Opening Scene – Subway Station, Night
A train creeps into an empty station. Lights flicker. The air is thick and damp.
Yun Dae Man stands at the platform's edge. Monochrome: dirty clothes, beanie pulled low, an old gym bag in one hand, a pistol in the other. He tilts his head back, staring at the gray ceiling above—as if searching for something he once believed in.
> YUN DAE MAN (thought):
How long has it been… since we stopped choosing how to live?
Forced to our knees…
This criminal world has taken everything.
Yet one question still haunts me…
Why?
The train halts. Doors whisper open.
A sharply dressed man exits. He sees Dae Man. Pauses. Their eyes lock. He glances down—sees the pistol. Fear floods his face.
Bang.
The shot echoes. The suited man jerks, collapsing lifelessly onto the platform.
Fade to black.
> [On-screen text:]
"Two years earlier…"
---
Jeju Island – Underground Arena – Evening, 8:00 PM
Darkness. The distant roar of a hidden crowd. The thud of punches against leather. Metallic screeches. The smell of sweat, blood, stale alcohol, and wet cement. Rusted pipes drip — each drop a countdown to another hit.
In a corner of the locker room, Yun Dae Man leans against a wall. Worn shorts, taped fists, calm expression—tempered by pain. A faint scar on his cheek. But his eyes burn like fire.
> "We're slaves. We obey or we die.
The police can't handle this.
But in that ring… I'm free.
Only then do I feel alive.
That's why I fight — to taste freedom while I still can."
The door crashes open, light flooding the room. A beaten-up fighter stands there—swollen lips, bruised eye.
— "Hey, Yun Dae Man! Your turn!"
Dae Man stands. Cracks his neck. Inhales sharply.
The crowd erupts as he steps out. A mix of cheers and jeers.
Gong. Harsh lights blind him.
— "Semifinals!" booms the announcer.
— "In the red corner — Yun Dae Man, who's walked through hell: fast, precise, cold!"
Crowd roars again.
— "In the blue corner — The Butcher! Underground legend, the destroyer: Yahweh Si Jong!"
From the blue side emerges a hulking figure—towering, stone-carved muscles, a tight, predatory smirk.
Gong.
They lock eyes—two warriors, no backing down.
Dae Man feints first. Yahweh doesn't flinch. He's seen it before.
Suddenly—a crackling blow. Yahweh swings a fierce hook. Dae Man weaves back like a cobra, tightens his stance, countering with a liver uppercut. A sickening crunch, but Yahweh holds firm.
The ring shakes with the clash:
Dae Man flips in the air—a slow-motion pivot—and lands smoothly. The crowd gasps.
Punches flow: jab, hook, elbow—Dae Man striking fast.
Yahweh counters—hard knee to the abdomen. Dae Man staggers, gasps for air.
> [YUN DAE MAN (thought):]
If I win this tournament… I'll finally ask Yu Hee out. I'm tired of hiding my feelings…
A ghost of a smile appears—then hardens.
> But this brute is too strong. If I trade blows, I'll lose. I need something else…
He shifts stance—low, focused.
Yahweh rushes—mistake. Dae Man ducks then snaps a kick into his temple—sharp, resounding like a tree trunk splitting. Yahweh sways.
Dae Man capitalizes: hook... knee... strike to the jaw.
Gong. Yahweh collapses to his knees. The referee storms in and raises Dae Man's hand.
— "Winner: Yun Dae Man!"
He pants heavily. No triumph in his gaze—only chilling silence.
The crowd erupts. Cheers. Boos.
Dae Man steps off the ring, sweat dripping. Cool night air slaps him awake. He wipes his face, then yells toward the shadows:
— "Hey, brother! You're up next. Don't mess this up!"
A tall figure steps forward.
Ahn Hee Seop. The tournament favorite. His gaze is deathly calm. His strut predatory—calculated.
The arena freezes as he enters the light. He smirks.
It's over. The final will be deadly.