"I wonder which one of them will come out on top…" Arthur thought, as the two fighters took their positions in the ring, the tension crackling in the air like electricity.
"I'll have to watch out for his counterattacks," Azel thought, mentally bracing himself for the fight to come. His gaze was sharp, focused—not tense, but clearly calculating.
"He's pretty versatile, but nothing really dangerous," thought Elio, as calm as ever, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Meanwhile, Darian, momentarily breaking away from his usual entourage more out of boredom than curiosity, strolled over to Arthur. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his expression casual.
"Which one do you think is gonna win?" Darian asked, his tone light.
"Honestly, I couldn't say. Both have their strengths and weaknesses. They're actually quite opposite. Elio's tall but lacks endurance. Azel's more compact, but he's missing that explosive edge," Arthur replied, eyes never leaving the ring.
"Really? After their last fights, Azel looked a bit better to me," Darian remarked, raising an eyebrow.
"You can't judge Elio like that," Arthur said thoughtfully. "Unlike most fighters from Asturies, he doesn't focus on honor. He's more of a cold strategist. There's something... unsettling about him. When I sparred with him, he felt a lot stronger than he seemed when he fought Louis. It's like he's hiding something—like he's not fighting at full strength."
"Huh. Maybe he's more interesting than I gave him credit for," Darian said, turning his attention back to the ring, where Elio stood completely composed.
At that moment, Frank raised his hand and officially announced the start of the match.
The two fighters launched themselves at each other. Elio won the initial burst, displaying quicker reflexes and sharper footwork. He immediately began throwing sharp jabs, forcing Azel onto the defensive. Elio then shifted to a distance where he could continue striking while staying out of range for any effective counters. His strategy was clinical—precise jabs and well-timed right hooks—while Azel's attempts at counters either missed or lacked power.
"He's making great use of his strengths," Clément observed from the sidelines.
"Yeah, you can tell he has a lot of experience, especially for his age," Lisa added. "You had him during pre-orientation, right, Clarck? What did you think of him?"
"You're right, he's talented," Clarck said, nodding. "But what frustrates me about him is that he never seems to go all out. Right now he's using his reach, sure, but usually he fights while backing up. Here, he's circling Azel and taking a few hits just to stay in control. It's like he's deliberately not showing his full hand."
As the group discussed Elio's tactics, the momentum shifted.
Azel executed a clever feint—pretending to throw a left jab, only to pivot into a spinning back kick aimed at Elio's torso. Elio, who had been narrowly dodging most of Azel's strikes up until now, was caught cleanly in the chest. The impact knocked him to the ground.
Rules forbade striking a downed opponent, though minor slip-ups in the heat of the moment were usually tolerated. Elio stood up quickly, but the dynamic of the match had clearly changed. No longer fully in control, Elio now found himself reacting to increasingly effective feints from Azel.
Then, Azel seized the initiative. He charged at Elio with a forceful right uppercut—but at the last second, it morphed into a spinning back elbow aimed at Elio's face. The move flowed seamlessly into a powerful left kick to the back of Elio's head. The crowd gasped at the fluidity and force of the combination.
But Elio didn't retreat.
Instead, as Azel's leg struck, Elio seized it, gripping tightly and yanking Azel forward. Then, with chilling precision, Elio delivered a monstrous right hook directly to Azel's face. The blow landed with such brutal force that Azel was sent flying backward, flipping in the air with a spray of blood trailing from his nose.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The sudden reversal was so dramatic, so violent, that even the seasoned spectators were stunned. Elio had taken a heavy hit and responded with one of the most devastating counters anyone had seen in months.
Frank didn't even bother checking Azel—he called the fight immediately. Some in the crowd murmured about the decision being premature. Azel was still conscious, but barely. His nose was clearly broken, blood flowing steadily, and he looked utterly disoriented.
Louis quickly made his way to Azel's side, supporting him as they headed toward the infirmary.
"He's even worse than I thought," Arthur muttered, a note of caution in his voice. His earlier suspicions were only reinforced.
"He fights intelligently," Lisa said, still a bit stunned. "He put everything into that one hit. He waited for the exact moment his opponent dropped his guard—grabbed his leg mid-kick, pulled him in to add force to the punch… That was pure calculation."
Clarck and Clément, however, didn't share her awe. Their expressions were grim.