The air was filled with noise, the crowd's roar didn't just echo—it vibrated through the ground, into the mat, up Ryan's legs, into his chest. Every sound, every breath, every whisper tangled together into a storm that pressed down on him.
The pressure of stepping up first on the stage was eating him from the insides, he had to win the match—for Arthur and for the team's morale.
Ryan stood in the middle of the ring—small, tense, fists were clenched, eyes fixed on Jin.
Jin stood in front of him, completely relaxed, his posture was calm and deadly, like a tiger who was about to pounce on its prey. His lips curled into a wicked grin which Ryan remembered from the corridor.
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena. "Match Start!"
And with that—Jin moved. He didn't run, he launched himself towards Ryan.
His body shot forward like a coiled spring, his steps almost silent despite the speed. His eyes locked onto Ryan's shoulders as he tracked every single movement of his.
