Chapter 1: Side-Step Straight Punch

Whoosh!

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Fists cut through the air; soles of shoes friction against the rubber floor.

Under the floodlights.

A lean figure stands in the center of the boxing ring, continuously performing side-slips and strikes.

Straight punches, jabs, hooks, uppercuts.

His eyes are focused; his punching technique and footwork are meticulous.

Although he looks slightly stiff, there is an indescribable sense of earnestness about him.

After every repetition, it is as if he is making subtle corrections, slowly improving.

Until it becomes increasingly fluid, increasingly coordinated...

"Fang Cheng, come over here and help move the mats!"

A shout suddenly enters his ears, breaking the atmosphere of his self-absorbed practice.

"Coming."

Fang Cheng’s footsteps pause, and he lowers his hands to catch his breath.

He then picks up the mop and bucket left to the side and walks off the now-cleaned boxing ring.

"If you like boxing so much, you could apply to be a sparring partner; the pay is better."

"That won't do. If his face gets beaten up, the number of female students coming to our club would definitely drop by half..."

Facing his colleague's teasing, Fang Cheng does not reply.

He silently steps forward, shoulders two foam mats, and walks toward the equipment room.

He stays busy for half an hour.

Outside the window, the city under the shroud of night is already dotted with fading lights.

"Finally off work!"

"Let's go, let's grab a drink."

"Can't, I still have to go pick up my girlfriend..."

As the sounds of conversation and clocking out become sparse, the large venue falls into silence.

Fang Cheng looks up at the wall clock.

21:35.

It’s still early; he can still squeeze in a free hot shower.

In the shower room designated for students, the sound of rushing water soon begins.

Ten minutes later.

Fang Cheng changes into clean shorts and walks out of the shower stall, stepping on the mosaic tiles.

The vanity lights are bright, reflecting his current appearance in the mirror.

His shoulders are thin and slightly bony, his skin pale with little color.

Because of this, his facial features appear deeper and more three-dimensional; his straight nose and thin lips all reveal a sense of fragility.

Right now, his wet hair is messy, sticking to his forehead in strands and covering half of his eyes.

From any angle, he looks like the kind of pretty boy that girls favor.

"What's the use of being good-looking? You still can't find a good job..."

Fang Cheng gives a slight, self-deprecating smile, then uses a towel to dry his hair.

He quickly puts on his coat, packs his things, picks up his messenger bag, and walks outside.

In the hazy night, neon signs flicker.

They display the words "Global Elite Fighting Club."

As soon as he steps out of the glass doors, a cold wind hits his face like countless tiny needles pricking his skin.

Pedestrians on the road are all hunched over, bundled up tightly.

Fang Cheng turns up his jacket collar and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

He also quickens his pace with his bag on his back, heading toward the nearby bus stop.

Hopefully, he can catch the last bus.

The weather forecast said that on November 20th, the first cold wave of winter would arrive in Dongdu City.

In this kind of hellish weather, if he had to walk home, he would definitely catch a cold by tomorrow.

Under the bus shelter, a few passengers stand scattered, constantly blowing into their hands and stomping their feet.

There is also a young woman in a short skirt and thermal stockings wearing a Walkman, listening to music with headphones.

Fang Cheng walks to the corner and joins the line.

While standing silently, a vibrating ringtone suddenly sounds from his blue canvas bag.

"Mom..."

"I've eaten; I was just working overtime."

Fang Cheng takes his phone out of his bag to talk to his mother, who works as a nursing assistant at the hospital.

"The remittance has arrived, right?"

"It's fine, I'm an intern at a large corporation now; I don't lack money. Grandfather's illness is more important."

"Yes, yes... I know. You need to take care of your own health too; the weather is cold lately..."

After chatting for only half a minute, amidst his mother's instructions, Fang Cheng gently presses the end-call button.

He looks up, only to find that the gazes of others seem to be drawn to him.

Fang Cheng shakes his head secretly and carefully hides the expensive phone back in his bag.

Perhaps in their eyes, he counts as someone of status?

This is a new product launched by Noah Company last year.

Compared to the "big bricks" of the past, it is much smaller and supports text messaging, and the price is much cheaper.

He scrimped and saved for two months' salary to rent a second-hand one from the market.

Spending so much was just to make finding a job more convenient.

Now, it serves mostly as a prop for showing off; he can barely even afford the monthly fee.

Thinking of this, Fang Cheng’s eyes dim slightly.

Despite having a law degree from a top university, because he isn't good at public speaking and due to certain sensitive, special reasons, he hasn't found a job he likes in the year and a half since graduation.

He doesn't want to just sit at home, so he chose to work odd jobs while continuing to study hard, preparing to join the army of postgraduate entrance exam takers.

Looking at those classmates from wealthy backgrounds.

They were arranged to take civil service exams before they even graduated, or they went directly into large corporations or well-known law firms for internships.

Fang Cheng feels no envy.

For a "test-taker" from a humble background, perhaps exams are the fairest way out.

Rather than competing with others on connections, resources, and resumes—those flashy, external things.

He is just... a little unwilling to accept it.

He tilts his head, looking at the night sky, which is blocked by skyscrapers and reduced to a single line.

Fang Cheng narrows his eyes, his gaze flickering.

Compared to his original world, this world is similar yet different.

It also has modern civilization and bustling cities.

But the level of technology is unbalanced across various fields, the wealth gap is wider, and social conflicts are sharper.

Just like the Great Xia Republic he is in now, where the chaebol families occupy the main paths of advancement and monopolize most resources.

Class solidification has reached a point where everyone can curse it, yet feel helpless about it.

