You Are Really No Match For Me [Fighting] - Chapter 16

Wang Da had just turned eighteen this year when he came to the underground arena to serve as a human punching bag. His shyness, the faint countryside accent in his Mandarin, and the inferiority complex from growing up in a poor rural county made him quiet and unremarkable. But no one knew that hidden inside this silent boy was a dream—to become a true fighting master.

On his eighteenth birthday, clutching his ID card, he went straight to Jiangbei—a place notorious for underground fighting. On the one hand, he wanted to learn real combat skills; on the other, it was a way to earn money.

If he went to a proper gym, he’d have to pay tuition to be a student. But at the underground arena, serving as a sparring partner not only earned him money but also gave him a chance to secretly pick up techniques.

Having grown up scrambling through the mountains, Wang Da’s limbs were sturdy like a young bull, his stocky frame able to withstand even the heaviest punches. He could endure more hardship than most; everyone said he was “not afraid of pain.” What a joke—who isn’t afraid of pain? But for survival and for his dream, he would grit his teeth through a swollen face and bruised ribs.

Currently, Wang Da was sparring for Dong An, a fighter with great talent but one fatal flaw—an addiction to gambling. He often skipped training to bet on sports. Sometimes Wang Da could steal a move or two from him, and occasionally Jin Gang would teach him a trick when he was in the mood. But most of the time, Wang Da had to rely on his own clumsy experimentation.

The arena’s equipment was reserved for official fighters—people like him weren’t even allowed to touch it. But Wang Da knew that if he wanted to rise above the rest, he had to put in more effort than anyone else. After careful observation, he discovered that the training room was always empty from six to eight in the morning. That became his sacred, untouchable practice time. He would train, then buy breakfast, and blend back into the crowd as though nothing had happened.

So when Jin Yu pushed open the door, Wang Da nearly dropped his gloves mid-swing. He forced himself to remain calm and keep hitting the sandbag, silently thinking: Jin Yu wasn’t the type to gossip—she probably wouldn’t rat him out. More importantly, if he lost this time slot, he would have no chance to train alone.

Today he was drilling basic punching combinations. Before Jin Yu came, he had already finished fifteen minutes of warm-up. He was now following his own routine: jabs, straights, hooks, three sets each, ten to fifteen reps per set.

Jin Yu only gave him a nod before heading to the pull-up bar. Hearing her steady breathing behind him, Wang Da dared to sneak a glance to confirm she was focused on her own training, then returned to pounding the sandbag.

Thump! Thump! The muffled impact rang out, but something felt wrong. He had seen top fighters—one casual punch from them could topple an opponent. Yet even when he gave everything he had, his strikes only seemed to create surface impact.

“Where are your legs? Where are your shoulders? Why aren’t you moving them?” Jin Yu’s voice suddenly sounded behind him.

Wang Da wiped his sweat. “What?”

“I said, why aren’t your legs moving?” Jin Yu frowned. “You’ve never had proper training, have you?”

“I’m just a sparring partner…” Wang Da laughed awkwardly.

Jin Yu nodded. “Watch carefully.” She stepped up to the sandbag, feet naturally apart, rear heel barely grazing the ground. Her body swayed slightly, taut like a coiled spring. “A jab starts from the nose, elbow higher than the fist… tighten the wrist at the point of impact, aim for the opponent’s chin triangle.”

Bang, bang, bang! Three muffled strikes rocked the sandbag violently. She stepped back. “Your turn.”

Wang Da copied the movements but missed the angle.

“Again!”

“Tuck your shoulder!”

“Loosen your knees, let your body move with it!”

Under repeated corrections, a crisp smack echoed—Wang Da had finally thrown a proper hook.

“Not bad.” Jin Yu nodded slightly. “Now for the straight punch.”

Watching Wang Da’s stiff, textbook punches, Jin Yu shook her head. “The straight relies on power from the lower body. Rotate the hips, twist the right foot, drive the shoulder—like this.” She fired three lightning-fast straights, the air whistling. “Again! Faster!”

Wang Da stepped to the sandbag.

“Use your hips!”

“Faster!”

“Still not enough!”

With Jin Yu’s sharp voice guiding him, Wang Da slipped into a heightened state of focus. Blow after blow, he lost track of time—over an hour passed in the blink of an eye.

Jin Yu drained several gulps of water. “Be my sparring partner. Yes or no?”

Wang Da’s breath caught. It was like fortune itself had landed in his lap. “Yes! Of course yes!”

“Can you take hits?”

Wang Da pounded his chest with a hollow thump-thump. “No problem!”

“Good. Keep training—remember to link the whole body!” With that, she left the room, leaving Wang Da clutching his pounding chest, unable to calm down.

Just yesterday he swore he’d never side with Jin Yu. But in a single day, he was already captivated by her strength, charisma, and sheer presence.

He thought of how coldly he had ignored her when she first came to the training hall, and his face flushed. Luckily, Jin Yu was magnanimous enough not to hold it against him.

She didn’t have to acknowledge him at all—yet not only had she corrected his mistakes with patience, she even offered to make him her sparring partner.

What did that mean? It meant from now on he could learn from her at any time. Even if she only taught him a little, it was far better than fumbling around on his own.

Unlike those so-called “greats” who looked down their noses at everyone—like Jin Gang, who couldn’t even remember his name and always called him “that guy”—Jin Yu was different.

The thought brought a sting to his eyes. Heaven hadn’t abandoned him after all—there were still good people in the world!

