For a moment, nothing moved. Dust floated in the pale light, settling around Daniel's still body.
Then — he stirred.
Daniel's palms pressed against the cold floor. He pushed himself up, slow, steady, the smear of blood still running down his cheek. His breath was sharp but controlled. And when he stood, fists lifting once more, his face was… empty. No anger. No frustration. Just a blank resolve that felt heavier than any roar.
A ripple ran through the room.
"What…?" one of the executives muttered under his breath.
The fighter's grin faltered. He had expected Daniel to stay down, to accept the humiliation. Instead, Daniel raised both fists, shoulders squared, standing like he hadn't even felt the punishment.
From the far side, Zach's voice broke the silence.
"Stop it, Daniel! Don't push it!"
But Daniel didn't even blink in his direction. His gaze was fixed forward, cold and unshaken.
The fighter scowled, irritated now. With a growl, he lunged forward, throwing a sharp jab meant to end it. Daniel slipped aside at the last instant, the punch slicing through air. Another came — fast, brutal — and Daniel tilted back, the fist brushing his nose by a hair.
To the onlookers, it was like watching rhythm itself — Daniel weaving, stepping, flowing in and out of the storm. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground.
"He's… dancing," Rowan whispered.
The fighter's strikes grew wild, desperate to land. A barrage of punches stormed forward. Daniel backstepped, sidestepped, ducked, his movements so precise that the crowd could only watch in stunned silence. Every near-miss twisted the atmosphere tighter.
And then, in one heartbeat — Daniel stopped retreating.
He planted his foot, coiled his body, and launched. His leg shot upward in a fierce stomp aimed at his opponent's chest. The fighter caught it with both hands, smirking.
"Got you," he muttered.
But he hadn't.
Because Daniel had set it up.
Using the caught leg as leverage, Daniel twisted in midair, his body whipping like a spring uncoiling. His other leg came around with blistering speed, the force of the spin doubling its impact.
The heel slammed into the side of the fighter's head.
The crack echoed through the hall.
The man staggered back, eyes wide, clutching his ear as pain ripped through him. A guttural cry tore from his throat.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—
The Shadow Legion erupted. A roar thundered from their ranks, voices hoarse, fists pumping, every ounce of suppressed hope exploding into cheers.
"DANIEL!"
"Let's go!"
"Finish him, Daniel!"
The hall that had been silent minutes ago was now alive, the Legion's faith surging behind the boy who had been on the ground just breaths earlier.
Dane's laughter cut through it all, sharp and wild. He threw his head back, clutching his stomach, his grin stretching ear to ear.
"Where the hell did you find this kid?" he shouted at James, his voice carrying above the roar. "I should've met him first! If I had, I'd have turned him into the ultimate masterpiece — surpassing even Gideon Cross!"
At the mention of the name, the cheers stuttered. A hush fell. Gideon Cross. The legend whispered like a curse and a promise, a man whose shadow stretched across every crew.
Even Daniel's eyes flicked for the briefest moment toward Dane, narrowing as if the name stirred something deep.
James didn't laugh. He didn't smirk. His gaze never left Daniel. His arms were still folded, his body unmoving — but in his silence there was something unmistakable. He had expected this.
The fighter straightened, fury in his eyes, his cheek already swelling where Daniel's heel had struck. He spat blood onto the floor, then raised his fists again.
The duel wasn't over.
But for the first time that night, the balance had shifted.
PHASE 3
The fighter's breathing had turned sharp, erratic. He circled Daniel now, fists twitching, his earlier confidence shaken. He wasn't the predator anymore — he was the one searching for control.
Daniel, by contrast, was still. Calm. His blank expression hadn't changed, but his movements had. Every step, every tilt of his shoulders carried a rhythm now — a rhythm only he seemed to hear.
The fighter lunged again, throwing a wild hook meant to cave Daniel's ribs. Daniel leaned back, the fist grazing his shirt by a thread. Another strike followed, a brutal straight aimed for his jaw. Daniel twisted, slipping past it, his eyes never leaving his opponent.
From the sidelines, it looked impossible. Each punch missed not by chance, but by fractions Daniel seemed to calculate before they even left the man's fists.
And then Daniel struck.
As the fighter overextended, Daniel stepped in, snapping his elbow into the man's gut. The impact folded him. Daniel's knee shot upward, smashing into his chin, sending him reeling back with a strangled gasp.
