Raiden Alaric
As I redirected our attention to the ongoing matches, Yuki was already on the mat, poised and ready. She faced her opponent with a calm expression. Unfazed by the size of her opponent.
Yuki's opponent was noticeably taller, with a broad stance that suggested a power-based fighting style and potentially a grappler. Yuki, however, remained unfazed, her eyes sharp and calculating. I hate the fact she looked cool as fuck. She gave me a brief glance while adjusting her sleeves, as if telling me, “Watch this match, to understand who you have disrespected.”
Oh I’m watching, don’t you worry.
The referee signaled the start, Yuki's calm demeanor held steady against her larger opponent. She didn't flinch or falter, instead, she took a measured step back, her eyes never leaving him.
"Watch her footwork," Chronos murmured beside me, his gaze fixed intently on the match. “Also watch her eyes.”
Indeed, Yuki's movements were a blur of precision and grace. Every step she took seemed calculated to align perfectly with her opponent's. When he lunged, she sidestepped with minimal effort, her counterattacks sharp and targeted. She exploited every opening with a surgeon's precision, each strike punctuated by the crowd's gasps.
Her speed was not just reactive but anticipatory. She seemed to move in sync with her opponent's thoughts, always a beat ahead. When he attempted a heavy grapple, thinking his reach and strength would overpower her, Yuki turned his momentum against him. With a swift pivot, she redirected his energy, sending him stumbling forward from his own failed grab.
"There, see that?" Chronos pointed out as Yuki executed a series of quick jabs that found their mark before her opponent could fully recover his stance. "She uses her speed to control the pace and flow of the fight. It's not about overpowering, it's about outmaneuvering."
Her eyes are also always locked onto any of his moving limbs that extend past a certain point.
I noticed traces of techniques Ryuto had used, but Yuki elevated them. She wove them into her style seamlessly, enhancing them with rapid-fire executions that Ryuto hadn’t managed. Her ability to adapt and integrate different martial arts principles was evident, making her a formidable force in the ring.
She's… incredible.
I couldn't help but marvel at Yuki’s mastery over her movements. Each step she took was not just a move, but a calculated decision, positioning her strategically within her opponent's reach yet always just out of danger. Her eyes were intensely focused, not on his face, but on his limbs, watching for any extension that signaled an incoming grapple.
Finally, seizing an opportune moment when her opponent overcommitted to a grapple, thinking to use his size to his advantage, Yuki executed a stunning maneuver. She feinted high, causing him to raise his arms in defense. Then, with a swift and fluid motion, she ducked low and swept her leg behind his, hooking it with precision. The move toppled him over with such smoothness and speed that it took a moment for the crowd to register what had happened.
As her opponent hit the mat, the arena erupted in applause, their cheers reverberating with admiration for the skill displayed. Yuki didn’t bask in the applause immediately; instead, she extended a hand to her opponent, helping him to his feet in a gesture of respect and sportsmanship that was met with an even louder applause. The referee’s whistle split threw the air, ending the first round.
I turned to Chronos, noting the way Yuki used her observations to predict her opponent's next move. "She’s not just reacting, she’s anticipating based on their body movements, just like what I do, except…" I said, realizing the depth of skill involved.
Chronos chuckled, “Except you need to experience it once, she's reading her opponent on the fly. She's playing chess in a martial arts contest.”
Yuki readied herself for the second round, her opponent, determined to regain some ground, charged at her with a burst of reckless energy as soon as the whistle blew. His approach was straightforward, a desperate attempt to leverage his size. But Yuki elegantly sidestepped his bullish advance, her movements precise and calm. She let her hand glide along his extended arm, subtly redirecting him past her, setting him off-balance.
He spun around, attempting a forceful overhead punch, Yuki prepared to evade, however, the punch was a feint. In a swift pivot, he redirected his momentum into a kick aimed at her stomach, a solid, forceful strike that knocked the wind out of her. Not giving her a moment to recover, he dove in for a low grapple.
Reacting with split-second decision-making, Yuki leaped into the air, executing a forward flip over him. She landed nimbly behind him and, without a pause, delivered a punishing heel kick to his jaw. The impact was audible, a crunch that echoed through the arena as a tooth was sent flying. The opponent's body went limp, collapsing to the mat with a definitive thud, marking a dramatic end to the match.