Leaving the training room, Jin Yu called Jin Mu on the cheap second-hand Apple 48 phone she had bought at a street stall that morning—only a hundred yuan, with a twenty-yuan-per-month SIM plan. A bargain.

“Coach! I’ve found a sparring partner. No need to look for one anymore, thanks!”

Jin Mu didn’t hang up. Instead, he asked to meet in person to discuss training schedules. Jin Yu glanced at her shoulder—if she remembered correctly, today was the day the bandages could finally come off.

“Where do we meet?”

“The café across from the arena, second floor.”

When she arrived, she immediately spotted Jin Mu by the glass window, working on a tablet. He wore a sharp black suit, gold-rimmed glasses, his jawline crisp, nose high, lips pressed into a firm line. He looked every bit like a white-collar elite from the CBD.

Jin Yu walked over. “Good morning, Coach!”

Jin Mu nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Good morning, Jin Yu.”

On the table sat two cups of coffee. Jin Yu took a sip, grimaced at the bitterness, then quickly dropped two sugar cubes in before sipping again with satisfaction.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you preferred sweet. This one’s a bit bitter.”

“It’s fine, I can fix it myself. Let’s get to the point.”

Jin Mu nodded and slid the tablet toward her.

“That guy who injured you—Shuxia Shanjun—I investigated. He’s a heavily cybernetically-modified fighter. Originally a smuggled samurai from Sakura Nation, his body had been failing from years of radiation and water pollution exposure. After meeting Li Yang, most of his organs were replaced with prosthetics. Since then, he’s been Li Yang’s most loyal mad dog. You know their culture—they have extreme pride, and a deep sense of obligation toward their benefactors. To repay Li Yang, he fights with insane recklessness in the ring.”

Jin Yu’s eyes widened. “That explains it! I thought he was suicidal. If I hadn’t held back a few times, I wouldn’t have been injured…”

“How’s your recovery now?”

“Almost done. I can start training today.”

Jin Mu scrolled the tablet. “Here’s your training plan. The tournament is just over two months away. Each week will cover strength, endurance, explosiveness, and durability drills.”

Jin Yu skimmed it quickly. The schedule, intensity, and content were all meticulously designed—professional and scientific.

“Tell me the other things I need to know. You know I’ve never competed before.”

Jin Mu adjusted his glasses, folding his hands on the table. “Then let’s start from the beginning.”

The Cyber Fighting Championship (CFC) evolved from UFC.

The Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC), once the world’s top professional mixed martial arts event, collapsed a century ago during a global pandemic.

In that era, wars, disasters, plagues, earthquakes, floods, and tsunamis ravaged the world, wiping out nearly half the population. Survivors were left weakened by the virus, drastically reducing athletic performance and undermining competitive sports.

Later, rapid advances in medical technology filled the gap. Many began replacing failing organs with cybernetic prosthetics—though functionally equivalent, these enhanced the user’s speed, reflexes, and agility.

To balance competition, rules were amended to allow cybernetic augmentation—external neural exoskeletons and internal organ replacements alike. Only one thing was strictly forbidden: cyber-brains.

“This isn’t just physical force, but a battle of strategy. If your opponent’s computational ability was thousands of times greater, there would be no contest.”

Cybernetics were classified as light modifications and heavy modifications:

• • Light mods: limb replacements or exoskeletons—commonplace, with mature neural-control tech.

• • Heavy mods: full-body prosthetics except the head—discouraged, as many felt it strayed from the spirit of fighting. At its core, combat still measured the human body’s control over cybernetics and the tactical use of technology.

As more fighters adopted cybernetics, UFC officially rebranded as CFC (Cyber Fighting Championship). Though global participation remained, the rules had undergone dramatic change.

CFC’s creed:
Encourage fighters to enhance themselves through cybernetics, but preserve the essence of human competition. AI reliance or full mechanization was forbidden.

Major rule changes:

1. 1. Weight classes abolished
      Traditional divisions were meaningless due to cybernetics. Fighters are now grouped by modification level. Since heavy mods aren’t supported, only light and medium-mod fighters compete—meaning only one champion emerges.

1. 1. Core rules

      • • Victory conditions: KO/TKO, submission (joint locks, chokes), referee stoppage (incapacitation or severe cybernetic damage), or score (3-round system, judged on strikes, control, tactics).

      • • Duration: 3 rounds × 5 minutes (regular matches); 5 rounds × 5 minutes (championship).

      • • Rest: 1 minute between rounds (emergency repairs allowed).

1. 1. Illegal moves

      • • Attacking the back of the head/spine (cyber-spinal rupture = permanent paralysis).

      • • Intentionally disabling life-support organs (e.g., removing artificial hearts).

      • • Using undeclared cybernetic functions (full disclosure required pre-fight).

      • • Hacking an opponent’s prosthetics (immediate DQ and lifetime ban).

1. 1. Rewards system

      • • Prize pool: 200 million base, plus streak and championship bonuses.

      • • Champion’s privileges:

          • • Rule amendment rights: The reigning champion may propose one rule change (requires 60% committee approval). They must publicly explain their reasoning in a live holo-broadcast. Changes apply next season.

          • • Spoils of victory: Choose one—
              A) Opponent’s custom prosthetic (pay 30% material fee).
              B) One-year control of loser’s fight club (take 10% of revenue).
              C) “Champion’s Forge” rights (sell AI-trained combat data modeled on themselves).

Jin Mu glanced at Jin Yu, who was deep in thought. “If you really do become champion, you’ll have the chance to abolish the spoils-of-victory system. If you can persuade the audience and win the committee’s vote, it will be gone for good.”