Watts strode out of the dressing room, his red shorts and gloves catching the light. Each step radiated purpose, his expression unwavering.
The faint buzz of the crowd beyond the doors grew louder with every passing second.
However he wasn't here for admiration—he was here to win.
As he moved into the waiting room, the energy in the air shifted. Organizers, participants, and vixen-like women filled the space, and the hum of anticipation was palpable.
Among the chatter and laughter, Pistil stood out.
Or rather, he was in the middle of entertaining a small group of vixens, his boisterous laughter cutting through the noise.
But it cut off sharply when his gaze landed on Watts. Leaving his admirers behind, he strode over with purpose, his expression serious.
"Listen, Watts," Pistil said, lowering his voice. "I've got my entire fortune riding on this fight. If you mess this up, it won't just be money you lose—it'll be my trust. Don't let me down."
"Relax, Pistil. I've got this," Watts replied with a grin, his confidence radiating.
And as if on cue, the announcement echoed through the arena: "Now for the fight that brought us all here, the clash of two monsters, the undisputed titans... The One Punch and The Jury!"
The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the energy spilling into the waiting room.
Watts smiled, unfazed by the intensity, and made his way toward the arena.
He basked in the chaos, waving and throwing playful kisses at his female fans, whose fervent screams grew louder with each gesture.
Watts, a human deity in motion, was ready to command the night.
................
05:00 PM - UNDERGROUND ARENA
The arena reeked of sweat and cheap beer, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the steel walls.
The electric hum of the crowd blended with the sharp clang of fighters warming up.
The arena lights cast a harsh glow on the fighters as the bell rang. Watts took his stance, eyeing his opponent.
The Jury had earned his nickname by breaking every opponent that stood before him.
His fists were known to shatter ribs, and his record boasted an undefeated streak for five years.
The Jury, bald and tattooed, didn't linger but charged forward with a primal yell. His fists moved like cannonballs, but Watts barely flinched.
The first punch sailed toward Watts' face, but he leaned casually to the side. The Jury followed with a wide swing aimed at his gut.
Watts dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid and calculated. A kick came next, but Watts met it with his knee, the impact reverberating through the arena.
"Arrgh!" The Jury bellowed, clutching his leg and collapsing in pain.
The crowd erupted, some chanting Watts' name while others screamed in frustration, their bets hanging in the balance.
Watts wasted no time. He advanced on The Jury, lifting his leg to deliver a decisive blow, but the man wasn't finished yet.
From the ground, The Jury launched a desperate punch aimed at Watts' crotch. Watts pivoted, dodging just in time, but the move left his face exposed.
The Jury's next kick came swiftly, aiming for Watts' head. Watts blocked it with ease, his arms absorbing the force.
Grabbing The Jury's leg, he yanked it with enough strength to send the man spinning like a helicopter blade.
The crowd's roar reached a fever pitch.
For fifteen grueling minutes, Watts played a deadly game of cat and mouse.
Each strike from The Jury came with the force of a wrecking ball, but Watts moved like water, slipping through every attack with ease.
A left hook aimed at Watts' temple missed by inches, and in the blink of an eye, Watts countered with a devastating uppercut that sent The Jury staggering.
The crowd roared, their voices a chaotic symphony as Watts methodically dismantled his opponent.
Every punch landed with precision, each dodge a testament to his skill.
The Jury's supporters groaned as their champion faltered, while Watts' fans screamed for him to end it.
"Time to finish this," Watts thought, grabbing The Jury by his bald head.
The man clawed at Watts' hand, but it was futile. Watts leapt three meters into the air, The Jury still in his grasp, and slammed him into the ground with a deafening thud.
The arena fell silent.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as they stared at the unconscious form of The Jury, his face bloodied and his body motionless.
The referee, snapping out of his stupor, began the count.
"One… two… three…"
The crowd erupted before the count even reached ten. Watts waved to his fans, his victory sealed.
He had accomplished his goal—leaving the audience in awe and ensuring he wouldn't be forgotten.
But as the adrenaline faded, Watts felt something unsettling, a sharp pressure gripped his mind—subtle at first, then growing more insistent.
His steps faltered. "Mental probes," he muttered, scanning the crowd through narrowed eyes.
Powerful, deliberate attempts to invade his mind.
"Five probes... no, six," he muttered under his breath, heading back to the locker room.
His enhanced mind and soul resisted the intrusions, but the realization lingered. This fight had drawn attention—more than he had anticipated.
..............
In a VIP room above the arena, Evelyn watched the fight with bated breath. Her eyes never left Watts, her fascination growing with each move.
She knew the risks. If her mother caught wind of her interest in a human, she could be stripped of her title—or worse.
But something about Watts drew her in, defying all logic.
His strength, his speed, his raw charisma—everything about him was intoxicating.
When he lifted The Jury like a toy and slammed him to the ground, Evelyn's breath hitched.
"Three meters... with one hand," she whispered, her thoughts racing. No normal human could achieve such a feat.
Releasing her soul power, she attempted to gauge Watts' strength. But her energy hit an impenetrable wall.
He was stronger than her—far stronger.
Her lips curved into a sly smile. "He must be a body enhancer. No matter what, I will have you, Watts.
Even if it means sharing you with my sister, you'll be mine." The determination in her eyes was unrelenting.
................
In another VIP suite, four men observed the fight.
Three were young, in their twenties, while the fourth, a middle-aged man in a butler's suit, exuded authority.
The Devas Clan, one of the world's most powerful families, had sent them to monitor the underground fights.
The Devas Clan had been quietly recruiting underground fighters for years, using them as pawns in their shadow war against rival families.
And Watts was—a wildcard they couldn't ignore
"He's different tonight," one of the younger men remarked. "Stronger, faster, sharper."
The butler, tasked with assessing Watts, activated his mind ability. But after a few moments, he shook his head. "I can't penetrate his defenses."
The room fell silent. The butler was among the strongest in the clan, and his failure spoke volumes.
The leader of the group straightened, his expression grim. "This information must reach the family head immediately. We need him before anyone else does."
......................
In another corner of the arena, Rymond, an agent for the Government's Joint Organization for Superhumans, clutched a flashing device.
Its red light blinked furiously, confirming what he already suspected.
"Sir, I've found him," he whispered into his earpiece.
"Good. Initiate Protocol Extraction or Annihilation if necessary," the voice on the other end replied.
"Yes, sir," Rymond said, his gaze fixed on Watts.