The countdown to round two began its final hour. Anxiety gnawed at me relentlessly. Facing the Red Samurai was no mere challenge; it was a daunting test of everything I've learned. His reputation loomed over the competition like an ominous shadow, his skills whispered about in hushed tones of awe. I couldn't shake the worry; his unparalleled prowess seemed insurmountable, his stats towering above mine like an unassailable fortress. Draping my jacket over my shoulder, I took a deep breath, trying to summon the courage to confront this. Aroha sat on the couch, her attention absorbed by the glowing screen of her phone. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" I inquired, hoping for her reassuring presence by my side.
Glancing up briefly, Aroha finished her text before responding, her voice calm and assured, "Limitless isn't that strong. His limits are well defined. You will win. I just need a day to rest, that's all." Her confidence was a small beacon of reassurance in the storm of my doubts. The past few days had been a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. Grabbing my backpack, I approached the door, its slight creak signaling my departure. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. Love you, Aroha," I said, my voice laced with affection. With a relaxed demeanor, she settled back on the couch, offering a wave and a soft smile. "Love you too." she replied. The impending battle hung heavy as I stepped outside, the cool air doing little to ease the nerves that churned within me. Nonetheless, I set forth, determined to give my all in the upcoming clash.
The pangs of hunger gnawed at me, making my stomach rumble in protest. Seeking respite, I strolled toward a nearby bench and unzipped my backpack, rummaging for a snack to quell the growing appetite. I took out a bag of chips, the crinkling sound was annoying. With a contented sigh, I tore it open and began munching, savoring the salty crunch as I settled down, knowing I had some time before the first fight commenced.
Flicking through my phone, I navigated to a series of sparring videos, my interest piqued by the adrenaline-fueled encounters between Gifted individuals. These channels had become a staple in my training routine, a source of both inspiration and learning. The sparring sessions were captivating; although the movements seemed almost languid, the depth of skill displayed by these combatants was leagues above mine. Memories of practicing alongside Megumi flooded my mind, reminding me of the sweat and effort that had gone into honing my abilities.
Lost in the midst of these intense bouts, my focus momentarily drifted from my surroundings. A voice pierced through the reverie, a familiar timbre that barely registered in my distracted state. Raising my head, I was surprised to see Megumi approaching, a drink from Burger King in hand. His attempt to catch my attention had gone unnoticed initially, but his warm smile was impossible to miss. "Hey, Oren," he began, his words tinged with genuine admiration. "A few people recorded your fight yesterday, and I saw it. You did well, man." I instinctively pocketed my phone and adjusted my fingers, ready to absorb any advice or wisdom he might offer. Grateful for his encouragement, I expressed my heartfelt thanks, acknowledging the invaluable lessons he'd imparted. "Thanks for teaching me. I really am grateful. I'm going to win this tournament for 3-A.” I declared with love for the school, feeling a surge of motivation at the prospect of representing our class. I've come to love the school, as it's the first one that treated me right.
In response, Megumi's gratitude mirrored mine as he humbly deflected the praise. "No, thank you! Your limit is really high, and mine isn't. It's only fifty. There was a limited amount of time before I got a reality check. With my martial arts, and your power, you'll win, no doubt," he reassured me, his words carrying the weight of genuine belief. His unwavering confidence in my abilities, coupled with his own introspective acknowledgment, nearly moved me to tears.
The past three months had been a whirlwind of transformation, a sharp departure from the despair that had shackled me in North Carolina. Back then, self-loathing was my constant companion; every aspect of myself seemed to invite disdain, from the physical form I inhabited to the tangled mess of thoughts within. It was an existence marked by relentless self-criticism and inner turmoil. But the tide had shifted drastically. Life had taken on a different hue. While the path remained arduous, it now held a clarity that was previously elusive. The days were no longer suffocating echoes of despair; instead, they resonated with the warmth of friendship, the comfort of a welcoming apartment, the affection of a girlfriend, and the support of newfound allies.
As Megumi extended his fist, his words resonated with encouragement. "I'm going to continue to the colosseum now, I'll cheer you on. All of 3-A is." he affirmed, a promise of support. Meeting his gesture with a reciprocal fist bump, I echoed the sentiment. "I won't let you down." I vowed, feeling the weight of their faith spurring me on.
With Megumi striding purposefully to my right, his direction set toward the colosseum, the solidarity of his presence fortified my resolve. Watching the conclusion of the video on my phone, time seemed to stretch for another five minutes, each passing second a silent countdown to the impending clash. Tossing the remains of my snack into the nearest trash receptacle, I squared my shoulders and began my own journey towards the colosseum.
As I strolled toward the majestic grand entrance, my hands nestled comfortably inside my pockets, the air was charged with a mix of anticipation and recognition. People, both adults and children, glanced my way, their reactions as varied as the spectrum of emotions — astonishment etched on the faces of grown-ups, a hint of trepidation in the eyes of the younger ones.