As the referee stepped in to confirm the knockout, the arena burst into a cacophony of cheers and applause. Yuki's poise remained unshaken as she respectfully bowed towards her fallen opponent, acknowledging the fight with solemn dignity.
I watched from the sidelines, adrenaline surged through me, fueled by Yuki's decisive victory. I held a hand over my mouth in an attempt to hide my uncontrollable grin spreading across my face, stirred by the thrill of her clean, aggressive finish. "Chronos," I said, the excitement clear in my voice, "I need to fight her."
Chronos leaned in as we observed Yuki celebrating. "Notice anything interesting about her, aside from the… aggressive, finish?"
I nodded, recalling a detail. "Yeah, she kept fiddling with her left sleeve a lot, both before and during the match. Seemed a bit odd."
Chronos's eyes twinkled with approval. "Good observation. That’s not just a nervous tick. She’s Awakened. Her bind is concealed under her sleeve on her left wrist. It's subtle, but these details are crucial in understanding your opponent’s capabilities."
Surprised, I responded, "She’s Awakened? So that means-"
"Yes," he interrupted, nodding solemnly, "she has most likely been training with her awakened abilities in mind. Her body and reflexes have adapted to what a Green rank is capable of."
Flabbergasted, I blurted out, "Isn’t that illegal?"
"Not at all," Chronos explained calmly. "At least not while she’s Green rank. From the looks of it, she’s been awakened for about a year. And since she wears a bind, she’s restricted to what a normal human can physically achieve. The difference is that having aura flow through her body means she understands and controls her physical capabilities far beyond the average person, even on her worst days." He gestured around the arena, "There are about one hundred students here who are awakened. You've faced eight of them yourself."
"I did?"
"Yes, in fact, the first person you faced was one. So remember, being an Ascendant doesn’t compensate for a lack of skill. Also every referee here is an Ascendant."
Huh… who would have thought.
During the match, there was a brief moment that grabbed my attention. Her opponent pulled quick feints, Yuki hesitated, her normally steady gaze flickered, and her movement paused. It was a minor hiccup, almost imperceptible, but to me, it was like a neon sign. I filed that detail away in my mind.
She usually reacts when her opponent's limbs reach a certain distance. She’s reading their body
I also noticed that after she was caught off guard, she got aggravated and immediately went for a knockout to end the round, thus giving her the win. It wasn’t a clear expression on her face since it was all in her eyes.
She quickly regained her composure and ended the match decisively with a knockout. Watching her recover and clinch the win, I couldn’t suppress a huge grin. The prospect of going up against her suddenly seemed even more enticing.
“But doesn't a bind restrict her aura entirely?”
Chronos nodded as I absorbed the implication of Yuki wearing a bind. "Correct. A bind, especially for someone in a competitive setting like this, is used to suppress their aura. This keeps them from accessing their full power inadvertently or unfairly. The fact that she's using one suggests she has her aura well under control, a level of mastery not common among those who've just awakened."
I frowned, trying to piece it together. "So, she's holding back? Using less of her power on purpose?"
"Right," Chronos confirmed. "She’s training under restraint, which means when she is able to go all out without her bind, she’s even more formidable. Think of it like your weight training with the Anchors. You wear heavier weights during practice, the day I let you take them off, you're going to be much faster and stronger."
"That’s kind of intimidating," I admitted, glancing back at the mat where Yuki was now calmly discussing something with someone who seemed to be her instructor. He had a ponytail so who else could he be?
I looked at my Anchors, and then realized that I'm basically on a limiter as well. I'm kind of hoping I get to take them off soon but, I won't lie, this challenge is too much fun. Will I admit that to Chronos? Absolutely not.
During the intermission, the crowd around me thickened. It was like everyone suddenly decided I was someone they needed to know. They came one after another, contestants, spectators, coaches from various schools and sects, each handshake heavier with expectations than the last.
Trying to keep track of all the names and affiliations was like trying to remember lines from a movie I hadn't seen. The chatter about techniques and potential opportunities was endless. It felt less like small talk and more like they were all subtly trying to recruit or size me up.
Jeez if this is before I awaken, I don't want to think about what it would be like after.
