Puh!
Peyton effortlessly shoved his opponent out of the circle, barely extending his arms before stepping away. His mind was elsewhere, consumed with thoughts of his earlier defeat.
'How the heck did I lose to that animal!' His gaze burned into Akshar's back, frustration gnawing at him.
He gritted his teeth, his mood darkening, when a classmate tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, good job on that win," the classmate said, trying to sound friendly.
"Yeah..." Peyton muttered, barely acknowledging him. His eyes remained locked on the barbarian, still fuming.
Jame, sitting a few seats away, wasn't in the best mood either. Despite making a decent profit earlier from bets, no one seemed interested in gambling on the final sparring match: Akshar vs. George. The reason was obvious—almost everyone assumed Akshar would crush George.
"I swear, you guys are missing out on easy money!" Jame hissed, trying to coax the other students into placing bets.
"Who's gonna bet on George?" one student asked, incredulous that anyone would even consider it.
Jame cursed under his breath, slumping back down to count his profits. "You guys are gonna feel real dumb after this…" he mumbled.
Meanwhile, George stood in the circle, locking eyes with Akshar, who loomed like an immovable mountain.
George's calm exterior masked the lingering fear from their last encounter. He still remembered how easily Akshar had tossed him around in the bathroom, as if he weighed nothing.
Without warning, Akshar charged, and George mimicked Peyton's earlier move—rolling to the side and dashing to the far end of the circle.
Akshar stopped, cracking his neck as he turned slowly. "You… You are a disgrace to this academy. You have no honor as a warrior. Do you think that cheap victory over me was fair? I'll show you what honor is."
"I don't really care…" George replied casually before sprinting toward Akshar, ducking low and going for a leg takedown. But Akshar merely crossed his arms, standing like an immovable object, waiting for George's attempt to fail.
"You think that trick will work on me?" Akshar mocked. "It won't." He then sat down, completely negating George's takedown.
George backed away, returning to his wrestling stance, sweat dripping down his forehead. 'Again!' he thought, trying to summon a new strategy.
He charged once more, aiming for Akshar's legs, but the barbarian easily pushed him back with a light shove, sending George sprawling onto the ground.
"I told you, in a fair match, you're nothing," Akshar sneered, standing over him.
Peyton watched from the sidelines, shaking his head. 'That move won't work on him, George. He's just too strong.'
George stood, maintaining his distance, taking a moment to catch his breath. "What other tricks do you have?" Akshar taunted, clearly unimpressed.
George started bouncing lightly on his feet, circling Akshar. The students watching were baffled, some shaking their heads in disbelief. George's erratic behavior seemed almost laughable.
Akshar, now laughing out loud, nearly choked on his own spit. "FINE! I'll play your little game!" he bellowed, joining George in the circling dance, all while keeping his eyes locked on him.
To the onlookers, it seemed ridiculous. Akshar's raw power far outweighed George's, and whatever George was attempting was not only confusing but likely futile. The levels between them were night and day.
Peyton whispered to himself, "What are you even doing?" His earlier perception of George as someone with decent skill but limited strength was now in question. After witnessing George's bizarre tactics in the earlier rounds, Peyton had thought him a lucky strategist. But now, with this performance, he was starting to wonder if George's only asset might indeed be pure luck.
As George and Akshar continued their odd circling, even the instructor, who was tired of the delay, began cleaning up the area. The students, however, remained glued to the scene, eager to witness the inevitable beatdown.
"What are you DOING?" Akshar shouted, growing irritated with George's aimless movements.
Suddenly, George stopped. The abrupt halt caught Akshar off guard. George extended his hand, inviting the barbarian to lock hands with him.
"I know this is a trick, but…" Akshar mumbled as he walked closer and locked hands with George.
Akshar braced himself, expecting another takedown attempt, but George had something else in mind.
As Akshar watched his legs, anticipating the attack, George whispered, "I'm behind you."
Before Akshar could react, George was already behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his torso.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Akshar bellowed, trying to shake George off. But George jumped backward, still holding on.
"I'll show you what honor is... Kurt Angle's German Suplex!" George shouted, referencing a move from his world.
With an unexpected burst of strength, George threw Akshar backward, flipping the barbarian over and slamming his neck into the ground. Akshar's eyes widened in shock as his body passed the circle's boundary.
"Ahhh!!" Akshar screamed, pain shooting through him as he tumbled out of the ring.
"What?" Peyton shot up from where he had been sitting, utterly dumbfounded by what had just unfolded before his eyes.
"I TOLD YOU!!" Jame yelled, tossing his notebook onto the ground in excitement. "I TOLD YOU GUYS COULD HAVE MADE MONEY!!"
Peyton took a moment to process the scene, still in disbelief. "He circled, tricked him into thinking he'd go for a basic takedown… Did he set this up in the first and second rounds just to fool Akshar?"
George stood in the middle of the circle, catching his breath, but he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The class had underestimated him, and now they knew just how dangerous his unpredictability could be.