Ascending the steps that led inside the colossal walls of the arena, I found myself on the second floor, a vantage point offering a breathtaking view of the bustling activity below. Amidst the maze of pillars, a young boy caught my attention. He approached me with a piece of paper clutched in his small hand, his timid steps carrying him closer until he stood before me, holding out his creation. Curiosity piqued, I leaned in a bit closer to inspect the drawing. Recognition dawned as I realized it depicted the pivotal moment when I had challenged the Demon. For a child—probably no more than five—the rendering was remarkably well-executed, capturing the essence of that intense confrontation. "Do you like it?" he stammered nervously, his voice barely above a whisper. With genuine warmth, I replied in a soft tone, "It's wonderful. You have quite the talent!"
A radiant smile illuminated his face as he extended the drawing toward me, his eyes filled with earnestness. "Have it!" he insisted, his determination unwavering. Surprised by his generosity, I hesitated, not wanting to deprive him of his creation. "Are you sure? You did an amazing job," I countered, attempting to convey my gratitude without diminishing his gesture. With a bit of an angry tone, he shook his head. "No. I want you to have it!" His earnestness touched me deeply, and I accepted the gift gracefully, promising to carry it in the backpack as a good luck charm for the upcoming match. The boy, content with his decision, turned to find his father who stood at a distance, a fond smile on his face. As the child ran to him, embracing his side, a sense of warmth and camaraderie filled the space between us. With a nod and a smile exchanged between the father and me, I went to the third floor.
On the third floor, the VIP room was guarded yet again. As I stepped inside, the spacious area lay silent, devoid of any occupants besides myself. My eyes gravitated toward the battleground visible from the expansive windows. The stage, a canvas for the imminent clash, was currently under meticulous scrutiny by the custodial staff, ensuring it was in pristine condition for the upcoming showdown. No doubt when Limitless and Tiger fought it was a bit dirty.
Stolen story; please report.
The resounding voice of the announcer reverberated through the room, her energy palpable as she sought to whip up anticipation among the spectators. "This is the most anticipated fight of the tournament!" Her voice echoed, charged with excitement and fervor. "Time, when formally challenged in a controlled area, has never had a tough fight! But as you know... Time and the Heart are both third years!"
As she continued, the anticipation in the arena crackled with the prospect of a compelling duel. "The Heart transferred in this year and has had an exponential rise! Could the Heart win... or at least give Time a rough fight?! The Heart is a fan favorite!" The announcer's words resonated, echoing my own thoughts. Contemplating the match-up, I mulled over the Heart's chances against Time. Time was renowned as a hit-and-run fighter, elusive and swift. However, the Heart's meteoric ascent hinted at a potential challenge to Time's reign as Rank One. I might need to use Speed Booster to actually see the fight.
This upcoming fight was one not to be missed. The stage was set for a showdown that promised spectacle and excitement, leaving me eager to witness the unfolding drama between Time and the rising star, the Heart. Standing by the expansive window, I watched as the meticulous preparations continued on the stage below. The crew diligently cleaned and arranged the materials, setting the scene for the impending battle. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, the air thick with the imminent clash that hung like a charged current in the room.
The booming voice of the announcer shattered the tense silence, heralding the arrival of the Heart. Adalard, the crowd favorite, made his grand entrance onto the stage, acknowledging his fans with exuberance. His enthusiastic gestures and boisterous greeting resonated with the fervor of someone prepared to face an immense challenge.
Adalard's declaration echoed through the arena, his words carrying a weight of sincerity and determination. "This is what I've been waiting for! A chance to fight undoubtedly the strongest in the tournament! If I win, or if he wins, know that I accept the outcome, and that I respect him!" His heartfelt words elicited a surge of support from the crowd, their cheers a testament to their belief in his abilities.
Time was introduced next, playing on the emotions of the crowd, "And welcome the one who is the strongest! Time!" A different energy enveloped the arena. Stepping onto the stage, Time shed the anonymity of his hoodie, revealing his face partially concealed by long bangs that veiled his eyes. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he exuded an aura of enigmatic confidence that was met with a more subdued yet undeniable wave of cheers from the spectators.
Then, in a daring and brazen move, Time's actions sent a palpable shockwave through the audience. His hand extended, fingers curling before a sudden and deliberate gesture—his middle finger extended straight, the unmistakable gesture shocking everyone present. The audacious act sent ripples of disbelief and murmurs among the onlookers, a sudden shift in the atmosphere as gasps mingled with uneasy whispers.
