Days pass, and my ribs don't feel too bad anymore. They'll need more time to heal fully, but that's time I don't have. Today is the day of my match with The Torturer.
The bell has rung once again, and hopefully, it will be the last time I have to hear it. Just like before, the guard comes to the cell door and escorts me to the arena.
When I arrive, The Torturer is already standing in the arena. The crowd chants The Torturer's name, eagerly awaiting my downfall. Unfortunately for those who placed money on The Torturer, that moment will not come. I refuse to lose here.
The Torturer opens his mouth to goad me into a fit of premature anger, but my ears hear nothing. Instead, I'm currently more focused than I've ever been before. The man standing before me is nothing more than a training dummy.
The Torturer notices my unwavering expression and is a bit startled. Perhaps he realizes that he's facing a completely different person than the boy he tortured not long ago.
The announcer's voice murmurs in the back of my conscience, and I pick up nothing but a muffled "GO!"
The Torturer's plan to make me angry has backfired. Upon seeing my indifference to his comments, he seems to have become quite enraged himself! He shoots forward at speeds that should be impossible for a man his size. While he takes his first swing, I dodge while taking the time to observe him and make a plan.
Indeed, my time training with Mito has come to fruition. Our games of tag allowed me to make my body do the moving so that I can take time to think.
The Torturer notices my pensive expression and becomes even angrier. Not a single blow has been exchanged between the two of us, but I've already won the mental battle. My advantage is decisive.
The Torturer continues to aggress and swing wildly while I'm thinking, but I suppose I'll just end up giving him what he wants.
I stop my evasive movements and prepare to strike. Fortunately, the sudden change in intention catches The Torturer off guard, and he's unable to avoid my strike.
I plunge my penetrating strike deep into his stomach, but he doesn't seem to feel it. Then, as I'm about to throw another strike, his arms comes through to clothesline me from the side. I dodge just barely and breathe a sigh of relief. A mistake so elementary could cost me my life. This man's raw power is unbelievable.
As I begin to dodge in succession once more, I begin to ponder the events of the last few moments. Why did my strike do no damage to him? Theoretically, my strike should have directly impacted his organs if he's just using the Guard technique. No matter how tough he is, a punch straight to the kidney would affect anyone.
The only explanation is that he's using a more advanced midst technique to guard himself, one that hardens him all the way through. If that's the case, then how can I hurt him? Of course, if I were to strike him hard enough, the Guard technique wouldn't hold up, but I'm not confident that I'm capable of that just yet.
My frustration must have grown visible because The Torturer gains the confidence to widen his strikes. It takes a moment for me to grow accustomed to his new pattern, but I can quickly return to my thought process.
After observing his arm's movements, I realize that they almost seem elastic. If every part of his body is hard, how can arms look like they're made of rubber? In fact, if his entire body were hardened, he shouldn't be able to move at all!
His joints must be the answer. He's left wholly unguarded in his joints! After this epitome, I can't hide the fact that I've gained confidence. The Torturer reacts quickly to my change in attitude this time, but not quickly enough.
I dodge his swing with inches to spare and grab his forearm. I can see his entire body tense up as it prepares for my strike, but he doesn't realize my intention. With his forearm tightly anchored, I strike upwards to hyperextend his elbow.
I expected this strike to do damage, but his arm is left entirely obsolete from the strike. He retracts his other arm in shock from the effectiveness of my previous strike. Unfortunately for him, my next strikes aren't aimed at his arm.
My next two strikes are in quick succession, each disabling his legs at the knee. The Torturer drops, and my prey is left helpless. It's time to deliver the decisive blow.
This move will only be possible while my enemy is entirely stagnant. First, I leap into the air, completely weightless. Then, changing my weight from its minimum to its maximum, I plunge towards The Torturer, who can do nothing but put his arm up to minimize the damage. I can feel no resistance underneath my feet when I land, just like stepping on a snail on the road. Dust shoots across the arena into the stands, and the match is complete.
The Torturer is no more, and a weight feels as if it's been lifted off my chest. For the first time since entering the arena, my ears recognize the crowd's applause.