Uy Phong's voice cracked through the arena, sharp enough to silence a whole block of seats. Heads snapped toward him. His chest tightened, heart stuttering. For a second, his mind went blank.
An Phong… against Demyan?!
The referee's call yanked him back:
"Chung, Hong!"
The two fighters walked to the center, helmets dangling from their left hands, squaring off like it was a duel to the death.
Uy Phong's breath snagged in his throat as he looked down at the ring. The sight made him want to choke.
On one side stood Demyan—his Russian cousin, broad shoulders, muscles stacked on muscles, eyes flashing like a predator's. On the other—An Phong, frail, slight, like a reed trembling in the wind, his stance uncertain, his foundation shaky at best.
The gap between them was a canyon.
Damn it. The thought pounded in Uy Phong's head. Five years of training—who knew if Demyan had been doubling it up with boxing or MMA back in the frozen North? And An Phong… barely a week in. A single week.
Uy Phong gripped the railing until his knuckles went bone white.
"What kind of twisted rule is this…?" he muttered.
The air in the arena thickened, so tense every breath echoed. Demyan's lips curled into a smirk—the smug grin of someone who already knew the fight was his.
An Phong, by contrast, wore the same calm mask, eyes dark and unreadable, as if this wasn't a fight at all but some formality to get through.
"Charyeot!"
They bowed.
"Jun-bi! … Shi-jak!"
The whistle shrieked.
Demyan charged at once, steps fast and heavy, lips quirking in mock amusement.
"Careful there, newbie," he sneered, winking as his opening kick sliced through the air.
CRACK!
The blow sent An Phong stumbling back several steps, barely catching himself before collapsing. His guard came up too late, too clumsy.
Laughter erupted from the stands, whistles and jeers raining down.
"Pathetic," Demyan scoffed, circling like a cat toying with a mouse.
Kick after kick lashed out, quick and sharp, though he was still holding back. He didn't want to finish it—he wanted to humiliate, like a predator toying with prey.
THUD!
An Phong hit the mat hard, the sound flat and merciless. He struggled to push himself up, every movement clumsy, fumbling.
The crowd roared louder, a mix of mockery and thrill.
Demyan only folded his arms, standing tall, sighing as if the whole thing was beneath him. "What a waste of time."
Above, Uy Phong's veins stood out along his hands as he clenched the railing. Every muscle in his body burned with the urge to leap down there himself.
That taunting grin—that arrogance—was unbearable.
His chest heaved. Why do I care this much about An Phong? If it were him in the ring, he'd crush that smirk to dust. Technique or not, in raw strength and endurance, he'd never lose to Demyan.
Down below, Demyan twisted suddenly, spinning into a high roundhouse aimed at An Phong's head.
CRACK!
The helmet shifted sideways from the impact. An Phong collapsed like a ragdoll flung to the floor.
The arena exploded in cheers and jeers. It no longer felt like a match—more like public execution.
Demyan raised his arms high, basking in the lights like some MMA champ, smirk wide and predatory.
Uy Phong's jaw tightened. "Damn it… did he actually train MMA?"
But then the noise shifted. Gasps rippled across the crowd.
An Phong was standing.
Slowly. Shakily. Blood trailing from his nose. But standing. His once blank eyes sharpened—cold, steady, burning with resolve.
Uy Phong froze. His chest constricted, fear and something else tangled together.
"His nose… it's bleeding…" he whispered.
And when An Phong raised his guard again, crisp and firm this time, Uy Phong found his own feet moving before he realized. He left his seat, heart pounding like war drums, rushing down toward the floor.
In the ring—
Demyan paused at the sight. Then burst out laughing, harsh and cruel, face twisted with mockery.
"Look at you. Nose bleeding like a fountain. Don't know when to quit, kid?"
An Phong said nothing. He just lifted his guard, thin arms steady, silence unshaken.
That silence lit a fire under Demyan's skin.
"What—think acting cool's gonna save you?" he snarled.
SMACK!
This time he didn't hold back. His side kick slammed into An Phong's torso guard, the crack echoing.
The crowd gasped as one.
An Phong staggered, bent nearly double—then whoosh! another kick snapped high across his headgear.
BAM!
He went sprawling again, flat on the mat.
Uy Phong's ears rang with the impact.
"Get up!" Demyan roared, chest heaving, eyes alight with savage glee.
The arena's earlier jeers died. The mood had shifted, weighty and sharp. This wasn't sparring anymore. It was war.
Yet An Phong pushed himself up. Shaking. Breath ragged. But up. Again.
The referee's whistle shrilled, voice hoarse as he shouted for a stop—"Keu-man!"—but Demyan ignored him. He lunged, seized An Phong by the collar, yanking him clean off the ground.
Blood dripped steadily down An Phong's face, staining his uniform, his own hands slick as they gripped at Demyan's wrist.
Demyan's lip curled in disgust at the sight of blood smearing his skin—just for a split second.
And in that instant—
CRACK!
An Phong rammed his forehead into Demyan's face. The sound reverberated across the arena. For a beat, silence reigned. Then the crowd erupted like thunder.
"Uooooooohhh!!!"
Demyan staggered back, clutching his mouth, blood streaking from his split lip. His composure shattered. He looked feral, a beast enraged.
The referee's whistle screamed again, but his legs stayed rooted, powerless to step between the two.
Demyan lowered his hand, staring at the smear of blood on his palm. His face flushed crimson with fury, twisting into something monstrous. His teeth ground audibly as he bellowed:
"I'LL CRUSH YOU!!!"
And he spun.
A 540-degree spinning heel kick—Dwi Huryeo Chagi!
His body whipped through the air, fast as a blade, the wind hissing with the force of it. A killing strike. Enough to break. Enough to end.
An Phong froze. Too fast. Too brutal. His eyes widened, body locked, the shadow of Demyan's foot bearing down.
And in that heartbeat—
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!"
The roar split the air, tearing through the arena, drowning out the chaos.