The Legion roared again, voices unchained now. Their cheers were no longer disbelief — they were belief being forged in real time.
Dane kept his faint smile, speaking low so only James would catch it."He let them see him bleed… then turned it around. Now they'll remember this more than the fight itself."
He gave a small, quiet laugh."Clever. Even I almost missed it."
James didn't answer, his eyes fixed on Daniel, reading him in silence.
Back in the ring, the fighter roared, anger flooding back. He charged, unleashing a storm of blows — hooks, straights, uppercuts, each one carrying raw fury.
Daniel didn't retreat this time.
He absorbed one hit to the ribs — grunted, staggered — but as the fist pulled back, he twisted with it, driving his knuckles into the man's temple. The crowd gasped. Another punch came, and Daniel ducked, using the motion to swing upward with a devastating hook that snapped his opponent's head sideways.
It was water against rock — flowing, yielding, yet carving deeper with each exchange. The more the man attacked, the more Daniel turned his strength against him.
The fighter staggered now, battered by blows he hadn't seen coming. His fury had turned to desperation.
And Daniel… Daniel was no longer just surviving. He was taking control.
PHASE 4
The executive's fighter stumbled back, sweat pouring, jaw bloodied from Daniel's last strike. His chest rose in ragged gasps, but his glare hadn't dimmed. With a guttural shout, he lunged again, fists flying in a desperate storm.
Daniel didn't back away. He stepped into it.
A shoulder block stopped the man cold, and before he could recover, Daniel's knee crashed into his side. The man wheezed, folded, and Daniel spun with the momentum, his heel snapping across his temple.
The crack echoed.
The fighter dropped.
For a long breath, nobody moved. The base — once a riot of noise — drowned in silence.
Daniel stood over the fallen body, chest heaving, his fists still raised. His face was blank, unreadable, but his eyes burned. The dust in the air seemed to hang still around him, lit faintly by the dim bulbs overhead.
His gaze never shifted from the men in black coats, the executives who still watched from the edge like kings on a balcony.
And then, to everyone's disbelief, he spoke. His voice rang clear, steady, carrying across the hall.
"Whoever thinks they can take me down," he said, "step forward. Defeat me, and Brookhaven is yours."
The words dropped like fire in oil.
The Shadow Legion exploded — voices rising, shouts colliding, half in disbelief, half in awe. Executives exchanged smirks, some even chuckled, their arrogance returning. Daniel's friends froze, stunned by what they had just heard. Ethan's mouth opened, searching for words, while Ryan muttered, "What the hell is he saying…"
Even Dane's eyes flickered — just a fraction — before he let the smile return to his face. He had been caught off guard once when Daniel stood back up, again when he turned the tide. Now, for the third time, the boy had stolen the air out of the room.
James didn't move. His arms were folded as always, but his gaze was locked on Daniel, unreadable. Only his eyes betrayed it — the faint dryness, as though even he hadn't expected Daniel to push this far.
Hands went up. Slowly. Hesitant, then bold. The challenge was alive in the room now.
And then a laugh. Low, mocking. One of the chief executives leaned forward, eyes glinting."Can I join in too? I wouldn't mind being the head of Brookhaven."
The Legion tensed, unsure if it was a joke or a threat.
Daniel turned his head toward him. His stare was colder than the words that followed."Dickhead. Didn't I just say it clearly? Do I need to repeat myself for the ones who can't listen?"
The room broke into stunned silence. Daniel had never cursed, never lowered himself to that kind of venom. His friends exchanged uneasy glances, the shock written on their faces — they knew better than anyone how rarely Daniel ever snapped like this. To hear that kind of word from him was proof of how far his anger had gone.Across the hall, the Legion murmured in disbelief. Some smirked, some stiffened, but all of them felt the same thing: this wasn't just a boy lashing out. It was Daniel burning through the last of his restraint.
The executive's smirk soured. Slowly, deliberately, he slipped off his watch, set it aside, and began walking toward the circle. His eyes burned with pure hostility. Built broad, heavy, he carried himself like a man who had broken dozens before. The hall seemed to shrink around him.
"Did he just… call him—" someone whispered, cut short.
James spoke low, almost to himself, his eyes still fixed on the floor where Daniel stood."This is the same way he came at me once. Reckless. No thought, just charging in."
