When I entered the underground boxing ring in my second year of junior high school, I just wanted to raise enough money for tuition. He doesn't know why his parents died. If grandpa doesn't tell, he won't ask. But the blacked-out diary, the black-and-white photo, and the "car accident" with no brake marks were like a thorn in his bones. From the age of fourteen to twenty-eight, he won, fell, faked punches, and almost died in the boxing ring. He met six women - some stitched his wounds, some stole his keys, some betrayed him and saved him at the last moment. They were all older than her, between twenty-five and forty-five, and each carried with him a piece of the puzzle of his parents' deaths. When the truth finally came together, Namjoon discovered that the man who killed his parents was still alive and well, and had become the "Master Shen" of the provincial capital. So he began to take revenge. There was no gun, no knife, just a pair of hands that had been boxing for fourteen years. This is a story about silence, about clenching fists, and about finding light in darkness. It's also a story about - when you finally don't have to clench your fists anymore, can you still open your hands to hug someone?
