Ryan stood motionless in the center of the ring, the faintest curve of a smile touching his lips.
It was the kind of smile that said everything had unfolded exactly as expected—no surprise, no triumph, just quiet certainty.
The arena had fallen into one of those heavy, ringing silences that follow a thunderclap. Thousands of pairs of eyes were locked on the two figures: one tall and bloodied, the other completely untouched.
Just minutes earlier, Fang Tian had been an unstoppable force. In the four previous matches—against the best Fengyue had to offer before the exempted seeds—he had only been struck once. A glancing blow. And even then, he hadn't so much as staggered.
Now?
A single clean punch from Ryan had launched him more than ten meters across the stone like a discarded sack of grain.
Fang Tian's ribs were clearly bruised, maybe cracked. Blood still trickled from the corner of his mouth. His breathing came in short, angry huffs.
Ryan?
