"He was defeated!"
The disbelief rippled through the crowd of students like a shockwave. Despite joining forces with Taylor, Jason had been decisively thrown out of the arena by Alvin, who had faced off against the two opponents simultaneously. The murmurs of confusion and awe echoed in the arena as students tried to comprehend the spectacle they had just witnessed. For many, it was unthinkable. How could Alvin, even with his remarkable abilities, manage to triumph against such odds?
As the students buzzed with heated discussions, Taylor felt a cold realization settle in his gut. His chances of victory were rapidly slipping away. Panic crept into his movements, and in a desperate bid to turn the tide, he launched a relentless assault on Alvin. The ferocity of his attacks was almost manic, leaving Alvin no room to catch his breath or regroup.
Alvin found himself on the defensive, the weight of Taylor's attacks pushing him into a corner. He could feel his strength waning, his muscles screaming for respite. But Alvin knew better than to give in. He understood that if he allowed Taylor to continue at this pace, he would inevitably lose. A flicker of a thought crossed his mind—if he couldn't win by conventional means, he would have to resort to something drastic. A bold strategy formed in his mind: he would trade injuries with Taylor, forcing a confrontation of endurance.
To the onlookers, it might appear as a reckless gamble, but Alvin had no intention of making it a fair trade. He was calculating, concealing his true intentions behind a mask of frenzied aggression. Suddenly, Alvin's fighting style shifted. He, who had been calm and composed throughout the match, now appeared to lose control. He attacked with wild abandon, ignoring his defense entirely.
Taylor, sensing the shift, hesitated for just a moment. That hesitation was all Alvin needed. Taylor's assault began to falter as he warily watched Alvin, uncertain of this new, reckless demeanor. He decided to match Alvin's wildness with a more cautious approach, hoping to outlast his seemingly exhausted opponent.
After several minutes of relentless combat, Alvin's movements began to slow. His attacks became sporadic, and his breathing grew ragged. Taylor's lips curled into a triumphant smile, though he was careful not to show it too openly. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He started to press his advantage, forcing Alvin further onto the defensive. Each of Taylor's strikes seemed to push Alvin closer to his breaking point.
But Alvin was not defeated yet. Deep inside, he was gathering every ounce of strength left in his body, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, calculating every move, every possibility. He knew that Jason, who had been thrown out of the arena earlier, was watching. Despite being urged by the emergency unit to go to the academy hospital, Jason had stubbornly refused, insisting on witnessing the outcome of the match. The image of Jason struggling to sit up and watch served as a reminder to Alvin of what was at stake.
Feigning exhaustion, Alvin intentionally left an opening in his defense, one he knew Taylor couldn't resist exploiting. As expected, Taylor, believing his opponent was on the brink of collapse, launched a powerful palm strike aimed directly at Alvin's stomach. Alvin made a show of trying to defend himself but deliberately fell short, allowing Taylor's palm to land with a solid thud.
Alvin's face paled instantly, and for a moment, it seemed as though Taylor had won. The crowd watched with bated breath as Alvin staggered, appearing on the verge of collapse. Taylor, convinced of his victory, began to lower his guard, a smirk of satisfaction creeping across his face.
Suddenly, before Taylor could fully process what was happening, Alvin moved. With a burst of speed and power that defied his apparent state of exhaustion, he counterattacked. Taylor's eyes widened in shock as he realized too late that he had been lured into a trap. Alvin's fist connected with Taylor's face with bone-jarring force, sending him flying out of the arena. The impact was so sudden and unexpected that Taylor had no time to react before he hit the ground, unconscious.
The arena fell into stunned silence. Alvin, barely able to stand, panted heavily, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His face was ashen, and a thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Yet, despite his precarious condition, there was a faint smile on his lips—a smile of hard-earned victory.
The silence was shattered by an eruption of cheers from the grade eleven students. They celebrated wildly, their voices rising in a chorus of excitement and pride. Their champion had emerged victorious, not only defeating the top contenders from grade twelve but securing the first rank while still in grade eleven. To them, Alvin was on the path to becoming another legend like King, a figure of invincibility.
