Physical 300.
As the na implied, it was a competition of physicality among 300 individuals.
Netflix had poured trendous effort into making this variety show a global hit—
and one of the major elents of that effort was the set itself.
A space where 300 people could move freely and dynamically,
with caras positioned to capture each participant’s monts of glory—
All to capture that one perfect, delicious shot.
“Hello.”
The mont Kim Donghu stepped in—
Clickclickclickclickclick!
The caras scrambled, trying to catch every reaction around him.
“...Wow, I figured he’d co in last, but it’s real.”
“Is he the actual main character?”
As soon as he appeared, every eye locked onto him.
This wasn’t a place for nobodies.
Olympic gold dalists, world championship winners,
national representatives, NFL athletes, F1 drivers—
All currently active or recently retired.
The very peak of physicality from across the globe, all gathered here.
And yet—
“I really don’t want to fight that guy.”
“Yeah, seeing him in person is on a whole different level.”
“He’s wearing a suit, but it’s like watching a general in full armor.”
There was sothing unmistakably different about Kim Donghu.
“His career alone has to be the strongest here, right?”
“Totally. I an, what hasn’t he done by twenty-four?”
Even without considering his acting resu,
just his athletic career alone was monstrous.
“What was his walk-around weight again?”
“Was it 105kg? But judging by his physique, looks like he’s recovered pretty well.”
“Did you watch his vlog? The one where he eats?”
“Of course. It was insane. Soone calculated it—said he ate around 20,000 calories.”
The youngest heavyweight boxing gold dalist in Olympic history.
Holder of the shortest Olympic match ti record.
A monster who ended every match via TKO.
The star of a bout watched by 200 million viewers.
And now he walked slowly toward his torso display.
Originally, the mont he approached was supposed to cue applause.
But the other contestants completely forgot about that.
‘His body... looks bigger than the guys pushing 200kg.’
It was sheer intimidation.
There were aspects of him that were hard to accept as rely human.
“Donghu, hello.”
Amid the awe, a voice spoke up.
It was Kade Walker—the current NFL linebacker.
“I ca straight after the Super Bowl. Had to be here. I really wanted to go up against you.”
“Really? That’s an honor. Also... your Korean is surprisingly good.”
“Little, little practice. Like polite image.”
Kim Donghu responded in English.
Kade Walker replied in Korean.
For a brief mont, the two unintentionally flipped languages, drawing laughter.
Maybe it was that laugh—
the tension that had held tight finally loosened a little.
“Yo, what’s up bro!”
Seizing the mont, a major influencer with 3 million followers—
DonkeyMonkey—suddenly slung an arm around Kim Donghu.
“Man, I like this energy.”
Donghu smiled brightly, then gently placed his hand on DonkeyMonkey’s shoulder... and lightly lifted him.
Right to the edge of dislocation.
Having felt that pain before, DonkeyMonkey quickly backed off in panic.
“I get wanting to spar, but... let’s save that for later.”
Knowing how famous Donghu was, DonkeyMonkey had tried to cling close for screen ti—
but Donghu’s unexpected grip caught him off guard.
‘Is this guy a beast? No, like... if there were no caras, he would've just ripped my shoulder out.’
Of course, he couldn’t show that on his face.
He forced an awkward smile, nodded, and backed away to his spot.
“...That guy must be Arican. They’re usually kind of dumb.”
“Kade Walker was Canadian, right?”
“Yeah, haha. I’m honored you knew that.”
“Do you happen to know where I’m from?”
“Strongman! You’re from the UK.”
Gradually, people began gathering around Donghu.
And just as light conversation started blooming—
Boom!
Suddenly, all the lights went out.
—“Welco to Physical 300.”
A massive screen on the ceiling flickered on, and a voice echoed through the space.
The screen’s design resembled an iris expanding with aurora-like light—probably to avoid the dullness of a plain voiceover.
—“Before the main competition begins, we’ll be conducting a light preliminary test.”
“A preliminary test?”
“With 300 people, I guess they need to sort us out a bit before we start.”
“Yeah, makes sense. Too many bodies—gotta set a pecking order or sothing.”
As expected of seasoned athletes, everyone instantly understood the purpose behind the test.
—“The preliminary test for Physical 300 is: long-distance running.”
