In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

Han Byeong-cheol, nicknamed “Doksa,” the man who became “Venomous Snake” after being bitten by a pit viper on picnic day, smiled.

“Come on! Bring it!”

Trainee No. 8 dashed in.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but his movements looked like slow motion.

“Efficient.”

He bent forward like a wrestler going in for a takedown and charged.

If his body weren’t so thin—like a sheet of paper—he might have been intimidating.

But he looked limited in strength.

With so little muscle mass, a collision like this wouldn’t hurt at all.

It’d feel like getting hit by a ping-pong ball.

He’d probably hurt more if Senior Corporal Lee Jeong-ah, the weakest in Team 1, hit him.

“What should I show him?”

It was time to demonstrate a restraint technique that subdued the attacker with minimal harm.

Before he even thought, his body reacted.

The “Snake” coiled to catch his opponent gently and slam him on the mat.

“Hiyah!”

His hands gripped the trainee’s arm, twisted it just enough, and lifted him.

“Light.”

Is he over 60 kg?

At nearly 180 cm tall, it was astonishing how light he felt. Then—like a six-pack of water bottles—it all went to the mat.

“Done...!”

A perfect throw.

Just as he was about to smile proudly, something felt off. Like he’d forgotten something.

“Huh...?”

He looked down at his forearms—and they were still tangled.

In the 0.1 second before No. 8’s back hit the mat, his body floated in midair.

While executing the throw, No. 8 had shifted his center of gravity as if using Doksa’s momentum like a lever.

Wham!

His body wasn’t hurt, but his head felt like it’d been struck by a hammer.

“What was that?”

It all happened in less than a second.

When he came to, his head was caught between the trainee’s legs.

“...?”

He spun around in confusion—and saw No. 8 equally bewildered.

“You shouldn’t be the one confused!”

As the absurdity sank in, Doksa sensed strange gazes from the “Men on the Go” cast, all staring open-mouthed.

The cameraman looked stunned. Behind him, the PD and assistant director, eyes wide, silently mouthed “Ratings!” and hugged each other.

“...”

Embarrassment crept in. Someone in the crew muttered,

“Wow. The suspect won.”

“...”

Doksa trembled.

“Who is this guy!”

“...”

“Hey... uh, No. 8.”

“...”

“No. Eiiight!”

“Yes!”

Doksa glanced up kindly at Woo-ju, whose legs were still wrapped around his neck.

“Please release my neck, Trainee.”

He was flustered.

Why did he get subdued?

“That outcome happened because I let my guard down.”

So that’s it.

He himself was surprised.

Up until he’d floated and fallen, he’d admired the trainee’s professionalism. Then suddenly, his body flowed into a counter-technique.

“No. 8.”

“Trainee Sun Woo-ju!”

“Have you ever studied martial arts?”

Ignoring Doksa’s pleading eyes—“Please say yes!”—he shook his head.

“No.”

“Really?”

With a look that said, “I’ll give you one more chance,” he smiled.

“Sometimes I learn from Mi-Tube videos.”

“I knew it.”

Doksa cleared his throat, but his prestige was in shambles. The cast’s chests heaved as they exchanged glances: Can we trust this instructor?

“Ahem, so what technique was that?”

“I—I don’t remember exactly.”

It wasn’t a martial art but ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) a stunt—like from an action movie where the hero takes down a far larger boss.

...And it actually worked.

He’d thought such a stunt—feasible only with wires or superpowers—was impossible in reality. Apparently, the action director had done proper research.

“Ahem, anyway, No. 8, you may exit.”

“Yes!”

“I’ll demonstrate once more.”

Playfully, Woo-ju stepped forward—but Doksa stopped him.

“Not you! I’ll call someone else.”

“Yes!”

PD Do Jun-gi and the assistant director behind the camera laughed and gave thumbs-up.

Doksa took a deep breath and scanned the cast.

He must’ve been thinking: Exclude those too old or too young—too risky—pick from the three younger ones, but not this one... then his gaze flicked between Woo-ju and Jung-hyun. He must’ve sensed they were a team.

He pointed.

“No. 7.”

“Trainee Lee Hyun-jo!”

“Run at me exactly like No. 8.”

“Yes!”

Hyun-jo charged—and Doksa executed a smooth, agile throw.

“Ooh...!”

We applauded.

Doksa—beaming with a “That’s more like it” look—smiled.

“How was it? Cool, wasn’t it?”

“Very cool!”

“Now we’ll practice simple self-defense and restraint techniques in pairs.”

We paired off. Odd one out was paired with Doksa, and I partnered with Jung-hyun.

“Jung-hyun, here comes the technique.”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“Here we go—hyah...”

“...?”

He should go over—why isn’t he?

“Fall!”

“Hyung, did you just tense up?”

Something welled inside Doksa.

“Not everyone in this world can be as strong as you, Jung-hyun.”

“You’re the weak one, hyung.”

“No—you’re the strong one.”

