Darno had already stepped down from the stage after his bout, though his walk lacked the usual swagger. His hand was clamped over his forearm, gripping it tightly.
The adrenaline from the fight was fading, and in its place, a dull, searing pain began to crawl through his arm. It throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Is it fractured? he wondered, flexing his fingers and immediately regretting it when the pain spiked again. That kick from that guy… he was insanely strong. If the two of us were to fight for real, I'm honestly not sure who would come out on top.
The thought unsettled him.
How have we never even heard of any of these people? Are they just some random hired goons from this so-called VC company?
But when Darno glanced toward Max, standing calmly near the edge of the stage, something about that idea didn't sit right.