Off to one side, Chronos was casually observing the chaos around me, a manga opened in his hand pretending he's occupied .
"Chronos!" I called out, half-hoping he'd pull me out of this social whirlpool. He glanced over, a smirk touching his lips as if my discomfort was the most entertaining part of his day. He just gave me a thumbs up.
I sighed, turning back to the crowd with a resigned smile. As much as I wanted to escape, Chronos was right. This was just another kind of training. With a deep breath, I dove back into the conversations, all while Chronos watched from the sidelines, the mentor letting his student learn the hard way.
I managed a smile and a nod through yet another introduction, the sea of people around me parted suddenly, like the crowd was giving way to royalty. Through the clearing came a figure I recognized immediately from the emblems and design on his robe, an instructor from the Hidden Leaf school. His presence commanded attention, his stride confident and purposeful as he approached me.
His black hair, neatly tied back, further accentuated the sharpness of his features and the focused intensity of his gaze. As he walked towards me, his stride was neither hurried nor slow, but every step seemed measured, as if he walked with the weight of his school's legacy. Which he clearly had some pride in, otherwise he wouldn’t seek me out.
"Mr. Alaric, I presume?" he began, his voice carrying a tone of respect mixed with a hint of scrutiny. "I'm Master Takahashi. I've been hearing quite a bit about your performance today."
Oh sure you have. Translation: “You defeated one of my students, insulted our star pupil, and on top of that insulted our grand school.”
Before I could muster more than a polite nod, another eager coach, a young woman with a bright, analytical gaze, jumped in with her own introduction. "And I'm Kara Melendez from the Dragon's Spirit Dojo. We've been watching your fights very closely, Rai."
They came in quick succession, each introduction overlapping the last, until Master Takahashi raised his hand slightly, signaling for a brief respite from the onslaught. The crowd seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what the esteemed instructor would say next.
Okay, show off, I see what you're playing at.
"Your skills are raw, intriguing, but perhaps a touch fortuitous," he stated, his tone edged with skepticism. "We at the Hidden Leaf value the rigorous cultivation of talent, not just the random acquisition of techniques."
He paused, his gaze piercing. “How exactly did you come to learn techniques that resemble those of the Hidden Leaf?" His question hung heavily in the air, suggesting he suspected more than just casual observation on my part.
I met his gaze squarely, keeping my response calm and unruffled. "I watch, I learn, and I adapt. Isn't that the essence of martial arts?" I replied, my voice tinged with a respectful defiance.
Master Takahashi’s lips thinned, clearly not convinced by my answer. “Luck can grant you an occasional victory, but it won’t sustain you through a true martial path. I suggest you consider deeper training, rather than relying on chance.”
I see now, he was mostly here to take a shot at my confidence. It was framed by the murmurs of agreement from some of his followers. I call them followers because every time he said something they just nodded along as if he was preaching the gospel. I won't be swayed so easily, after all, I'm not awakened yet, once I am there's no mountain high enough.
I simply nodded, acknowledging his advice without submitting to it. "Thank you, Master Takahashi. Every match is a lesson, isn’t it? Today’s been full of them. You're disciples said, oh what was it? Something about teaching the students to recognize their shortcomings and learn from their losses. So using luck as an excuse, it's kinda contradictory, isn't it?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, the implication clear that he hadn’t expected such a pointed comeback. Around us, the followers' murmurs faded into a tense silence, awaiting his response.
Come on, give me another one, I dare you.
Stepping back, Master Takahashi gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. "Well considered," he finally conceded grudgingly before turning to rejoin his group.
Pussyyyy~
Chronos, who had been watching from a distance, approached with a wry smile. “You make me so proud,” he said while wiping a fake tear.
image [https://i.imgur.com/QdHVgVk.png]
Roughly fifteen minutes passed by the time I was called to the mat. The finals had begun and the crowd had gotten thick with spectators. I took a glance around and wondered if my mom had called out sick from work and was hidden amongst the crowd in a disguise. I chuckled at the thought.
Yuki spoke, interrupting my thoughts, “Is this really the time to laugh? At least pretend to be serious.”
