The Final Match (Part 2) 022

In Ali's corner, Coach Rahman's expression was unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with an unshakable confidence. As the rounds progressed, he remained calm, shouting occasional instructions but otherwise watching intently.

Jason's dominance didn't seem to faze him. Instead, he observed Ali's movements closely, looking for signs of adaptation.

"Come on, kid," he murmured under his breath. "You've got this in you. Show him what you're made of."

By the third round, Ali's body ached from Jason's unrelenting onslaught. His arms felt heavy, his breathing labored. Each step felt like trudging through sand, but he refused to stop.

Jason, sensing his advantage, pressed harder. A rapid combination forced Ali to the ropes again, and a vicious uppercut to the ribs left him gasping.

The referee stepped in briefly to separate them, giving Ali a moment to collect himself. Stumbling back to the center of the ring, Ali wiped sweat and blood from his brow, his mind racing.

Focus. You didn't come this far to lose now.

As the bell signaled the end of the third round, Ali collapsed into his corner. Coach Rahman crouched in front of him, holding a water bottle.

"Listen to me," Rahman said, his voice low but firm. "He's got power and precision, but he's predictable. Watch his rhythm. Look for the patterns. You've trained for this."

Ali nodded, though his vision blurred from exhaustion. "I'll... I'll find a way."

"You already know the way," Rahman said, gripping his shoulder. "Now go out there and fight like you mean it."

As Ali rose for the fourth round, the arena seemed to hold its breath. Across the ring, Jason watched him with a faint smirk, his confidence unshaken.

But Ali's eyes burned with renewed determination. He wasn't done yet.

From her seat, Crystall clutched her sketchbook, her heart pounding. Zahra and Farid screamed louder than ever, their voices barely audible over the crowd's roar.

Ali and Jason stepped toward the center of the ring, their eyes locking. The unspoken challenge between them was clear: this fight was far from over.

Ali stumbled back to his corner at the end of the round, his body battered but his spirit unbroken. He leaned heavily against the ropes, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"This isn't over," he whispered to himself, his fists tightening.

As the crowd roared around him, Ali's mind sharpened, his thoughts settling on a single goal. He wasn't just fighting to win. He was fighting for everyone who had believed in him, for the journey that had brought him here, and for the pride he refused to abandon.

His eyes flicked to Jason, who stood tall and composed in his corner, waiting. The final round was coming, and Ali was ready to give it everything he had.

---

The bell rang for the fifth and final round, and the atmosphere in the arena was electric. The crowd leaned forward in their seats, holding their breath as Ali and Jason stepped toward the center of the ring. Both fighters were battered and bruised, but their eyes burned with unwavering resolve.

Ali rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of every punch Jason had landed, but his mind was razor-sharp. Jason's movements were still confident, his stance solid, but Ali could sense it—there was a rhythm, a pattern to Jason's style that he could exploit.

And then, like a flash of lightning, Coach Rahman's voice echoed in Ali's memory:

"Adaptation wins fights, Ali. Boxing isn't just about strength. It's about knowing when to flow like water and when to strike like steel."

With those words ringing in his ears, Ali's movements changed. Instead of charging forward or staying rooted in defense, he began to flow. His feet moved with an unpredictable rhythm, weaving and stepping as though he were dancing. He adopted the fluid, deceptive motions of Silat—Malaysia's traditional martial art—letting his body sway and shift to throw Jason off balance.

Jason frowned, his eyes narrowing as Ali's style became harder to predict. When Jason threw a jab, Ali sidestepped with the grace of a leaf drifting on the wind. When Jason aimed a hook, Ali ducked low, twisting his body to position himself for a counter.

And then Ali struck.

Drawing from the Soviet-style boxing techniques he'd secretly studied, Ali threw a sharp, precise jab straight into Jason's guard, forcing him to take a step back. Jason tried to counter with a powerful cross, but Ali had already moved. His movements were fluid yet calculated, blending Silat's unpredictability with the pinpoint accuracy of Soviet boxing.

The crowd roared as Ali landed a clean shot to Jason's ribs, the impact echoing through the arena. Jason staggered, his composure cracking for the first time.

From the stands, Zahra and Farid were losing their minds.

"That's it, Ali! Show him who's boss!" Zahra screamed, her voice cracking.

Farid, balancing precariously on his chair, waved a makeshift banner that read "Chicken Rice Champ!" in bold, glittering letters. "Yes! That's my boy! You've got this!"

Nearby, Crystall had abandoned her sketchbook entirely, clutching it to her chest as her eyes stayed glued to the ring. Her fingers trembled, her breath caught as she watched Ali's movements with awe.

"He's doing it," she whispered, her voice barely audible amidst the deafening cheers.

In the ring, Jason's frustration was evident. He tightened his guard and tried to regain control of the fight, unleashing a barrage of heavy punches that had decimated his previous opponents. But Ali was no longer fighting on Jason's terms.

Instead of meeting power with power, Ali let Jason's strength work against him. He dodged, parried, and countered with precision, landing a brutal uppercut that sent Jason reeling.

The momentum had shifted. The once-dominant Jason was now on the defensive, and the crowd erupted in cheers for Ali.

The final minute of the match felt like an eternity. Both fighters were running on pure willpower, their bodies battered but their spirits unyielding.

Jason threw a desperate hook, aiming to end the fight in one decisive blow. Ali ducked, his movements sharp and instinctive. And then, in a split-second decision, he saw the opening.

Drawing from every ounce of strength left in his body, Ali stepped forward and unleashed a devastating counter-punch. His fist connected squarely with Jason's jaw, the impact reverberating through the arena.