The minutes dragged on heavily, each one creeping forward like an eternity.
The mysterious woman kept attacking without pause—her punches falling, her kicks relentless—but Sirion remained unchanged, an unbreakable wall, deflecting every strike with indescribable coldness, as if he were fighting… without truly fighting.
As time passed, signs of exhaustion began to show clearly on her body.
Her breathing grew uneven, her shoulders rising and falling with every strained breath, while beads of sweat slid down her forehead, clinging to her tense face.
As for Sirion… he still stood firm.
No attacks.
No retreat.
Nothing but that maddening calm.
Then, in a decisive moment, the woman launched one final attack.
Her fist shot toward his face with everything she had left—but before the motion could complete…
Her body suddenly gave in.
She collapsed to the ground with force, her body groaning from exhaustion, her arms falling limp at her sides as she gasped, as though even the air itself had become too heavy to draw into her lungs.
The crowd erupted like thunder, cries rising in a mix of shock and excitement.
The referee shouted from the center of the arena:
"What just happened?! Is the left team really about to lose?!"
My eyes turned toward Huntar.
I expected anger… or concern for his fighter.
But what I saw instead was unsettling…
A smile.
A smile filled with arrogance and confidence, completely out of place—as if he already knew this wasn't the end of the story.
As for Sirion… he remained as he was.
No joy.
No pity.
Just steady eyes fixed on his opponent writhing on the ground.
The referee's voice rose again above the noise:
"If she doesn't move within ten seconds, we'll consider her unconscious!"
The count began:
"One… two… three…"
The woman moved slowly, trying to push herself up with trembling hands.
She bit her lower lip, forcing her body to obey—but she collapsed again.
"Four… five… six…"
The crowd roared—some urging her to stand, others demanding the count end quickly.
"Seven… eight…"
I gasped as she made one final attempt.
Her hands trembled.
Her knees nearly gave in…
But she couldn't.
Her body betrayed her.
"Nine… ten!"
The referee's voice rang out:
"Round over! The right team wins!"
He raised Sirion's hand high before the crowd, declaring the victory.
The arena exploded—cheers, applause, voices shouting:
"Victory to the right team! Victory to the right team!"
I froze for a moment, trying to process it…
We won.
We actually won.
But on the other side, the scene was different.
The woman, her eyes burning with anger, slammed her fist against the ground—each strike screaming that she refused to accept defeat.
Tears shimmered in her eyes, but they didn't fall.
They hung there, as if even they refused to show weakness before the crowd.
Hontar… was still smiling.
A cold, mysterious smile, as if the first round meant nothing to him—as if he were hiding something up his sleeve.
That thought sent a chill down my spine…
What is he planning?
Back at our seats, Aureus looked satisfied, a rare smile forming as he spoke to Sirion:
"Well done! We won! I don't know how to thank you."
Sirion sat down calmly, taking a deep breath as if releasing the weight of the fight.
Though he had shown nothing in the arena, I could now finally see the fatigue creeping into his features.
In the end… he's human.
His endurance is incredible—but it has limits.
He lifted his eyes toward Aureus and replied coldly:
"It's just my job. And in the end… if we win, we get seven thousand dollars. That's enough for me."
Visper laughed excitedly, his eyes shining brighter than the arena lights:
"That fight was amazing! The way you blocked her attacks… incredible!"
But Sirion, as always, showed no pride.
"I didn't do anything special."
I was about to join the conversation when the referee's voice cut through sharply:
"Now then… the second round begins! Get ready!"
A new tension filled the air—as if the previous round had only been the beginning… and now, the real truth would unfold.
The referee's voice rose again:
"So… on the left team, we have the thin man!"
The thin man stepped forward slowly until he reached the center.
He was tall, frail, with pale eyes that held no life or emotion—like empty voids.
Despite that, the crowd erupted in cheers.
Some encouraged him, others whispered about his strange appearance.
The referee continued, pointing to the other side:
"And on the right team… the teenage boy!"
Visper rushed forward eagerly, practically jumping into the arena. His face was full of excitement, his eyes shining as if this were a game—not a real fight.
Laughter rose from the crowd.
Some underestimated him for his age, while others cheered his name, drawn to his strange energy.
The referee raised his hand:
"Alright… after the count of three, the second round will begin!"
Then he said:
"One… two… three… go!"
He quickly stepped out, leaving them face to face.
The contrast between them was striking:
Visper, smiling and lively—
The thin man, still as a corpse, his eyes empty and terrifying.
Suddenly, without warning…
Visper attacked first!
He rushed forward lightly, fist raised, still smiling.
I didn't expect him to make the first move.
But what happened next was shocking—
Before his punch could land—
Thud!
My eyes froze.
Blood streamed from Visper's nose. His head snapped back violently, a dark bruise forming on his cheek.
How…?!
What just happened?!
The thin man, with chilling calm, had struck him first—a fast, precise punch that landed before Visper's.
It happened so quickly I barely saw it.
Blood flowed, but Visper didn't fall.
He staggered back—but the thin man gave him no chance.
Punches rained down.
One to the face.
Another to the chest.
Then again to his nose.
My heart shook with every blow.
Visper tried to defend, raising his arms nervously, but the pain was clear—blood covering his mouth and nose.
The referee shouted:
"Ohhh! It looks like the left team is taking the lead in this round!"
Then added with a faint smile:
"But… this is getting a bit brutal."
The crowd went wild—some cheering the thin man, others shouting for Visper not to give up.
Huntar laughed from his seat, while our employer looked visibly tense, his fist trembling.
As for me… I screamed internally:
"Darn it… come on, Visper! Use your ability! Didn't you say you could hurt him without touching him?! Why aren't you using it?!"
But Visper kept taking hits.
Until suddenly—
The thin man's fist stopped mid-air.
His nose twitched…
Then blood began to flow from it.
I gasped.
What…?!
How did that happen?!
Did Visper use his ability?!
The thin man touched his face, staring at the blood.
In that moment—Visper struck!
Thud!
The thin man's head snapped back, and he collapsed.
But… Visper wasn't much better.
He swayed… then dropped to his knees.
His face was covered in blood, bruises clear—but he laughed.
Yes… laughed.
He tilted his head back and let out a strange, loud laugh that echoed across the arena.
The entire place shook.
Some laughed in shock, others stared in disbelief—as if watching a madman in battle.
The thin man tried to rise—but failed.
He coughed, collapsed again.
"What… is this?" I muttered.
Was it just that punch?
Or was Visper's hidden ability doing something more?
Or… was the thin man simply weaker than he seemed?
The referee shouted:
"Hahaha! This is more intense than I expected!"
The crowd didn't stop.
Some screamed for Visper, others for the thin man.
But neither moved.
Both lay on the ground, breathing heavily, blood covering their faces.
The referee raised his voice:
"If neither of you stands within ten seconds, this round will be a draw!"
He began counting:
"One… two… three…"
Visper moved slowly, trying to push himself up—but fell again.
"Five… six… seven…"
The thin man also tried—but collapsed, coughing.
"Eight… nine… ten!"
The referee declared:
"Round over! Result… a draw!"
The crowd exploded—cheers, whistles, mixed reactions.
Some called it the fiercest round yet.
Others groaned in disappointment.
And so… the second round ended with no winner.
But it left a deep mark on me—
And raised countless questions about Visper's true nature…