“I'm sorry, Princess,” I quipped with an exaggerated bow, “I didn't realize you needed my undivided attention.” I smiled, carefree. She hadn’t exactly made a good first impression, so a little ribbing felt justified. Petty? Maybe a bit.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Her cheeks tinted pink. “Y-you... remember our bet, don’t you?”
Oh? Bringing that up again? Interesting.
“Oh, right. What’s the stake?” I played along. “Sorry, no hand-holding, I’m saving that for marriage.”
“W-what? No, I-” She cleared her throat, gaining composure. “The loser does whatever the winner says.”
I gasped theatrically. “How scandalous! You were after my body this whole time?”
She flushed a deeper red. “NO! I-”
Before she could finish her words the referee stepped forward, a hush fell over the crowd. “Attention competitors and spectators,” he began, his voice echoing through the arena, “the rules for the final match have been altered. We will continue until a knockout or surrender. Exiting the ring is no longer a cause for defeat. There will only be one round, and the victor will win the competition.”
Surprise flickered across both Yuki’s and my faces. Yuki quickly turned to her instructor, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. She spoke to him in Japanese, I couldn't understand a word, but it was clear she was asking him "What on earth is going on?”
Her instructor merely shrugged, his face schooled into an expression of feigned ignorance that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I shot a glance towards Chronos, searching for some hint or approval of this sudden change, but he too perfected the art of pretending, looking as uninformed and curious as the rest.
A suspicion gnawed at me, hinting that this wasn't just a spontaneous rule change but a well-orchestrated setup. "I'll interrogate you later," I muttered under my breath, turning back to face Yuki, who was still eyeing her instructor, her face etched with a sense of betrayal. Her instructor whispered something to her, his words eliciting not only a harsh look from Yuki but also surprised glances from the rest of his school's contingent nearby. When she spun back around she had an expression of both reluctance and irritation, and her eyes began to water.
Don't give me that look, just because he said something harsh doesn't mean… shit.
In frustration, I scratched the back of my head, clicking my tongue. "Well, it's clear we don't have a choice or a say in any of this. Someone's pride was hurt, and now we have to be the outlet for their frustration." I looked at her, ready to suggest we forfeit the match, "Since it's come down to it, we should just-"
Before I could finish, the whistle pierced the air, and Yuki burst forward, her knee aiming for my face in a swift, aggressive start. I leaned back instinctively, but not enough, her knee landed on my left cheek. Reacting quickly, I used the force of the impact to propel myself into a backflip, landing awkwardly on my stomach. I quickly scrambled to my feet, tasting blood as the wound inside my cheek reopened.
"Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I tried to reason, but she was relentless, launching forward again, unleashing a barrage of attacks. Her fists pummeled my abdomen and chest, the force of each hit tensing my muscles painfully. Gasping for breath between the blows, I tried again, "Why are you playing into their game? We should both just forfeit the match."
Her gaze met mine, a storm of emotions playing across her face. For a moment, her intense, usually unreadable eyes softened, revealing a mix of reluctance and sadness. Her fists remained raised, poised to continue the onslaught, but her expression betrayed her inner conflict. The usual calm and confidence that defined her presence in the ring was overshadowed by a flicker of anger, a silent scream against the recent interaction with Master Takahashi.
As she paused, her features tightened again, the sadness morphing into a determined resolve. It was clear she was battling not just me but also something internal.
Just what did that bastard say to her?
The barrage continued relentlessly. Yuki’s fists were like hammers, and her kicks like the swings of a sledge. I blocked and dodged as best as I could, each move a desperate attempt to protect myself while trying to find an opening to speak, to reason with her. "Yuki, stop! We don't have to do this!" I shouted over the din of the crowd, each word punctuated by another strike that I barely managed to deflect.
But she was like a storm, unyielding and all-consuming. My thoughts swirled chaotically as I continued to fend off her attacks. Between the rapid punches, a part of me, the part that had been ignited during this competition, whispered traitorously, urging me to embrace the fight. It was a niggling voice, growing louder with every exchange, taunting me, challenging me.
Why hold back? Isn't this what you wanted? The thrill, the challenge, the raw feeling of fighting?
Each of her movements was a blur, her strikes so swift and well-timed that I found myself on the defensive more than I liked. Her agility was something else, every time I thought I had her pattern figured out, she switched techniques, her fluid transitions a testament to her skill and her awakened state.
