The hall pulsed with unspoken tension. Aiden Xu rolled his shoulders, the blood at the corner of his mouth barely wiped away. His smirk never wavered, but the glint in his eyes shifted—Ochieng had earned his attention.
Lucien Zhao's fingers drummed against the golden throne's armrest. He had not expected Ochieng to land a hit. That moment of imbalance? Unacceptable.
"Aiden," Lucien's voice was smooth, unreadable. "End this."
Aiden grinned wider. "With pleasure."
The air changed.
The moment Aiden took his next step, Ochieng's instincts screamed. Danger.
Then—he vanished.
No sound. No motion. Just gone.
Ochieng's vision blurred as his body moved on reflex.
CLANG!
The shockwave of their clash sent wind whipping through the hall. Ochieng barely managed to block Aiden's blade.
A knife? No. A dagger—razor-thin, nearly invisible in the dim light.
He's faster.
But Ochieng wasn't just a fighter. He was a survivor.
He ducked under Aiden's second strike, pivoted, and launched a counterattack.
Aiden twisted his body midair, dodging by a whisper's breath, but Ochieng had already shifted angles.
His fist rocketed toward Aiden's ribs.
BAM!
Aiden crashed into the polished floor, rolling before springing back up.
For the second time that night, he wiped blood from his mouth.
Lucien Zhao's smirk disappeared.
This was not part of the script.
Ochieng exhaled slowly. His hands were steady. His heart was not.
Aiden's amusement deepened. "You're good."
Ochieng's voice was cold. "You talk too much."
The two fighters vanished at the same time—
—only to collide in the air, sending a shockwave through the hall.
Lucien Zhao leaned forward.
Because in that split-second clash, Ochieng had done something impossible.
He had outmaneuvered Aiden Xu.
And Aiden?
For the first time in his life—he had been forced to defend.