For ordinary civilians at the bottom, relying solely on hard work to climb upward is truly too difficult...

"Hiccup~"

A middle-aged man, drunk and disheveled, approaches from somewhere and stands right beside him.

The pungent smell of alcohol and sweat hits him.

Glancing sideways, Fang Cheng moves away without a word, putting a few steps between himself and the drunkard.

The other people waiting for the bus do the same.

The drunkard, however, is completely oblivious. He holds a can of beer and takes another gulp.

Seeming bored, he mumbles a few things before starting to harass the woman nearby with a leering grin.

All sorts of filthy language, unbearable to hear.

He even directly lifts the young woman's short skirt, scaring her so much that she turns pale and flees in a hurry.

The drunkard feels no shame; instead, he laughs loudly and tosses the empty beer can onto the side of the road.

Seeing this, Fang Cheng only frowns slightly and says nothing.

Having struggled in society for a long time, he has become as worldly and indifferent as those passersby.

In recent years, with the economic downturn, various marginalized groups have increased, and public security is naturally not great.

Not long ago, there was even a gang fight that made the evening news.

"It's just like this terrible weather..."

Fang Cheng exhales a puff of white mist, looking at a few young men with dyed yellow hair and strange clothes across the street, thinking to himself.

"Hey, little girl, what are you doing?!"

Suddenly, an angry shout interrupts his thoughts.

He sees the drunkard pointing at a trash can nearby.

Standing there is a skinny little girl, clutching a bulging, tattered burlap sack in her hands.

Her dirty face reveals nervousness and panic, and she looks somewhat at a loss.

"Why are you taking my stuff?"

The drunkard demands again.

The little girl realizes what's happening, looks down at the beer can she just picked up, and explains timidly

"I thought you didn't want it anymore..."

"What do you mean 'didn't want it'? Is that what your parents taught you? Taking other people's things without asking first?"

"Then... then I'll give it back to you..."

The little girl lowers her head, reluctantly extending her small, frostbitten hands.

She wants to return the beer can, which is worth two cents, to the man.

The drunkard, however, remains relentless, swatting the can away with a wave of his hand.

"Your dirty hands have touched it; how am I supposed to drink it? How disgusting! You uneducated thing..."

The people waiting for the bus all frown, wanting to say something but holding back.

The drunkard continues to curse, seemingly reminded of some unpleasant things, and his emotions become even more agitated.

"Damn it, that bitch looked down on me, gave me a green hat, and now even a little brat like you dares to look down on me!"

As he speaks, he grabs the sack in her hands, trying to snatch it away.

"No, no!"

The little girl protects her hard-won scavenging results with all her might.

But she is too weak; she can only hug the bag with her whole body, and she is dragged until her knees hit the ground.

Fang Cheng’s frown deepens, his brows almost knitting together.

Suddenly, he takes a deep breath and turns around.

"Mister, that's enough."

"What? Are you talking to me?"

The drunkard pauses, lets go, and turns his head, glaring at Fang Cheng.

Fang Cheng suppresses his temper and tries to speak in as calm a tone as possible

"Life isn't easy for anyone; let's show some mutual understanding."

However, these words do not have a persuasive effect; instead, they make the other person even more overbearing.

"You little brat, what right do you have to lecture me? Are you a cop, or some rich guy? Don't be so arrogant!"

As the drunkard sprays spit at Fang Cheng, he reaches out to shove him.

Fang Cheng is pushed back two steps and can't help but push back.

In the scuffle, the drunken guy’s temper flares.

"You pretty boy, you dare to fight back? See if I don't kill you!"

Relying on his fat, bulky physique, he swings his fist to strike.

Fang Cheng’s heart jumps, his pupils shrinking.

Immediately, a scene of himself punching on the boxing ring flashes through his mind.

So, almost instinctively, he lowers his center of gravity, rotates his shoulders and hips, and throws a rear-hand punch.

Bang!

A side-slip straight punch crosses the path of the swinging arm and lands solidly on the bridge of the nose.

"Ah—"

The drunkard cries out in pain, clutching his face, feeling dazed.

His head is buzzing, and all sorts of sweet, spicy, sour, and salty sensations surge out.

Then, two streams of bright red liquid slowly flow from his nostrils.

He touches the blood and looks at it.

Instantly enraged, he curses and lunges forward again.

Bang!

It is the same punch, the same position.

The drunkard staggers and falls onto his butt, his drunkenness mostly shaken off.

He spits out a mouthful of blood; it seems his teeth have been loosened.

Clearly, he didn't expect to be beaten up by a weak-looking pretty boy.

He freezes for a long time, unsure whether to advance or retreat.

Seeing this, Fang Cheng pulls back his hand and sighs, shaking his head

"Mister, it's cold out; go home early."

At this moment, the faint sound of a siren, "woo-woo," comes from afar.

The middle-aged man shudders, scrambles to his feet, and runs away.

In the blink of an eye, he disappears.

The others around and passing pedestrians see this scene and point and discuss in surprise.

Fang Cheng catches his breath, picks up the messenger bag he dropped, pats it silently, and puts it back on his shoulder.

He turns to look at the little girl’s teary, smiling face.

Although he didn't gain any profit or benefit from this, there is an inexplicable emotion surging within him.

A warmth in his chest, like a torch lit on a cold winter night.

It makes him feel warm and illuminates the cold, lonely darkness around him.

Fang Cheng’s eyes flicker.

A line of small text, like a game prompt, appears in his field of vision.

【You have defeated an evenly matched opponent, Boxing skill experience +20】

(End of chapter)