She flowed like water around and through my defenses. Each of her kicks and punches carried a finesse that spoke of years of rigorous training and a deep, intrinsic understanding of martial arts. I blocked a high kick aimed with precision at my head, her foot seemed to only graze the air, centimeters from impact. I couldn’t help but marvel at her technique.
As another blow landed, this time catching my shoulder and sending a jolt of pain through my body, I gritted my teeth. The physical pain was sharp, but the inner conflict was agonizing. I stumbled back, narrowly avoiding a swift roundhouse kick that would have surely ended the match. Gasping for air, I tried again, my voice hoarse, "Yuki, please! Can we just talk for a second?"
But she wasn’t listening, or maybe she couldn’t hear me over her own relentless determination. As she advanced again, her eyes were a mix of focus and something darker, maybe anger, maybe something pushed onto her by expectations or hidden pressures I couldn't see.
If anything, her intensity increased, her strikes coming faster, her moves more unpredictable. It was as if my words had stoked a fire within her, and now she was burning brighter, pushing both of us to our limits. I dodged a spinning heel kick by a hair's breadth, feeling the wind from her move rather than the contact itself.
In this whirlwind of motion, I struggled to keep up, my responses becoming more reactionary than strategic. Every block, every dodge was reactive, a desperate attempt to keep pace with her. But amidst this chaos, the voice in my head grew clearer, egging me on, drawing out a smile from me despite the barrage.
Then finally, she landed an elbow against my jaw, followed swiftly by a roundhouse kick to the side of my head. My ears began to ring. My head throbbed. Then, it happened.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart began to thunder in my chest, each beat like the drum of war echoing through the caverns of my ribcage. This sensation, this pulsing life force within me growing louder and more insistent with every exchange, wasn't just adrenaline, it was a call to arms.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
This... isn’t this why I started learning from Chronos? Why I took this path?
These thoughts raced through my mind as Yuki's strikes landed, each one a reminder of the day it all started. Sitting on the cold ground bloodied and bruised with wet pants.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
With each blow, a spark of exhilaration ignited within me. My breathing deepened, drawing in the charged air of the arena, mixing it with the fire of my resolve. The pain from each hit was there, but it was overshadowed by a growing excitement, an awakening hunger for the challenge. The taste of blood fueling my desire to fight.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I could feel it building, the joy of the fight, the sheer thrill of matching wills and skills with someone who is superior. It wasn't just about winning anymore, it was about embracing the raw, untamed spirit of combat that had drawn me to martial arts in the first place.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
As another of Yuki's punches cut through the air, narrowly missing my jaw by mere inches, the realization hit me like a bolt of lightning: I was exactly where I needed to be. This was the dance of warriors, and I was fully part of it now.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I parried another jab, her speed almost overwhelming, I felt a shift within me. It was like a click, a sudden alignment of my senses sharpened by the necessity of survival and the adrenaline that coursed wildly through my veins. My origin was at work, stealing everything she had to offer.
Fine… Let’s dance.
Yuki launched a rapid succession of jabs, each one aimed with precision and speed, I took a deep breath and focused. Her technique was flawless; her jabs weren’t only fast, but they were timed with an innate rhythm that was hard to predict yet beautifully orchestrated. As she extended her arm, I noted the slight rotation at her wrist, a subtle but effective way to increase the impact. With each jab, she slightly shifted her weight from her back foot to her front, optimizing her body’s momentum.
Her footwork was a dance, almost poetic. She moved like water, her steps flowing into each other, making her incredibly difficult to pin down. As she pivoted on her heel for a hook kick, I observed the way her other foot barely touched the ground before it snapped up, the kick whistling through the air. It was a move of stunning agility and control, while ducking under it, I couldn't help but admire the finesse.
Mom would want me to be a gentleman, and end this game. No… fight…
I countered instinctively, borrowing the fluidity of her movements. My own kick mirrored hers, not just in trajectory but in the way I balanced my weight, how I turned my body to follow through. It felt like a shadow of her technique, yet distinctly mine as I adapted it on the fly.
