When Max faced Isaac, he noticed the competitive spirit in the boy's eyes. But Max, driven by deeply personal goals in this tournament, would not lower the intensity of his combat.
If the will to win could be measured, everyone else's paled in comparison to Max's. He was willing to give his all, even his life, to achieve victory.
"Fight!"
Max's eyes remained locked on Isaac, who initiated the match with a series of high kicks, aiming for Max's blind spots and exploiting any gaps in his defense.
Unlike other fighters, Isaac did not underestimate Max, making the fight far more dynamic than the earlier rounds.
However, despite Isaac's powerful strikes, they were insufficient to penetrate Max's defense. In response, Max delivered two sharp counterstrikes, testing Isaac's guard with surgical precision.
"Compared to his strength and speed, his defensive reactions are slower. His combat perception seems underdeveloped."
Max's observations were based on his analysis of the preliminary matches and his wealth of combat experience.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
A flurry of punches and kicks rained down on Max's arms. Occasionally, Isaac's attacks came dangerously close to striking Max's face. Yet, amidst the chaos, Max remained calm, analyzing how to dismantle his opponent.
The roaring crowd and the sponsors' commentary faded into the background. Max, employing a style that fused multiple martial arts, adapted to Isaac's rhythm. With each attack, Isaac grew more fatigued.
When Max transitioned from defense to offense, his strikes lashed out like whips, relentlessly punishing Isaac's arms.
"Enough!"
Isaac shifted to a defensive stance, thinking he could endure as Max had. But the accumulated pain in his arms quickly proved otherwise.
Sensing Isaac's next move—a high kick—Max retreated just in time and delivered a powerful low kick in return.
If Max targeted the right spot, he could bring Isaac down. Even if he missed, he would still gain an advantage by exploiting the opening.
Thwack!
Isaac staggered from the blow to his lower body. As he tried to recover and lift his guard, a sharp punch landed beneath his shoulder.
"Argh!"
Max stepped back, coldly assessing Isaac's condition. The boy still seemed capable of continuing, but to the crowd, the fight was already over.
Throughout the match, Max had been methodically teaching Isaac a lesson in combat, countering each attack with precision and punishing his weak points. His strikes carried enough force to subdue, but not to cause serious harm.
"You don't stand a chance. Surrender now…" Max murmured, his expression icy as he stepped back.
In the arena, Max's usual friendly demeanor vanished, replaced by sheer aggression toward his opponent. His presence exuded intimidation, even against larger adversaries.
Many speculated that Max had serious personality issues. But none of them knew the truth—why he fought so fiercely. Max was driven by a single, burning purpose: to avenge his parents' murderers.
He didn't want to regret missing the opportunity to confront them, no matter the cost.
That purpose fueled every punch, every kick, and every strike. When Max lost control of his emotions, his attacks were laced with ferocity, focused solely on ending his opponent.
"Max, you were amazing!" Devon exclaimed as Max left the arena.
Handing him a towel, she added, "This opponent was tough with his solid boxing, but now that you've defeated him, you shouldn't face any real threats until the semifinals."
"He's a good fighter, but he lacks the experience to anticipate my moves." Max acknowledged Isaac's potential, admiring his talent at such a young age.
As the matches progressed, Max's next opponent was Silva, who had completely overpowered his rival to advance to the semifinals.
Max's eyes met Axel's across the arena. Axel's gaze was provocatively hostile, a direct challenge.
"Interesting. Let's see if you're all talk or if you actually have some skill," Max muttered, turning away with a calm but determined expression.