Dane's lips tugged into a faint chuckle. He didn't know the story, but watching Daniel throw himself into another fight without hesitation was proof enough of recklessness.
James exhaled slowly, his tone level but edged with certainty."Thing is… if someone fights him only for themselves, and he's fighting pissed… then he's too strong for them."
The Legion's eyes darted between Daniel and James, searching for answers, for intervention. But James only folded his arms tighter, giving none.
The fighter stepped in with a sudden punch meant to crush. Daniel slipped past, body snapping upward in the same beat — his knee crashing into the man's face. The impact rang out. The crowd gasped as the executive staggered back, blood already running from his nose.
Daniel didn't pause. He surged forward, fists and kicks flowing in rapid succession, his speed overwhelming. Every strike forced the larger man to reel, the rhythm relentless.
But in a blink, the tide turned.The executive caught one of Daniel's punches mid-swing, flicked it aside with raw strength, and yanked him in by the shirt. With a roar, he slammed Daniel down, the ground rattling under the impact. In the same instant, he was on top, arm drawn back for a barrage.
Everyone knew what came next. Brutality. End of fight.
Only—Daniel didn't fold. His arms shot up, blocking, twisting, forcing the bigger man's weight aside. In a burst of motion that no one had time to register, he reversed, driving a forearm and knee upward to thrash the man off him. The shock rippled through the Legion — when had Daniel grown strong enough to hold off someone like that?
From the side, Ethan's voice came in a low, almost proud murmur."Ever since James pinned him down that day… he's been training for this. But I didn't think he was already this strong."
The two fighters rose at once. Daniel's expression hadn't shifted — still calm, still cold. The executive's face was twisted with fury, shoulders heaving as he squared up again.
Daniel exhaled through his nose. He knew dragging this out meant danger. The man was stronger, heavier — if it turned into a grapple or a test of endurance, he'd lose. The only way forward was to finish it now.
So he stepped in, sharp and unhesitating. His fists cut through the air in a barrage, each strike aimed not just to hit, but to drive the man backward. The executive blocked the first, caught the second, but the third slammed into his ribs, folding him just enough. Daniel didn't let go. He spun with the momentum, his elbow snapping into the man's jaw, then swept his leg low and hard across his opponent's stance.
The man toppled, crashing to the floor.
For a heartbeat, silence.
No one knew whether it had been luck or power. But deep down, everyone felt the same truth — it wasn't a fluke.
The executive spat blood, tearing his shirt away in rage, baring the muscles of a man built for destruction. He grinned, wild and cruel, as if promising Daniel's end.
But Daniel only tilted his head slightly, body angled away, as though he couldn't even be bothered to fully face him. That tiny gesture carried more weight than words.
And then a voice cut across the floor."Enough."
One of the senior executives had stepped forward, his tone steady. His gaze went not to Daniel, but to the fighter."I understand your frustration. But think about what's happening. You're a grown man, a leader, throwing yourself against a high schooler. You've already embarrassed yourself stepping into this. And worse, you don't even see what he's doing. He doesn't care if you knock him down or not. All he wants is to prove, in front of everyone here, that he's better. If you continue, you're only giving him exactly that. Lose or win, your worth will crumble."
The fighter froze, teeth clenched, but he couldn't deny the words.
A chuckle broke the tension. Daniel's.
"You're overthinking it, old man. I'm not playing mind games, not plotting anything like you think." His lips curled faintly, but his eyes stayed cold. "I challenged because I knew someone in this room would raise their hand. And I wanted to see them… as the ones who hurt my friends. That's all. I'll fight them until I've burned this rage out."
The executives fell silent. The blunt honesty of it left them with nothing to answer.
At last, James exhaled. His arms unfolded, his steps slow as he moved closer to Daniel. His voice wasn't loud, but it pressed into every ear.
"Since it's come to this, let's finish it here. I don't leave things hanging. Daniel fights the ones who left his friends like that."
His gaze cut to the executives, calm but sharp."And I'll fight the ones who commanded them. I won't stand here and let you walk free after what you did."
The room tightened, the weight of his words dragging the air heavy.One of the chief executives finally grinned, dark and eager."Fine. No more waiting, James. Brookhaven or whatever you call it… tonight, we'll show you the difference between your city, and ours — where fights decide who we are."