The clang of the bell echoed through the arena, its sharp tone slicing through the roar of the crowd. The metallic taste of blood still clung to his tongue, and his chest burned with the effort of each labored breath. But it wasn't just the physical pain that weighed on him—it was the confusion, the overwhelming sense of disorientation.
Where am I? What the hell is going on here?
The words echoed in his mind, but they were drowned out by the thundering shouts of the crowd. The lights above were blinding, casting long shadows across the blood-streaked floor, making the world feel like it was closing in on him.
The air was thick with sweat and the unmistakable scent of battle—hot, coppery, and raw. His fists, slick with perspiration, twitched involuntarily, but he held them steady. He couldn't afford to panic. Not now.
Across from him, Min Jun stood as though nothing had changed. The opponent's chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, like he had all the time in the world. He was unbothered, unfazed by the earlier blow that had landed squarely in his ribs.
The audience had gone quiet, waiting for Min Jun's next move. It was as if they could sense it too—that the real test had just begun.
This is no ordinary fight... The realization sank in deeper now. This wasn't just about winning or losing. This was a world where every move could decide your life. The stakes were too high, the rules too twisted. He was out of his depth, and his body, exhausted from the brutal exchange, wasn't going to give him much more.
Min Jun cracked his neck with a sharp twist, his movements fluid and practiced. He was a machine—a deadly force honed by years of combat, not just a fighter.
The crowd exploded into cheers, egging him on. Min Jun raised a hand, gesturing for silence. Then, he smiled, that infuriating, cocky grin that made the protagonist's stomach twist with frustration.
"Ready for the real fight?" Min Jun taunted, his voice smooth, almost bored.
No... not like this.
The protagonist clenched his fists harder, the pain in his knuckles a grounding force against the chaos of his thoughts. He couldn't let Min Jun see his doubt, couldn't let the crowd see his fear. This wasn't a show; this was survival.
Before he could fully process the shift, Min Jun moved again—a blur of motion. His foot swept low in a spinning arc aimed at his legs. The protagonist barely dodged, stumbling backward, his heart pounding in his chest. The floor beneath him felt slick, unstable.
Shit.
Min Jun didn't let up. His speed was mind-boggling, each strike coming faster than the last, each blow designed to break him apart. A punch came for his face, too fast to see, but the protagonist reacted on pure instinct—slipping to the side just as Min Jun's fist grazed his cheek. The air from the punch whistled past him, a whisper of death.
But the next hit landed—a crushing elbow to his ribs. The impact stole his breath, and he gasped, the pain blooming outward in a wave of fire. He staggered back, dizzy, his vision swimming.
I can't—
Before he could recover, Min Jun was on him again. A rapid series of jabs followed by a vicious knee to the stomach. The blow sent him reeling, the world spinning in disorienting flashes of light and shadow.
This is it...
The thought flickered in his mind, but he shook it off. His body was screaming for him to quit, to give in. But something deeper inside refused to stop. He had nothing left to lose.
Desperation and sheer will kept him moving, kept him alive. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint focus, zeroing in on Min Jun's every move. He watched the patterns, the rhythm of his opponent's strikes. Every jab, every kick, it was all part of the same sequence, and if he was going to survive this, he needed to find the opening.
The next blow came—a low roundhouse kick aimed at his head. Min Jun was fast, faster than anyone he'd fought before. But the protagonist had learned to read his opponents, to anticipate the rhythm of battle.
He sidestepped, barely in time, his shoulder grazing Min Jun's leg as he ducked. A flash of silver—Min Jun's knee coming at him with blinding speed. The protagonist ducked low, catching the knee with both hands, using the momentum to twist and throw Min Jun off balance.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't perfect. But it was enough.
In the split second that Min Jun stumbled, the protagonist swung a heavy right hook, landing square on Min Jun's jaw. The sickening thud of bone meeting bone echoed in the arena.
For a moment, time seemed to slow. Min Jun staggered back, blinking, a look of disbelief crossing his face. The crowd went dead silent, like they couldn't believe what had just happened.
And then the roar came—a wave of sound that filled the arena, shaking the very walls. The protagonist stood there, panting, his chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His hand throbbed with the aftershock of the punch, but the shock on Min Jun's face was worth every ounce of pain.
Min Jun wiped his mouth slowly, his eyes narrowing as he stood back up. He wasn't done. But the damage was done.
I'm still here. And I'm not going down that easy.
Min Jun's smirk returned, but it was different now. There was a flicker of something—respect, maybe.
But the fight wasn't over.