Naoya Inoue is justifiably known as The Monster, but he might just be a benevolent one at least.

After a postponement and a cancellation stemming from his previously scheduled opponent Sam Goodman getting cut in sparring, Inoue was tasked with salvaging the January 24 event at the Ariake Arena in Tokyo, Japan by taking on last-minute replacement Ye Joon Kim.

Although Inoue and his promotional team did the cursory sale job to make the matchup interesting, noting that Kim had never lost to a Japanese fighter, and leaning into Kim’s labored boast that he would “crush” Inoue, there was a general acceptance about the realities of the fight, and if anything, warm feelings about Kim getting the opportunity. Kim came armed with a heart wrenching and inspirational backstory, using boxing to combat the ghosts of being bullied for being an orphan, clawing his way through the obscure Korean club scene before adding a fish-out-of-water element to his already absurd odyssey by relocating his training to Australia.

For Kim, fighting Inoue was the ultimate far-away dream. As he and his manager Mike Altamura explained prior to the fight, however one perceives Canelo Alvarez or whomever one perceives to be the sport’s biggest star du jour, in Asia, it is indisputably Inoue. As he fought in various gyms and cavernous halls in Korea on his way up, he kept the dream of fighting Inoue in his mind. Even getting a spot on the undercard of Inoue’s initially scheduled bout against Goodman was an achievement, given his circumstances.

It was hard to separate Kim’s reality from the moment at hand, and as the fight unfolded, it appeared a tad difficult for Inoue as well.

The ring walks alone perfectly encapsulated the dynamic of the fight. Kim wore a blank, if not nervous looking stare as he walked to the ring to the sounds of Akon, often gazing at the ground meters in front of him rather than his destination of the ring. As he waited in the neutral corner, he watched as Inoue was hydraulically hoisted into the air, surrounded by smoke and lasers, before being dramatically lowered onto the walkway like an angel descending from above.

Inoue is hopefully many years away from his exhibition fight era, but on Friday we got a glimpse into what it might look like. For the better part of the first two rounds, Inoue stood mostly flat footed in front of Kim, unbothered by Kim’s valorous attempts at landing left hands—some of which did indeed connect, albeit with little to no effect. Perhaps when observing in real time it was tempting to overlay Kim’s backstory onto the moment and determine that Inoue was being kind, but it was hard to watch the first two rounds and not arrive at the conclusion that Inoue was exhibiting something between empathy and competitive boredom. In fact, Inoue seemed to specifically target the body alone in a way that felt cooperative rather than spiteful.

Kim didn’t land a single punch in the first round, but as he began to try even harder in round two, Inoue was forced to raise his level accordingly. In a small moral victory, in the third round, according to CompuBox, Kim was only out landed by one punch, absorbing eight and landing seven.

Watching Inoue just gradually raise his level just enough to stay in front was fascinating to watch in a live fight, let alone an undisputed world title fight. It was the type of merciful interplay one might see at the YMCA when a pro player drops in to the local league, or when an elite marathoner jogs with the front of the pack in their local run club. If nothing else, it’s an illustration of just how separated from the field a generational talent actually is. When placed in the ring with a fighter who was at least ranked in the Top 15 by one of the sanctioning bodies, Inoue found no challenge whatsoever, not even through the size differential after Kim rehydrated to welterweight territory on the scale.

In the aforementioned comparisons, at some point during those outings, one of the civilians tests their luck. Someone tries to play tight defense on the pro baller only to get crossed over, or the weekend warrior local racer cranks up the pace only to find themselves reeled in by the next city block.

In the fourth round, Kim just decided to go for it. Inoue was starting to land upstairs, creating swelling that started to intensify immediately underneath Kim’s right eye, and was landing body shots that were clearly starting to have an effect. The 50-1 underdog had no choice but to let his hands go.

Seconds before the ending of the fight, Kim’s corner could be heard clearly shouting to him “you have nothing to lose.” This seemed to trigger a feeling of defiance in him. Moments later, Kim waved Inoue in, daring, or perhaps begging Inoue to hit him, and The Monster obliged with a rocket of a right hand that would have sent Kim somewhere near the first row of the audience if ring ropes weren’t a thing.

The phrase “going out on your shield” is thrown around plenty in boxing discourse, and the implication is that a fighter is willing to be knocked out because it’s best for the fighter’s conscience, the knowledge that they tried everything possible including something risky in order to win, even if it came at a great cost. Some observers take it a step further and suggest that fighters should do this, and that anything short of that is an affront to the paying audience and their desire for blood.

The reality is that most fighters who do something described as “going out on their shield” are at least doing so in earnest, believing that a riskier approach is indeed their best chance at winning. In Kim’s case, it felt as though it was a request for a violent, but merciful ending, a submission that the mission was hopeless and all that was left was for him to accept his bludgeoning. Why else would someone beg for one of the most gifted offensive operators to ever lace up a pair of gloves to blast them with a right hand?

Inoue was relatively muted in celebration, playing to the crowd at a level commensurate with the difficulty he’d faced on the night. In a neutral corner, Kim hunched over, slung his arms around the corner pad and began to cry.

In Inoue’s post-fight interview, he massaged the message that his performance shouted. He told the crowd that the slow start was because he’d only had 11 days to prepare for Kim and “needed time to figure him out,” a respectful spin on the fight. Shortly after, the emotional Kim left the ring, and Inoue stopped what he was saying to help lead a round of applause for his opponent. The warm applause turned into one of the more spirited ovations for the night as Kim disappeared beyond the curtain into the back of house area.

Author Jonathan Maberry once said "if you battle monsters, you don't always become a monster, but you aren't entirely human anymore, either." In a sense, that rings true in this fight, as Kim may feel the effects of the knockout loss, both physically and mentally, for some time, an altering of him as a person as every boxing match is. But in another way, Kim stepping up to battle The Monster made everyone more human on this night. Kim, the inspirational figure whose personal struggles were acknowledged and admired. The audience, for choosing to cheer for and thank an overmatched fighter rather than groaning about the competitiveness of the fight and ignoring the obviously challenging circumstances for organizers.

And even The Monster himself, who displayed humanity in his own thudding way.