Chapter 196: Max Vs Rick (Part 2)
Rick had thrown his strongest punch, the same devastating blow that had once stopped even Mayson from getting back up. That same fist had crumpled others before they even knew what hit them.
And yet... There Max stood. Upright. Calm. Smiling.
His lips curled, almost tauntingly, as if to say Was that it?
"Hey... is it just me," Joe asked, blinking in disbelief, "or did Max take that hit on purpose?"
It wasn’t just Joe thinking that. From the West side of Brinherst, murmurs echoed the same suspicion.
"I think you’re right," Steven said, crossing his arms as he watched from the stands. "I’ve seen how Max fights. He’s too skilled to take a hit like that unless he wanted to. He’s got techniques, dozens of them, he could’ve used to dodge or redirect it."
"Maybe..." Mayson muttered, his mouth swollen and voice raspy, "he was just scared. I’ve taken punches from Rick. They hurt ."
"No," a calm, deep voice said.
It was Aron.
He hadn’t spoken a single word during any of the previous fights, not even when the others had gone up. But now that it was Max’s turn... he spoke.
And immediately, a wave of silence fell across those near him.
"His voice, it’s so smooth and straight!" one of the Seaton High girls whispered, heart practically in her eyes. Her friends giggled and leaned in closer, enamored.
"He blocked up top," Aron explained, tone steady. "Way too early. That wasn’t instinct. It was intention. He wanted Rick to hit his stomach."
"Why would anyone do that?" Joe asked.
"Because Max was sending a message," Aron said plainly. "To everyone watching. Especially to Rick. ’Even your best hit... can’t stop me.’ That kind of move, it’s psychological. Someone like Rick, who’s used to ending fights with a few punches, relies on fear. But what happens when the fear doesn’t work?"
In the cage, Rick’s eyes burned with rage.
"Get that damn smile off your face!" he shouted, launching another punch.
But this time, Max moved.
He leaned back just enough, the punch swiping the air in front of him. Then he stepped sideways, keeping just out of reach.
Rick kept swinging wildly, fury overtaking form. And Max danced just beyond his range, never striking back. He was studying. Reading.
Rick’s style was raw power, his entire approach relied on ending things quickly with brute strength. Precision didn’t matter to him because most people never lasted long enough to exploit his weaknesses.
But Max? Max had studied dozens of fighters.
And more than that, he had learned.
’If I really wanted to,’ Max thought, ’I could end this with the techniques I learned from Steven, from Dipter, even from Dud. I could dodge, counter, take him out clean. But if I do that... it’ll just turn into a slugfest. A brawl. It won’t make the impact I need.’
He paused. Waited.
’I need something bigger.’
Suddenly, Max jumped back. Then raised his right arm into the air, pointing straight to the sky.
A single, deliberate gesture.
From the stands, Aron’s eyes lit up. That was the signal.
Immediately, he pulled out his phone and made the call.
Everything Max had set up, the weeks of planning, the late-night instructions, the quiet backdoor dealings, was now coming into play.
"Right," Aron said into the receiver. "Place ten million... on Red."
The crowd didn’t know what was happening. But the weight of that call? The consequences of that bet?
They were massive.
Most online betting platforms had strict limits. Max had discovered that the Vow worked best when there was real risk involved, when the stakes could alter his future.
If he placed a massive bet and won, the Vow would boost his strength by a specific percentage. The more risk, the bigger the gain. But that kind of money? Ten million? No ordinary site would accept it.
Only the bigger underground organizations would.
Which is why Max had sent Aron on a mission, one he had carried out without question. He had found one of those organizations, used Max’s name and phrases exactly as instructed, and gained temporary membership to place the bet.
Max had trusted Aron not to ask questions, and he hadn’t. He had done exactly what was asked, and now, everything was aligned.
Max had calculated the odds. Even if he lost the bet, the fight would still be winnable, just harder.
But if he won ? Then he wouldn’t just beat Rick.
He’d make a statement.
Max dropped his hand, locking eyes with Rick.
The signal was done.
From the stands, Aron stood up and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"RED!!!" he screamed.
In that instant, something changed.
A faint tremble ran down Max’s arms. His shoulders twitched. His muscles pulsed. Like something inside him had just awakened.
"My lucky color!" Max shouted, eyes gleaming.
Then he charged.
Rick’s reflexes kicked in, he threw another punch, the same hammering hook as before. But this time Max ducked to the side.
Air.
Rick hit nothing but air.
Before Rick could recover, Max’s fist was already rising, an uppercut, sharp and clean, cracking straight into Rick’s chin and snapping his head back.
The crowd gasped.
But Max wasn’t finished.
As Rick stumbled backward, Max moved with terrifying fluidity. He shifted to the side and drove his knee deep into Rick’s stomach. The force blasted the air out of Rick’s lungs, leaving him wide open.
And then came the final blow.
Max twisted his body, spinning on his heel. Using that momentum, he jumped, his other leg rising like a whip, and with full force, he kicked Rick across the face.
The impact lifted Rick off the ground.
His body flew back and crashed hard into the mat.
The cage rattled. The floor shook.
Rick... didn’t move.
Max stood over him, chest rising slowly.
The arena was silent.
Every member of the Clapton Alliance stared, eyes wide, mouths open.
Three hits. That was all it had taken. Three precise, clean, devastating strikes. And just like that... the match was over. No struggle. No chaos. Just dominance.
Then, all at once, the silence shattered.
From Max’s side, cheers erupted, screams of joy, of relief, of victory. Students shouted his name, jumping to their feet.
"He did it!"
"He actually beat Rick!"
"That was insane!"
"Did you see that?" Print said, turning to Erik with wide eyes.
Erik didn’t answer right away. He was still staring at the ring.
"Yeah..." he said slowly. "I saw it."
He exhaled through his nose, lips curling into a faint smile.
"I guess this is the power... of the Billion Bloodline’s leader."