annoyed.
Sure enough, the enforcer’s body was rock-solid. His shin endured the kick without so much as a wince.
Before Muhae could widen the gap, he caught the incoming punch on his forearm—and nearly cursed out loud at its force.
Any hit to the head would’ve knocked him out. He’d seen what happened to those who stumbled and fell in here.
“Crush him!”
A spectator’s shout pierced his ears—and this time Muhae charged in.
He tried for a head strike; when it failed, he battered the other man’s elbow instead. As the enforcer parried a hook, he groaned and threw a wild punch.
Redirected, the punch missed its target, but…
‘So that’s the thin one.’
Muhae seized the low-guarded bicep mid-swing. Wrapping the arm, he spun aside—CRACK—the joint snapped, and the man convulsed, slamming Muhae with all his might.
Pain flashed, his vision wavered. He hadn’t been struck on the head, yet it stung like hell.
Another hit like that would break bone for sure. Sensing danger, Muhae reluctantly released the arm and stepped back.
“Phew, phew… you hurt?”
“Bastard!”
The enforcer unleashed a flurry of fists and kicks, each whooshing through the air.
Spotting the injured right arm, Muhae zeroed in. The man defended the bad limb, throwing his whole balance off.
His hook grew wild; his upper body swayed. Perfect—time to press the advantage.
Pow! Muhae slammed his fist at the wounded arm, grinning wickedly.
In street fights, victory often goes to the one who can exploit the tiniest flaw. Muhae saw the enforcer’s eyes dart in panic.
He absorbed a heavy punch on his shoulder—pretending to stagger—then clenched his fist, bracing through the pain.
After taking several hits, he spotted an opening as the man withdrew. In an instant, his heart pounding thunderously and his vision slowing…
KRAAANG!
When Muhae had just started mercenary work at seventeen, Lord Gil and Dr. Jeong both warned him against it.
“You’ll spend a decade just to save two hundred thousand dil. Why risk your life when safe work awaits?”
They never truly interfered, though—Muhae’s decisions always came with their tacit consent…
‘How did such a body come from my genes? Did you eat something weird to grow like this?’
He simply had extraordinary genetics—strong, flexible, nearly indestructible, with reflexes to match.
He rolled aside from charging beasts, and humans were even easier. With knowledge of their weakness, he could withstand a beating and still knock them out.
WHOOM!
“Aaaah!”
“Don’t cheat, you sons of bitches!”
Muhae kicked the already-down man hard a few times. The outcome was clear; losing bettors raged in the crowd.
Perhaps fearing for the enforcer’s safety, staff flung open the cage door even before he passed out.
“That’s enough. Your payout’s been processed.”
An attendant poked at Muhae, signaling him to step back. Behind him stood Joo-o, hood slightly pulled back, waving excitedly.
Someone’s shoulder might’ve been dislocated, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) but there he was, celebrating.
“Jin Muhae! I’m rich!”
He even said “I”—so Joo-o must’ve bet his newfound winnings again.
Whether to thank him for trusting Muhae or scold him for stupidity, Muhae felt oddly ambivalent.
Over nine thousand dil filled their pockets.
Not long after the Seogyeong City payout, their wallets were flush again.
“Heh.”
Of course, it wasn’t free. His shoulder—where he’d unbuttoned his shirt—was red, swollen, and bruised.
Feeling around, he suspected no fracture; it was a tendon-and-muscle injury. It’d take at least two days’ rest to heal.
“Lucky it didn’t hit your face.”
“Is that what matters now?”
Joo-o blurted a tactless remark, but the primary goal was achieved. By causing enough commotion, the shadow’s attitude would shift—they’d probe less.
Already, Muhae was resting in a back room accessible only to staff, clutching his throbbing shoulder, with Joo-o by his side.
“Think I’ve got money to burn because I can instantly drop hundreds of dil?”
“I knew you’d win.”
“Why are you still eating? When did you buy that jerky?”
“Found it.”
“Damn you.”
Chatting with Joo-o, Muhae nearly forgot that he’d been in mortal combat just minutes ago.
That was always Joo-o’s effect—turning the ordinary bizarrely strange, then dissolving tension in an instant.
Then—clack. The door outside the corridor opened, and the noise of footsteps swelled.
Both Muhae and Joo-o turned their heads. Someone was coming this way.