The referee quickly left the arena after his voice thundered across the hall, announcing the start:
"Begin!"
A heavy silence followed, as if even the air itself had stopped moving.
Sirion stood firm, unmoving, while his brown-cloaked opponent mirrored that same stillness.
Those first seconds felt like eternity—each of them measuring the other, waiting for the first move… the spark that would ignite the battle.
And suddenly—
The mysterious fighter shot forward like an arrow!
He moved with unbelievable lightness, his steps barely making a sound, as if his weight scarcely touched the ground.
He rushed straight toward Sirion, his arm rising to deliver a direct punch to his face.
But Sirion, with his usual cold composure, didn't move until the very last moment.
He raised his right hand with calculated ease—and blocked the strike effortlessly, as if it were nothing.
A low growl escaped from beneath the hood.
Without giving him time to react, the opponent launched another punch with his other hand.
Again… it was stopped.
Sirion blocked it with the same deadly calm.
The referee's voice rang out from outside the arena, trying to stir the crowd:
"It seems the black-haired fighter has chosen a defensive approach!"
The arena erupted with chants—some shouting "The Mysterious One," others calling out "The Black-Haired One!"
But the opponent didn't retreat.
He stepped back once—then dashed forward again, moving like a flickering shadow.
Suddenly, he lifted his leg and launched a swift side kick toward Serion's side.
In a flash—
Sirion raised his arm and stopped the attack.
But this time… he didn't stop at defense.
He grabbed his opponent's leg, holding it firmly—so firmly that the man's body froze midair for a brief moment.
Sirion didn't waste the opportunity.
His other hand shot forward like lightning, aiming a punch at his opponent's face.
But the mysterious fighter showed unexpected skill—raising his arm and blocking the strike as if he had anticipated it.
Sirion didn't hesitate.
He shifted tactics instantly.
Releasing the leg, he lowered his body in one swift motion—then drove a powerful punch straight into his opponent's stomach.
A crushing blow!
The opponent's body was thrown backward, hitting the ground as he writhed in pain, coughing sharply.
And then—
The hood fell.
A gasp rippled through the arena.
It was a woman.
Her features were now clearly visible under the lights: sharp facial lines, dark brown hair falling over her shoulders, and eyes filled with defiance despite the pain.
The referee's voice rose in shock as he pointed toward her:
"Oooh! What do we have here?! The mysterious fighter… is a woman!"
The crowd exploded like thunder—shouts, whistles, laughter, and cheers erupting all at once.
Some were stunned, others even more excited than before.
The revelation alone had become a spectacle of its own.
But Sirion…
did not change at all.
He stood there calmly, his eyes fixed on her.
No mockery.
No surprise.
Just that same unreadable stillness.
Watching from my seat, I couldn't help but think:
A woman?!
She's this fast… this skilled?!
This match is going to be far more complicated than I thought.
The woman stood up again, as if driven by an unseen force despite the pain coursing through her body.
She stepped back twice, breathing heavily, her eyes locked onto Sirion with unwavering defiance.
As for him—
he remained where he stood, like a cold statue.
No movement.
No intention to advance or attack.
She lifted her head and spoke loudly, her voice reaching the crowd:
"What? Are you pitying me now that you know I'm a woman?!"
Sirion's expression didn't change.
He replied coldly:
"I don't hurt women… that's all."
A slight smirk appeared on her face, as if she had found a crack in his armor.
"Then… that works in my favor."
She suddenly lunged forward with full speed.
Leaping into the air, she spun gracefully and brought down a powerful aerial kick aimed straight at Serion's face.
At the last instant—
Sirion tilted his head, narrowly avoiding the strike.
Her foot nearly brushed his hair.
She landed lightly and, without giving him a moment, threw a strong punch toward his chest.
Sirion raised his arms skillfully and blocked it—
but the force pushed him one step back.
Shock spread across my face.
What is this?!
Why isn't he attacking?!
He said he doesn't hurt women—but isn't this self-defense?!
Before I could process it, the referee's mocking voice rang out:
"It looks like this round might go to the left side!"
The crowd erupted again, some cheering wildly, others chanting Hontar's name as if victory had already been decided.
The woman stepped forward once more, her fist clenched tightly, launching another punch toward Sirion's head.
As always—
he blocked it.
No counterattack.
No attempt to exploit an opening.
I bit my lip in frustration.
What is Sirion thinking?!
How can he win if he doesn't attack?!
Is he planning to wear her down by endurance alone?!
That might work… but it'll take time—and it could put him at risk!
And then—
something I didn't expect happened.
I didn't even see how—
All I saw was Sirion's body hitting the ground.
I gasped in shock.
"No way…! Sirion… is on the ground?! And she's still standing?!"
My eyes froze on the scene.
How did things turn around so quickly?!
I hadn't been paying attention—how did this happen?!
I shouted internally:
"Come on, Sirion! Get up!"
As if he heard me—
he rose with incredible speed before she could strike again, stepping back calmly as if he had never fallen.
But the truth was clear.
Even after being hit…
he still held onto his decision.
Defense only.
Minutes passed—heavy as hours.
The woman attacked relentlessly.
Punches, kicks, continuous pressure—trying to break through his defense.
And Sirion…
blocked everything with strange patience.
Never countering.
The crowd had reached a fever pitch.
Their voices roared endlessly—cheers rising with every attack, erupting again with every block.
The arena had become a volcano.
As time passed, exhaustion began to show on the woman.
Her breathing grew uneven.
Sweat dripped from her forehead, glistening under the lights.
Her punches lost their strength.
Her movements slowed.
Gasping, she shouted:
"Are you just going to keep defending?! Come on! Attack! Show your strength!"
With those words, she lunged forward again, her fists raining down—but clearly… the storm was losing its force.
As for Sirion—
sweat had begun to form on his forehead as well.
But he showed no sign of fatigue.
His expression remained cold.
Calm.
As if he possessed an endless sea of patience.
A kick—blocked.
A punch—stopped.
A strike to his face—deflected.
The crowd roared.
The referee shouted with excitement.
And I…
felt like I was suffocating under the weight of it all.
When will this match end?!
So much time has passed…
and still—there's no conclusion.