Thus we continued close-quarters combat drills.

Doksa moved around correcting posture. Just as I and Jung-hyun tried to sync up—

Slide.

He slipped past us like Doksa himself.

“Why’d you go by?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s coming this time.”

“Brace yourself, hyung.”

As we readied for combined technique—

Slide.

He shot by even faster, then went elsewhere and nodded, “That’s it!”

His evasive agility made Firstborn Lee Pil-seung smile.

“Instructor!”

“What is it, trainee?”

“The basics are good, but I’d like to learn a more advanced technique.”

“Hmm... not a bad idea.”

He offered to show something new—and the cast egged him on, whispering, “Pick him. Let’s see him.”

Doksa smirked knowingly.

“I know what you’re up to.”

“...?”

He placed his hand on his hip holster and said,

“You want to see Trainee No. 8 again, don’t you?”

“No!”

“You can tell by his eyes.”

As the cast protested jokingly, Doksa nodded.

“Very well. Let’s do it again.”

“Yeah!”

“No need to be scared in front of me. With our experience gap, unless he suddenly pulls some movie stunt, there’s no way he’ll win.”

It felt like a war movie hero saying, “When I get back, I’ll marry you,” before charging into battle.

While I warmed up, the relaxed Min Tae-won made a suggestion.

“While we’re at it, how about a wager—”

“Because the instructor’s smiling, does he look funny?”

“No!”

“Focus, everyone.”

We sucked in our breaths and held still. Doksa relaxed his face and looked at the camera.

If this were real training, that joke would’ve cost him. But since it was for the show, he asked,

“Fine. But if you lose, what penalty?”

“...”

“One extra hour of PT.”

“Aaah...”

“Hey—who said that? It’s been an hour and ten minutes.”

Doksa, mocking, watched the members’ despair. Then he turned to me.

“Trainee.”

“No. 8, Sun Woo-ju.”

“If you achieve even a bit of success against me, we’ll call it a win for you.”

“Yes!”

“Anything you want if you win?”

I glanced at the cast, thinking what they’d like.

“Then... a little rest—”

“No rest. You came here to train, no?”

“What about a cold ice cream?”

The others cheered. In the heat and rolling around all day, they’d welcome something sweet and cold.

Doksa chuckled.

“That’s easy. If you win, I’ll buy ice cream for the entire crew, too.”

“...!”

Behind the camera, the crew began chanting, “Woo-ju! Woo-ju!”

“No more talk.”

He distanced himself, scraped his foot on the floor, then glared and beckoned, daring me.

“Trainee, try to overpower me.”

To Be Continued: “Men on the Go – Special Police Unit, Part 2”

Police Special Unit Canteen

Han Byeong-cheol, aka “Doksa,” sat gloomily, staring at his wallet.

Doksa: “Ha...”

Meanwhile, trainees rummaged enthusiastically through the ice-cream freezer.

Their faces were alight with excitement.

Doksa shouted,

“Who’s buying the ₩2,500 ice cream! Put it back!”

Jung-hyun: (dejected)

Doksa: “Why not just get one SsangSsangBar each and share!”

All: (cheerful)

No one was afraid, even as he raged. The fierce spirit from training was gone, and Doksa looked more and more downcast—like a special forces soldier back to civilian life.

Producer: “Are you short on cash?”

Doksa: (teary)

Producer: “Then we’ll pick the cheap ones.”

Now even the crew joined in hunting for ice cream.

Doksa shivered, staring at the ceiling. The trainees were oblivious, still raiding the freezer, when Woo-ju quietly approached.

Doksa: “What is it?”

Woo-ju: (mouths “quiet,”)

Doksa: “?”

Woo-ju carefully took his card from his pocket and placed it in Doksa’s hand.

Doksa: “This...?”

Woo-ju: “Let’s split it fifty-fifty, Instructor.”

Doksa: (moved)

Woo-ju resumed selecting ice cream as if nothing happened. Doksa stared at the card, misty-eyed, forgetting who had prompted this kindness.

A moment later...

Pil-seung: “Woo-ju! Thanks!”

Ho-beom: “Enjoy.”

Woo-ju: “Please savor it!”

Like prisoners savoring cold beer on a rooftop in a film, the members leisurely enjoyed their ice cream.

Cut to the studio, where Doksa in formal black grinned.

Doksa: “That day, I joined the NewBlack fan café.”

Writer: (laughs)

Doksa: “I’m serious.”

He showed his phone screen with “Full Member” status. The crew burst out laughing. His nickname was “Incheon’s Strongest Snake.”

Day 2 training with ice cream concluded.

Day 3 began real exercises to test what we’d learned. Tactical Team 3 led us.

We stood silently before a door—like in a classroom—with handles to pull left and right.

We wore black uniforms, bulletproof vests, and dummy guns with empty magazines. Faces hidden by masks and helmets, but we all looked tense.

Time to assess our training.

“Bring out the money!”

The hostage-taker was Doksa himself, though he had no role in Team 2.