On the other side, the grade twelve students exchanged bitter smiles. Their two best had been defeated, even after resorting to teaming up. The sting of the loss was palpable, and the shame of their dishonorable tactics weighed heavily on their minds.
Amidst the jubilation, Alvin's smile lingered, though his body swayed as if ready to collapse at any moment. "Decisive and ruthless, even towards himself. He has the makings of someone who will achieve great things in the future," Mo muttered to himself, observing the scene with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. The match had been nothing short of intense, holding the crowd's attention for a full twenty minutes—an eternity compared to the usual challenges in the academy, which rarely lasted more than five minutes.
The judge stepped forward to declare Alvin the winner, and it seemed as though the competition was finally over. But just as the announcement was made, a ripple of movement in the crowd drew everyone's attention. A student wearing a violet uniform, adorned with a matching badge, was making his way toward the central arena where Alvin stood. The crowd parted for him as he walked, creating a wide path. His cold expression and the icy aura that surrounded him sent chills through those who caught his eye. His focus was solely on the arena, and he didn't spare a glance for anyone else.
Mo, standing near the arena, noticed the sudden hush that had fallen over the crowd. He turned to see the violet-uniformed student approaching and couldn't help but wonder who this mysterious figure was. But his curiosity was fleeting, and he quickly turned his attention back to Alvin.
The moment Alvin caught sight of the student in violet, a wave of terror washed over him. His knees went weak, and a shudder of fear coursed through his body. "That damn monster!" he screamed internally. "What is he doing here? He shouldn't be here, no matter what! Is he here to challenge me because I won? I can't fight him—I can't!"
Panic gripped Alvin's mind, and the next moment, he collapsed, losing consciousness. Mo, who had been watching Alvin's earlier expressions, couldn't help but feel embarrassed for him. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the student in violet had to be King, the academy's most formidable fighter. Alvin, currently second only to King, had clearly been paralyzed with fear at the mere thought of facing him.
The shamelessness of Alvin's act did not go unnoticed. Some of the female instructors turned red with embarrassment, watching as Alvin pretended to faint, though his acting was painfully transparent. King, now standing before the arena, didn't even bother to acknowledge Alvin's obvious ploy. His expression remained impassive, though inwardly, he was thoroughly unimpressed. "Am I really that terrifying?" King thought to himself. "Wake up, you idiot! Everyone can see through your act, and I'm not even here for you."
Ignoring Alvin's pitiful display, King continued his approach. The crowd's attention was riveted on him, their excitement tempered by the palpable tension that accompanied his presence. Nobody dared to move, their eyes fixed on the unfolding drama.
Alvin, seeing that King hadn't spared him a glance, opened one eye cautiously. Realizing that King's attention was elsewhere, a mixture of relief and confusion swept over him. "Could it be that he's not here for me? But if it's not me, then who? Oh no—Mo! He must be here for Mo! I need to warn him!"
Summoning what little strength he had left, Alvin scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the arena. His sudden recovery and hasty exit drew murmurs of disbelief from the crowd. "Shameless! He should've continued with the act, but waking up and leaving like that? He'll never be able to show his face in the academy again," one student remarked, shaking his head in exasperation.
But Alvin didn't care. He rushed to where Mo was standing, urgency etched on his face. "You're in big trouble, Mo. King is here for you!" Alvin blurted out, his voice trembling.
Mo glanced at Alvin, unimpressed. "Your acting skills are terrible, you know that?" he said with a smirk. Alvin's face flushed with embarrassment, and he struggled to find a response. "Forget about me," Alvin stammered, desperate to change the subject. "King is coming for you!"
Mo raised an eyebrow, his expression nonchalant. "He's here for me? I doubt that. Maybe he's just here to watch the fun. I don't think the academy would send King to fight me just because I admitted defeat to a yellow-tier student," Mo replied casually, showing no signs of concern.