"I see now," I murmured as she reset, a slight frown creasing her brow as she noticed the technique. She changed tactics, launching a series of low sweeps aimed to knock me off balance. Each sweep was a calculated attempt to disrupt, her body low and angled to reduce her target profile. I mimicked the movement, feeling how her muscles tensed and relaxed, understanding the timing and the physical logic behind each decision.
As the match progressed, the exchange of blows became a dialogue, each of us conversing in the language of martial arts. Her strikes became my strikes; her defenses informed my defenses. With every move she made, I absorbed and redirected, learning and applying in real-time. The thrill of this learning, of seeing her techniques unfold and making them my own, was exhilarating. My grin not fading in the slightest.
She's got her reasons, right? Easy on her. FIGHT!
Finally, I anticipated her next high kick, stepping inside her range and using her momentum against her. I grasped her kicking leg, channeling my understanding of her balance and force, and gently, yet firmly, redirected her into a controlled fall. As she landed safely but firmly out of position, the realization of the technique's adoption flashed across her face, a mix of surprise and respect evident in her expression.
The crowd, having followed every move, every counter, every adaptation, erupted into applause, appreciating the display.
Yuki quickly got to her feet and continued her pursuit. I shifted from defense to offense, testing Yuki's reactions to my advances. I focused on her eyes, sharp and focused, tracking my limbs with an intensity that gave her an edge in predicting my moves. Her gaze seemed to latch onto every extension I made, allowing her to adapt swiftly.
Taking this into account, I started experimenting with my reach, varying the speed and trajectory of my attacks to gauge her response. While I extended a punch, I watched her eyes flick to my shoulder, then to my elbow, reading the intent before the move was fully executed. It was like a silent conversation, where she was constantly asking and answering questions about my next move based on slight muscular shifts and changes in my posture.
This was enlightening. Her method was meticulous, mirroring the way I absorbed and adapted techniques, but she did it through visual cues and predictive reasoning. Her ability to anticipate and react was akin to my own, yet it was clear she honed this skill to an almost instinctive level.
Seizing an opportunity, I feigned a left jab, watching her body tense in preparation to counter. Instead of following through, I switched to a low sweep, aiming to catch her off-guard. As she adjusted to block the sweep, I noticed a slight delay in her reaction, a telltale sign that my mix-up had sown a seed of doubt.
So you are vulnerable to feints~
Encouraged by this small victory, I ramped up the complexity of my combinations, weaving together sequences that blurred the line between feints and actual strikes. Each move was a test, a question posed to her defenses, and with each response, I learned more about her technique and timing.
Finally, in a rapid exchange, I mirrored one of her earlier moves, a swift, angular kick followed by a deceptive pivot. As she moved to counter, expecting a repeat of my previous pattern, I broke the rhythm, instead closing the distance and aiming a controlled, precise strike towards her midsection. This time, she couldn't adjust in time, and the impact pushed her back, her footing disrupted. Her calm expression began to fracture.
I figured you out~
I kept the memory of her previous match's misstep fresh in my mind, the moment she faltered under a well-timed feint. I was determined to use this to my advantage, crafting a strategy around her slight hesitation when faced with unexpected moves.
I feigned aggressive attacks, throwing punches and kicks that aimed just shy of making contact, closely watching her reactions. Each time I faked a move, her eyes darted to the feigned attack, her body tensing in anticipation. This split-second of hesitation was all I needed.
Maybe just fake a knockout, make it- NO! BREAK THROUGH!
I built upon this pattern, establishing a rhythm designed to draw her in. Then, at a critical moment, I launched a complex feint; a high kick aimed directly at her head, which was nothing more than a bluff. As she instinctively raised her arms to block the nonexistent threat, I shifted my weight and redirected my motion into a sweeping leg kick aimed at her ankles, an area she'd left unguarded.
I should be considerate- FUCK THAT, WIN!
Her response was a fraction slower, her body conditioned to expect another high strike. The sweep took her by surprise, knocking her balance just enough to send her stumbling backward. Quickly capitalizing on her disarray, I moved in, closing the distance as she struggled to regain her footing.
What if I just step back and- SHE’S OPEN! ATTACK! DON’T LET HER REST!
With her defenses momentarily compromised, I executed a rapid series of strikes, each one calculated to keep her off balance and reactive rather than proactive. I connected a particularly sharp jab to her midsection, the crowd gasped, sensing the shift in control. I could see the realization in her eyes as she began to understand the depth of her vulnerability to feints, a flaw in her otherwise impeccable defense.
