Joe stared down at Gyro lying motionless on the ground, his chest slowly rising and falling. For a moment, he expected, almost feared , that Gyro would suddenly push himself back up. The man had been taking hit after hit and just kept coming, refusing to stay down. Joe had struck him until his knuckles ached, until his bones felt like they were rattling inside his fists.
This fight had been hard for him, but not physically.
Not really.
The real battle had been in his mind.
Even before the match started, when they ambushed him in the bathroom... he’d wondered why he was going through all of this. Why he had to endure the pain.
Why he didn’t just walk away...
And then, in the fight, when Gyro seemed unstoppable and Joe’s fists had grown raw, when it felt like Gyro would never fall, something inside Joe had whispered, Just stop.
Just give up.
But then the Vow he made clawed its way back into his mind.
All the shame. All the moments he’d run from problems and responsibility. All the times he’d quit before he ever tried.
That memory pushed him.
And now Gyro... wasn’t getting back up at all.
"Damn it, what is going on?! Was he faking his injuries?" Vivian blurted from her seat, shock trembling in her voice. She was so stunned she couldn’t even think her thoughts inwardly for once; the words spilled straight out of her mouth.
"No... no, that can’t be it, those hits were heavy! There was blood everywhere! He couldn’t have been faking it! Did he just get through it with sheer willpower or what?!"
Vivian was so fixated on Joe that she didn’t even notice what was happening on the other side of the pit.
Because Wolf...
Wolf had stopped holding back.
The moment Wolf saw Joe finish his fight, something switched inside him.
Now he could go all in.
Wolf moved like a beast unchained. He slammed his fists into El’s ribs, the force of each punch thudding loudly across the pit. He twisted his body, dodging every incoming strike with perfect timing, then countered with hits that cracked across El’s face.
His movements flowed effortlessly, as if moving from one motion to the next was as natural as breathing. He didn’t pause. He didn’t slow. He pushed harder and harder, stringing together attacks like a storm building power.
But Wolf knew the truth.
He wasn’t just moving faster. He wasn’t just fighting harder. During this prolonged fight, longer than any traditional match he’d had, his mind unlocked something new. He could read El.
Not through magic. Not through some supernatural sense. But through pure, raw, perfected instinct.
Human beings liked to think they were unpredictable. Unique.
Wild. But Wolf knew better.
Every person, every fighter, had patterns. Habits.
Reflexes drilled into them through years of training that became automatic.
And El, being a trained fighter, was the worst offender of all.
He reacted the same way to the same feints. His shoulders tensed a certain way when he attacked high.
His feet shifted the same way when he planned to elbow-strike. El’s predictability was carved into his muscles. Wolf could see every step he was about to take.
Finally, at the perfect moment, knowing exactly what El was going to do next, Wolf lifted his leg, pushed off the ground, and slammed his foot into El’s jaw.
The impact knocked out teeth, sent El flying backward, and skidding across the arena floor in a spray of dust.
Wolf exhaled, shaking his head slightly.
"I’m really starting to like this power of mine," he said, a grin tugging at his lips. "It seems I’m going to be learning things every day... and if I do say so myself, with this, I can officially say that I’ve gone from A-rank to S-rank."
He glanced toward El sprawled motionless on the ground.
"Although I might have spent too much time fighting against a B+ rank like yourself... it was quite valuable."
Before the Vow, Wolf had considered himself an A-rank fighter, sometimes even A+, depending on the opponent.
But now? There was no doubt in his mind. He was S-rank. On the ground, neither El nor Gyro was getting up again. Wolf raised his hand proudly, standing tall as the victor.
The host rushed into the arena, excitement cracking in his voice as he shouted:
"Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have our overall winners for this event, our surprise tag-team champions! Give it up for the two underdogs!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, applause echoing across the rooftop.
Despite losing money, they couldn’t help but admire the story. Two small, unexpected fighters from nowhere defeating two proven champions? People loved that kind of narrative. They devoured it.
And yet...
There was one person cheering louder than even the crowd.
Chad.
"Yes! Yes! I did it!" Chad yelled, leaping out of his seat with both arms raised high. "The perfect streak! Not a single penny lost! And all of the earnings are mine, mine!"
He didn’t even care, or remember, that the money wasn’t technically his. He was celebrating like he had just won the lottery. But while Chad was mid-celebration, someone approached him.
Vivian.
She wore a thin smile... but her eyes were dead cold.
"I guess I should congratulate you," Vivian said, her tone flat but polite enough to sound almost sincere. "I really thought I had done everything I could."
Chad, in his euphoric daze, turned to her and slapped her back casually.
"It’s alright!" he said with a grin. "The house can’t always win, right? This is just one of those occasions!"
Vivian’s eyes narrowed.
"Well," she said slowly, "I guess I haven’t done everything I could."
Before Chad could even blink, Vivian reached forward, grabbed him by the shirt, and swept his legs out from under him. Chad fell backward in shock.
Vivian didn’t let go.
She dragged him by the collar across the floor like a piece of trash, her movements sharp and merciless. The crowd gasped, some unsure if this was part of the show.
She walked right up to the edge of the pit, And with one powerful motion, She swung her arm and threw Chad straight down into the arena. Chad plummeted into the pit, screaming as he fell.
The crowd went silent.
The cheering stopped.
And the night took a sudden, brutal turn.