The roar of the crowd hit him like a tidal wave, their voices blending into a deafening, incoherent roar. Every breath felt like it was fighting its way out of his chest, his heart hammering in his ears. The cold sweat dripped down his back, the scent of blood in the air thick and overwhelming. It wasn't just the crowd that stank of fear and excitement—it was him too.
He was out of breath, muscles screaming, every part of his body rebelling against the fight. His arms felt like lead, his vision blurry as he struggled to keep his feet planted on the uneven concrete floor of the ring. His chest heaved, his throat tight.
But there was no time to think about it. No time to catch his breath.
Min Jun was coming for him again.
The opponent was relentless—an unstoppable force of speed and precision. The man moved like lightning, his attacks a blur. The moment the fight had resumed, Min Jun had closed the gap between them in the blink of an eye.
I can't keep dodging forever, the protagonist thought bitterly, wiping blood from his split lip. His legs were heavy, his body aching from the earlier blows. Each move felt slower than the last, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of exhaustion. But despite the odds, despite everything that was wrong with this place, he wasn't going to lose. Not yet. Not when there was a chance to prove himself.
Min Jun feinted left, then shot right—too quick to track. The crowd gasped as the blow missed him by inches. He's faster than anything I've faced before. How do I keep up?
The protagonist barely had time to react as Min Jun's fist whipped toward his face. He ducked just in time, feeling the heat of the punch graze his cheek. A flash of pain shot through his skull as his head snapped back. But there was no time for recovery. The opponent was already spinning, a roundhouse kick aimed at his ribs, the power in the strike enough to knock the wind out of him.
He was too slow.
The blow connected with his side. Pain exploded through his chest, and he stumbled backward, barely managing to stay on his feet. His lungs burned, every breath coming harder than the last.
Focus. I need to stay on my feet.
Min Jun's eyes glinted, savoring the protagonist's struggle. He could see it—the frustration, the desperation, the inevitable breaking point. He could feel it. This was the moment. He was going to crush him.
But the protagonist wasn't done yet.
Instinct kicked in. He couldn't afford to be predictable, to be beaten down any longer. His experience, the years of grueling training, all came rushing back to him in a surge of adrenaline. It wasn't about strength anymore. It wasn't about speed—it was about survival. He had to think faster, adapt faster than Min Jun.
Min Jun lunged again, his fists a blur, but the protagonist was ready. He had seen this before—this pattern of movement, the way Min Jun relied on quick strikes to overwhelm his opponent. The opponent's foot aimed for his ribs again, but this time, he was waiting.
The protagonist sidestepped the kick with a sudden burst of energy, his feet barely touching the ground as he spun behind Min Jun, placing himself on his blind side. The crowd let out a collective gasp as they realized what had happened. The protagonist wasn't just dodging anymore—he was beginning to fight back.
In that split second, he saw it. Min Jun's right side was wide open, his guard weak after the failed kick. The protagonist drove forward, unleashing a flurry of blows to the exposed ribs. Each punch was a clean, well-aimed strike, landing with brutal force. The sound of his fist connecting with flesh rang out, like the crack of a whip.
Min Jun staggered. His eyes widened in shock.
For a moment, the arena went silent. The crowd seemed to hold its breath, not knowing whether to cheer or gasp in disbelief.
The protagonist didn't hesitate. This was his chance. He threw everything he had left into one final, brutal strike—a devastating uppercut aimed directly at Min Jun's jaw.
The punch landed with a sickening crack, sending Min Jun's head snapping back violently. The force of the hit was enough to send him crashing to the mat, his body crumpling like a ragdoll.
The silence in the arena was deafening. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then—Boom! The crowd erupted into a frenzy, screaming and chanting, their wild energy spilling over the walls of the arena.
The protagonist stood over Min Jun's fallen body, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on his opponent. He was still standing, still fighting.
Min Jun groaned, slowly pushing himself up, his eyes burning with fury and disbelief. He wiped the blood from his mouth, his smirk faltering.
"You... you think that's enough?" he spat, his voice hoarse but still full of malice. He was hurt, but not defeated.
The protagonist didn't respond. His fists were clenched, every muscle in his body tense, ready for whatever came next.
But Min Jun was already moving again.
This is only the beginning.