Adalard wasted no time, hurtling forward with an electrifying burst of speed that caught even the announcer off guard, prompting a surprised stutter as the fight seemingly commenced without warning. The impact of Adalard's punch landed squarely on Time's liver, a surprising reaction as Time visibly recoiled from the blow. Adalard's grin mirrored my own realization—there was genuine potential for him to inflict damage on the otherwise seemingly invulnerable monster in round one.
Time's signature move, a blur of movement beyond human perception, left its mark as Adalard found himself bearing the brunt of Time's incredible speed. A bruise began to form on Adalard's chin, evidence of the lightning-fast retaliation that Time delivered. In a strategic maneuver, Time reappeared in the center of the arena, his back turned to Adalard. Undeterred, Adalard pressed on, his determination undiminished as he charged toward his elusive opponent. Time's mastery of speed allowed him to conjure afterimages that danced around Adalard, but he remained focused. He slammed the ground with both of his fists, causing even that material to tremble with the sheer force of his impact.
Caught off guard by the sudden disruption, Time lost his balance and found himself momentarily upside down in the air. Sensing an opportunity, Adalard seized the moment, closing the gap between them in an instant. His feet anchored firmly into the ground, he summoned every ounce of strength for a devastating blow aimed directly at Time's face, a punch charged with an unprecedented level of power.
The tension in the arena reached a fever pitch as Adalard's fist hurtled toward Time, promising an impact that would reverberate through the battleground and potentially shift the course of the match.
In a moment of calculated confidence, Adalard's body language showed anger. There are studies proving that when you're angered, you can use more of your muscle. As he readied himself for the impending impact, he warned him, "Brace yourself." His punch connected with stunning accuracy, propelling Time backward with unparalleled force. The collision between fist and body left Time crashing into the enigmatic material that made up the battleground, the impact leaving behind a faint yet discernible mark—the sheer power unleashed scaring everyone.
As Time staggered back to his feet, the aftermath of the punch manifested only in a faint reddening on his nose. The minimal effect of such a powerful blow sent a jolt of disbelief through the onlookers. My fingers tightened around the rail beside the window, a testament to the sheer disbelief at the formidable resilience of Time. Undeterred by the seemingly negligible outcome, Adalard pressed on, his nobleness unyielding in the face of this seemingly indomitable opponent. However, Time let his arms out to his side, down and not on guard. He delivered with an undertone of gravitas, “You’re the first one to hurt me.” It momentarily gave Adalard pause, a fleeting moment of consideration amidst the intensity of the battle.
As the clock struck twelve, a pivotal moment that I realized only later on, Time executed a flawless maneuver. Sand danced in the air as he materialized in front of Adalard, mirroring Adalard's earlier words, "Brace yourself." The energy in the air was felt, even by non Gifted. The audience holding their collective breaths in anticipation of what was to follow.
Sensing the need to match Time's breathtaking speed, I activated Speed Booster, hoping to catch the elusive movements that played out at an incomprehensible pace. I was losing their motion.
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Soul: 230 (-20)
Skills:
Lvl. 1 Speed Booster - Increase your speed by 150% for three seconds. 20 soul to use, one minute cooldown. (Activated) The one minute cooldown has commenced.
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In a stunning display of speed and precision, Time unleashed an onslaught of unparalleled ferocity. Head, arms, legs, nothing was off the table. With my maximum output of visual perception, I witnessed the impossible: Time launching an unimaginable barrage of at least five thousand punches in a mere quarter of a second, a whirlwind of blows encircling Adalard, leaving him defenseless against the overwhelming assault.
Adalard bore the brunt of this relentless attack, each strike causing him to convulse in agony. Blood spattered with every impact, Time's assault being the cause. Even as Adalard struggled to withstand the onslaught and would've definitely been given the win, Time showed no mercy, continuing the relentless barrage with another two thousand punches in a fraction of a moment.
The aftermath of Time's assault was gruesome—Adalard stood battered and bloodied, his body ravaged by the merciless blows. Bruises and scratches adorned his form, his clothes torn and tattered, revealing the severity of his injuries that warranted urgent medical attention.
Time, his fists steaming from the sheer intensity of his assault, stood with a chilling declaration. His words, laden with a haunting weight, echoed through the continued silence, "If you fight me, that's all you end up as. If you're up against me, forfeit." The crowd, actually disgusted by the brutality of the bloodbath before them, bore witness to the aftermath of Time's way, his will.
As Time strode out of the arena, leaving behind a sense of fear and trepidation in his wake, a heavy silence lingered. His display of power wasn't merely overwhelming; it was terrifying. The grim reality sank in—Time's strength wasn't just about overpowering opponents; it was about dismantling them, humiliating them, leaving behind a chilling reminder of the sheer might and ruthlessness that he wielded. The haunting image of Adalard's suffering was stuck in my mind. I've killed criminals, but they went out quick. Time has done worse, Adalard is so fast he felt every single one of those punches. This is.. f****d.