Long-distance running?
Several participants imdiately furrowed their brows.
Because it wasn’t in their favor.
‘Well... it’s just a test. I won’t get cut right away.’
‘I’ll just jog and drop out early.’
‘I weigh over 200kg... I’m not gonna blow my knees out for this.’
As soon as the event was announced, they all began forming strategies.
Winning would obviously grant so ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) kind of bonus, but pushing your body too far for that wasn’t smart.
Besides—
‘The winner’s already obvious anyway.’
The top ranks were practically predetermined just by looking around.
—“Please proceed to the open gate and line up on the track accordingly.”
Soon after those words, the doors opened, and the participants moved to the next set, collectively stunned.
Gathering 300 people was impressive on its own, but—
“...They really built an entire stadium?”
“Are we all running here?”
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
No one expected this kind of setup.
It was insane how much effort had gone into preparing all this.
Just as those thoughts ford—
—“The rules are simple. Put on the provided bands and run for as long as you can.”
—“The bands will track your completed laps. You can stop whenever you feel like it.”
Instructions continued.
“But having 300 people run all at once... isn’t that a bit much?”
“Yeah. Soone’s definitely gonna get trampled if we all go at once.”
That concern didn’t last long.
—“Based on your current positions, you’ll be split into three groups of 100. Please move to the adjacent sets accordingly.”
As expected.
Three teams of 100. Each would run separately.
Roughly ten minutes later, all the participants had finished warming up.
—“The endurance run will be held in three rounds.
Round 1: 30 minutes.
Round 2: 20 minutes.
Round 3: 10 minutes.”
—“The number of laps and total distance will be tracked for ranking. Distances reset after each round.”
Simple rules.
Run far and long within the given ti.
But despite the simplicity, strategy was key.
With distance resetting every round—
‘If you blow yourself out early, you’re screwed.’
‘This is all ntal. Gotta pace myself and watch the field.’
‘Run with the crowd. Don’t overdo it.’
Everyone began calculating in their heads—
—“Only 100 participants will survive Round 1. Good luck.”
Bang!
The starting signal rang out, and the crowd surged forward onto the track.
And the one who shot out first—like lightning—
“W-What the hell?!”
“Is he sprinting?!”
“Wait, wait—what?! He’s way too fast!”
—was Kim Donghu.
***
The mont I heard the rules, I understood imdiately.
I can control the pace from the front.
No matter how wide the track was, no matter how much space they left to avoid collisions—
If you were running together, your speed would naturally align with the group to so extent.
Sure, everyone here was an athlete, and they'd probably know how to pace themselves.
But that only applied once they'd been running for a while, or if the environnt was familiar.
This is an unfamiliar setup, and they’re being told to run long and run far.
Their heads must be spinning.
Which ant, at first—they’d likely play it safe and just observe.
That’s exactly when I break through the front.
Bang!
And with that, I could control the speed of the entire pack.
Of course, I couldn’t control everyone.
But the goal wasn’t to lead them—it was to make them feel pressure.
If you’re lagging behind others, you inevitably lose your own rhythm.
And with long-distance running, once you slow down even a little—you can’t get back to your original pace.
I targeted that weakness and imdiately seized the lead.
Tatata-tatatatatak!
I went full throttle from the start.
A few others clearly had the sa idea—
but...
They’re not faster than .
No one who ran like I did—without pacing themselves—could catch .
“Shit, what the hell are you thinking, Donghu?!”
“Kade, you don’t have to chase .”
“Haha, that’s rich—DonkeyMonkey’s struggling to follow you from behind too!”
At Kade Walker’s words, I glanced back.
As soon as I claid the lead and pushed the pace, I could feel the formation start to unravel.
The unease of seeing the person ahead pull farther away.
The panic of possibly not making it into the top 100.
Those emotions alone were enough to make people’s legs move faster—against their better judgnt.
Alright, let’s do this.
Ti for a hell run.
I’m the engine at the front of this train.
The pace?
Let’s set it to a marathon pace of 2 hours 40 minutes and see how they handle it.
Today, I wanted to give everyone a proper ride on the pain train.
I’d be their pacemaker.
Let’s see who can follow, how far they’ll go, and how long they’ll last.
I was genuinely curious.
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