The moment Noah Vale finished speaking, the room tightened.
It wasn't loud. No one gasped or shouted.
But the shift was unmistakable.
Every eye, save his own, drifted toward the same corner.
A man sat there, broad as a tank and built like one too. Thick muscle packed onto a towering frame, posture relaxed but heavy with presence. He looked like he owned the air around him.
At Noah's words, the man lifted his head slightly.
His gaze locked on.
Cold. Predatory. Curious.
This was Ivanov—the current number one.
A quiet ripple of tension spread through the room.
People didn't challenge Ivanov.
Not unless they had a death wish.
"You've got guts," Ivanov said as he stood, unfolding to his full height—well over two meters. He looked down at Noah like a mountain inspecting a passing bird. "I get it. Young, ambitious, trying to make a name for yourself. But you picked the wrong target."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You look East Asian. Didn't your people warn you not to provoke me?"
Noah walked toward him, unhurried, as if they were about to discuss the weather.
"Oh, so you're the famous Russian heavyweight at the top of the board," he said lightly. "My mistake. I should've been more polite about calling you out."
He stopped a few steps away, studying Ivanov with open interest.
"If you're ranked first, you must be strong. How about a quick spar?"
His gaze flicked briefly over Ivanov's shaved head.
"By the way, I heard you picked up some kind of enhanced bloodline from another world. Trained with it for years. What happened to your hair?"
Ivanov's expression twitched.
Not enough for most people to notice.
But enough.
This kid… had a mouth on him.
Around them, several people tensed, ready to step in and shut Noah up—but Ivanov raised a hand slightly, stopping them.
He kept his eyes on Noah.
"If you want a lesson, you'll get one," he said flatly. "We'll keep it contained. No need to wreck the building."
A faint smile crept onto his face.
"I'll even give you the first move."
Noah lifted a hand, easygoing. "Appreciate it. I'll try not to go overboard."
That did it.
Now people were watching closely.
No one wanted to miss this.
Ivanov, finally showing his strength.
The top-ranked player in action.
For a brief second, everything held still.
Then Ivanov frowned.
Something felt… off.
A subtle pressure spread from Noah, like an invisible field expanding outward. It didn't feel immediately dangerous, but it was enough to set off instincts honed through countless battles.
The casual arrogance drained from his posture.
He focused.
"Alright," Noah said, raising his right hand. "Let me just—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Because Ivanov had already moved.
No warning. No hesitation.
A surge of pale energy erupted around him as he stepped in, his fist cutting through the air with enough force to level a city block.
His expression didn't change.
But inside, the thought was simple.
Win first. Talk later.
His punch landed—
—or should have.
Instead, it stopped dead.
Noah's hand had caught it.
Effortlessly.
No recoil. No strain.
Just a clean, absolute halt.
"…Not bad," Noah said, almost amused. "Going all in right away. Smart."
Ivanov's eyes widened for the briefest moment.
Then—
they moved.
From the outside, it looked like they vanished.
Two blurs colliding again and again, faster than the eye could track.
Impact after impact echoed through the room, each strike carrying enough force to tear apart streets, shatter buildings—yet nothing around them broke.
No cracks in the floor.
No shattered walls.
Just shockwaves, tightly contained, roaring between them like caged thunder.
It felt like they were fighting in a separate layer of reality.
"—!"
"—!"
Fists collided.
Again.
Again.
Again.
In three seconds, they exchanged thousands of blows.
Then, almost at the same time, both stepped back.
The noise died instantly.
Silence rushed in to fill the space.
Around them, people stared.
Mouths slightly open. Eyes wide.
No one had expected this.
A complete unknown—someone who hadn't even been on their radar—had just gone toe-to-toe with the strongest man on the planet.
And neither had gained an inch.
Ivanov straightened, his expression smoothing out into something calmer, more measured.
"Impressive," he said. "I used about seventy percent of my usual strength just now. The way you redirected force with that field of yours… that alone puts you near the top. Easily within the top three."
Noah tilted his head slightly, a faint smile lingering.
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, you handled maybe thirty percent of what I was putting out. That's still something to be proud of."
A flicker of irritation crossed Ivanov's face before he buried it.
Noah slipped his hands into his pockets and turned slightly, addressing the room at large.
"That's enough for me. I've got a decent read on everyone now."
He started walking.
Time to get to work.
"Hey—hold on."
A middle-aged man stepped forward, trying to intercept him.
"You're strong. No point going solo. Join us—we've got a solid team. We can back each other up."
Noah gave him a brief once-over.
Measured.
Unimpressed.
Then he smiled politely and shook his head.
"I'll pass."
Without another word, he crouched slightly and leapt.
A clean arc carried him out through an opening, landing lightly on the street below.
He paused just long enough to orient himself—then picked a direction and disappeared into the distance.
Back in the room, the tension lingered even after he was gone.
One by one, the independent players—those not tied to Ivanov's faction—began to leave as well.
Soon, only Ivanov's people remained.
"Boss," one of them said quietly, stepping closer. "Why didn't we keep him here?"
Ivanov didn't answer right away.
When he did, his voice was lower.
"I wasn't bluffing. That was about seventy percent of what I can do without pushing myself."
He paused.
"As for him… he's probably around level five. But there's no weak point. Nothing obvious to exploit. Without using something extra, I'm not confident I could've locked him down."
The air went still.
That… wasn't what they expected to hear.
Someone else spoke up, hesitant.
"What if we used the item we just bought?"
Ivanov let out a short, dismissive laugh.
"That?" he said. "That's for when it actually matters."
His expression hardened slightly.
"He's not worth it."
A beat.
Then, cold and certain—
"If I really felt like it, I could put him down like a stray."