He rampaged inside the “classroom,” treating the easel as hostages.

Squad leader Pil-seung grabbed the radio.

Pil-seung: “One hostage-taker inside. Appears unstable. Breach team, stand by.”

Radio: “Proceed.”

With the commander’s go-ahead, Pil-seung nodded to us.

He raised his gloved hand, then folded down his fingers one by one—countdown.

“Police!”

Though amateurish, we successfully subdued the rioting hostage-taker.

“All clear!”

We shouted “Clear!” as we secured key points and held our positions.

A Special Unit member from Tactical Team 3, acting as evaluator, gave feedback.

Evaluator: “Breach team, well done.”

Team: “Thank you!”

Evaluator: “But some points need improvement. As you entered just now, you were practically begging the suspect to shoot at you. On entry, above all...”

There were endless things to correct, but he was generous, impressed by our transformation in three days.

Panting, we removed helmets and masks—our hair soaked as if dunked in water. Tae-won showed off his reddened scalp, making us all laugh.

“It’s no wonder they’re called special forces.”

Descending the stairs with helmet at my side, I said,

“At first I was thrilled by the fancy gear, but running in this... it really...”

“Me too. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

At Hyun-jo’s words, we all nodded. The bulletproof vest alone weighed over 6 kg, plus mask and helmet—just moving a step felt suffocating.

Thankfully the rifle was a lightweight special-ops model. The magazines were empty, though...

Even Jung-hyun wiped sweat from his neck.

“I heard real gear weighs 20 kg when you deploy to an actual incident.”

“Ugh...”

“20 kg? This already kills me—and you run in that?”

We all gasped.

Given that real special-unit veterans join this unit, even this sampler training was brutal. Add real equipment and live dynamics—terrorists or hostages—and...

“...”

We took a moment to appreciate those who toil so we can sleep soundly each night.

With morning training done, the afternoon brought a more enjoyable session.

“Hello.”

Inside the parade ground, riot police in formation greeted us.

“Ooh...!”

“Wow. They look so dignified.”

“Look at those bright eyes.”

We were admiring the animals they held on leashes: two German Shepherds, with fluffy fur, pointed muzzles, and the size of elementary-school kids, panting with tongues out. Everyone cooed at their cuteness.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“You can’t call him a ‘boy.’ He outranks you.”

“Is that so? Noble beast?”

Someone’s pun made us laugh.

We stood back, admiring, when a sturdy man in his forties appeared—it was the head of the bomb-detection canine unit.

“These are not dogs.”

Not dogs?

“Then...?”

“They are ‘견’.”

“...”

“Not ‘dog’ but ‘견.’”

Someone quipped “dog-dog?” before rushing to salute.

The head continued,

“Not ‘dog’ because they serve a special purpose. These guys work as bomb-detection ‘견’ at airports and major events.”

“‘견’...?”

It was oddly infectious.

He introduced them.

“Both are male. The one on the left is Jeong-bok.”

“Jeong-bok.”

“And the one on the right is Ji-gu.”

“Ji-gu.”

We nodded at their cute names, but the head, stone-faced, added,

“We also had Man-se, but he’s gone ahead.”

We all stopped breathing.

“He’s retired and lives with me now.”

“...”

“He ate so well his kibble bill outranks my daughter’s tuition.”

We were relieved, and the officers behind him nodded in recognition.

“Bomb detection is a job for people, but play for these guys.”

He explained the dogs’ training: multiple containers, one holds explosives. When they sniff it out, they sit and get rewarded—playtime.

“So while training, you have to play along. For them, it’s fun with people.”

He called over the officers to demonstrate. The dogs sniffed each container and sat by the explosive one, panting. The officer cheered, “Good job! Well done!”

“They don’t understand words, so you have to raise your tone.”

When the officer cheered “Kiyah-hoo!” the Shepherd leapt with joy.

“Don’t laugh. You’ll do it later.”

After applauding the officers’ performance, we tried a simple frisbee throw first.

They asked for the most agile person—and I found myself chosen.

Ji-gu stared at my frisbee with bright eyes.

“Throw it. He loves it.”

“Yes!”

I set my stance and hurled the disc.

It flew smoothly, and even the head looked intrigued.

Woof!

The Shepherd sprinted, and we all shouted “Whoa!” as it chased the path.

Screeeech!

The frisbee spun counterclockwise, and the Shepherd skidded to a stop.

“It comes back...”

“What is this, a boomerang?”

“The dog’s as confused as I am.”

The frisbee I’d thrown was returning to me. Before I knew it, I reached out—and it snapped into my right hand.

Frozen with arm outstretched, time itself seemed to halt.

“...”

I rolled my eyes and glanced around—and everyone burst into laughter.

Only the Shepherd cocked its head at me, as if saying, “What’s going on?”

As laughter peaked, the head gave a generous smile and patted my shoulder.

“Instructor, let’s wrap it up.”

The laughter grew louder.