The thick stench of sweat and blood mingled in the oppressive air, suffocating the senses. The walls of the underground arena loomed like an inescapable prison, trapping both fighters and spectators in this cruel theater of combat. The deafening roar of the crowd reverberated through the concrete, an endless cacophony of cheers and jeers. It felt like the world was closing in, and the only thing that mattered was the fight.
The spotlight above burned like a hot brand on his skin. He could feel his body screaming for rest, but there was no time for weakness.
Get it together. This isn't a dream. This is real. And I'm still here. I've got to keep moving.
His muscles trembled, his legs barely able to hold him up, but he couldn't afford to collapse. Min Jun was still standing across from him, unfazed, his eyes cold and calculating. He wiped the blood from his lip, his smirk only growing more arrogant.
"Impressive," Min Jun said, voice low and dangerous, "But it's not enough."
The crowd's roar intensified, sensing the tension building. The audience was on edge, waiting for the next move, the next flash of brilliance that would seal someone's fate.
The protagonist's heart thundered in his chest as he locked eyes with his opponent. I can't let him finish this. Not like this. I didn't come this far just to die here in some underground ring.
Min Jun moved again, his body a blur, flowing like water. There was no wasted energy in his attacks—everything was calculated, everything was designed to overwhelm. His foot snapped out like a whip, a low kick aimed directly at the protagonist's knee. The speed of it made the air crackle, the wind following in its wake.
The protagonist barely had time to react, his instincts kicking in as he jerked his leg back just in time. But Min Jun's leg didn't stop—he quickly shifted his momentum, spinning his other leg in a powerful arc aimed at the protagonist's head. The force was so overwhelming that it seemed like the whole arena held its breath.
Dodge. You have to dodge.
A split second before impact, the protagonist dropped to the ground, his body screaming in protest as he slid under Min Jun's attack. He could feel the heat of the strike as it sliced through the air above him.
God, this guy's fast.
He rolled to his feet, barely escaping the blow, but Min Jun was already on him, his foot crashing down, forcing him to duck once more. The ground beneath him was slick with blood and sweat, his movements slower than they had been at the start of the fight.
But he couldn't stop.
Min Jun wasn't just fast—he was precise. Every movement seemed choreographed, designed to make the protagonist slip up, to expose a weakness. Every time he thought he had an opening, Min Jun was there, blocking, countering, attacking again before he could even breathe.
The crowd was losing it, shouting, yelling, chanting. Some were already certain of the outcome, sensing the inevitable. They wanted to see Min Jun break his opponent completely.
I won't let them see me go down like this.
The protagonist's fists tightened around the pain in his ribs, around the exhaustion in his body. He was losing track of time. Was it minutes or hours? The world around him was nothing but noise and fire in his veins.
Min Jun came at him again, a series of rapid strikes designed to break his guard. The first punch came for his head, the second for his ribs, but the third—a spinning elbow—was the one that nearly sent him to the ground.
Not yet. Not yet.
He threw up his arm just in time, blocking the blow. The impact reverberated through his body, but he was still standing. Barely.
He couldn't rely on strength alone. He had to outsmart him.
In the split-second Min Jun stepped back to reset, the protagonist's mind flashed through a thousand scenarios. He'd survived this far by reading his opponent's movements, anticipating his attacks. And now… now, he had to turn the tables.
Min Jun's foot rose again, poised for another spinning strike. His eyes were locked onto the protagonist, calculating. But it was a trap.
The protagonist feigned weakness, leaning forward just a bit too far, as if his balance was failing him. Min Jun took the bait, launching into the spin.
Now!
With everything he had left, the protagonist stepped forward, bringing up his elbow in a sharp, brutal strike to Min Jun's exposed ribs. The force was enough to send a shockwave through the air, followed by a sickening crack as his opponent staggered backward.
The arena fell silent for a moment—an eternity that stretched out. Min Jun gasped, clutching his side, his face twisting in shock. The crowd was still, waiting for the response.
Then it came—the roar.
The protagonist's breath came in ragged gasps as he stood there, eyes locked on Min Jun, who was barely holding his ground. For the first time in the fight, Min Jun's confidence wavered.
I did it. I actually did it.
But before he could savor the moment, Min Jun straightened up, wiping the blood from his lips with a sneer.
"You think you've won?" Min Jun's voice was low, dangerous, his eyes burning with fury.
The protagonist's chest tightened. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected the fight to continue like this.
But as Min Jun straightened his posture, a spark of something colder flashed in his eyes.
"I'll make you regret that punch," he muttered.
And then, like a shadow, he was gone—his movements blurring, vanishing into the chaos of the crowd's roar.