I should have continued my assault, but I paused, stepping back slightly. I waited for Yuki to regain her composure, watching as she straightened, her breath steady despite the intensity of our exchange.
The pause was a moment of mutual recognition, a silent acknowledgement of the shift in our battle. She eyed me warily, uncertainty flickering in her expression. I wiped a trickle of blood from my lip with my thumb, the taste metallic and invigorating, and flashed her a maniacal grin.
She's struggling too, maybe I should- NOW IS YOUR CHANCE! NO MERCY!
Yuki launched herself forward again, her movements were a blur of speed and precision, her expression of calmness faltering once again. But this time, I was ready. Using the technique I had just stolen, I focused on the subtleties of her approach: the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes narrowed just before a strike, the minor shifts in her footing that telegraphed her next move.
What if- DON’T STOP!
With each attack she made, I sidestepped or ducked effortlessly, my body moving in sync with the rhythm I had decoded. Her frustration mounted with every miss, her strikes growing more forceful yet predictably erratic. I could see her trying to adjust, to find a new angle or a new trick that I hadn't already countered. Irritation was clear on her face as she tried one thing after another constantly grunting and shouting..
I- WIN!
Each dodge and weave was a testament to the battle’s evolution, not just of physical prowess but of mental acuity. "I understand it now," I said, not just to her but to myself, affirming the breakthrough in my ability to read and anticipate my opponent's intentions.
As her last punch sailed harmlessly past my ear, I stepped closer, our faces mere inches apart. My smile never wavered, even as I spoke, my voice low and steady, "Your technique, it's incredible. Now it’s mine."
WIN!
The crowd was silent for a moment, the tension palpable, before erupting into cheers and shouts.
Yuki stepped back, regaining her posture, her eyes wide with a mix of respect, her initially aggravated expression faded. The match was far from over, but a new understanding had settled between us, a mutual recognition.
Yuki's acknowledgement came silently but profoundly. She bowed deeply before me, a gesture of respect and perhaps concession, but there was something more, a final card yet to be played. As she straightened up, her fingers deftly rolled up the sleeve of her left arm, revealing the bind Chronos had mentioned earlier. The gem at its center glowed faintly under the arena lights.
With a decisive flick of her finger, she tapped the gem, and I watched, mesmerized, as the bind clicked and loosened the intricate patterns moving across the metallic bracelet, clattering to the mat. The air around us seemed to pulse as her aura, no longer restrained, flooded the space. The sudden release of energy was palpable, pressing against my own senses with an almost physical force.
The crowd gasped, a wave of whispers rising like a storm. Yuki's eyes met mine, intense and unwavering. She gave a slight nod, as if signaling the true beginning of our confrontation, and then, in a flash of movement too quick to follow, she appeared right in front of me. Her fist connected with my chest, a solid, precise strike that sent me reeling backward.
The force of the blow was unlike anything I had faced before; it was not just physical power but the weight of her awakened aura that pushed against me. I stumbled, my feet finding empty air where the mat ended, and then I was falling, tumbling out of the ring to land with a heavy thud on the floor outside.
As I struggled to catch my breath, lying just outside the ring, the arena suddenly went silent. My vision blurred, but I could make out the referee rushing towards Yuki. With swift, practiced movements, he restrained her, his actions smooth and efficient, clear signs of an Ascendant's skill. Yuki, caught in the referee's firm grasp, couldn’t move, her earlier fluidity and freedom abruptly curtailed.
You fucker, why didn’t you intervene when she was taking off the bind?
Through the haze of my disorientation and the creeping blackness edging my sight, I saw her turn to look at me. Despite the situation, she managed a smile, a silent apology or perhaps a regret for the turn of events. Then, the murmur of the crowd crescendoed into clarity just long enough for me to hear the announcement ringing through the arena, "Disqualified for using Aura."
The word "disqualified" echoed oddly in my ears as darkness tightened its grip. The last thing I saw before everything slipped away was Yuki’s resigned expression as she was led away, still restrained by the referee. I slipped into unconsciousness with only one thought.
Fuck, did I just win by default?