Chapter 10: The Taste of Blood

Jackim barely had time to catch his breath before Han gestured for him to stand. His limbs felt like lead, every muscle screaming in protest, but he forced himself up. His vision swayed for a moment, but he steadied himself.

"Good," Han said. "Now, let's see if you can fight."

Jackim's heart sank. He had expected more training—maybe more running or some breathing techniques—but fighting? Right now?

Han pointed to the center of the courtyard. "You will spar."

Jackim wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to push down the exhaustion weighing on him.

"With who?" he asked, though deep down, he already knew.

Liang smirked and stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "Didn't think I'd get to break you again so soon."

Jackim's fingers clenched into fists.

He had barely survived yesterday's beating. His body was already battered and sore. Another fight so soon—it wasn't just unfair, it was brutal.

But no one cared about fair.

Jackim exhaled, stepping into the ring. No excuses.

Victor stepped between them, glancing at both men. "Rules are simple. No killing. Anything else is allowed."

Jackim's throat tightened. Anything else?

Victor smirked. "Begin."

Liang moved first, closing the distance in a flash. Jackim barely had time to react before a fist slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping, but before he could recover, Liang's elbow crashed into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Pain exploded through his ribs as he landed hard on the stone floor. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

"Pathetic," Liang scoffed.

Jackim coughed, his hands gripping the dirt beneath him. His vision blurred, but he forced himself up.

Not again.

He had spent his whole life being looked down on, treated as if he was nothing. His ex had walked away, people had sneered at him, and now—now he was just supposed to roll over and take this?

No.

Liang smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Come on, at least try."

Jackim's fists tightened. Try?

He moved, lunging forward. It was sloppy, untrained—but it was fast. Liang's smirk faltered as Jackim's fist slammed into his ribs. It wasn't enough to do real damage, but it was enough to surprise him.

Jackim pressed forward, throwing another punch—this one aimed at Liang's jaw. But the moment his fist flew, Liang's expression darkened.

Too slow.

Liang caught Jackim's wrist mid-air, twisting it painfully. Jackim barely had time to react before a knee smashed into his stomach.

He staggered back, gasping.

Liang's movements were fluid, effortless. He wasn't just stronger—he was experienced. Every attack had purpose, every counter was precise.

Jackim had no technique, no control. He was fighting on instinct alone.

And it wasn't enough.

Liang's leg swept forward, knocking Jackim's feet from under him. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.

"Still think you belong here?" Liang sneered, standing over him.

Jackim's entire body screamed for relief, for an end.

But the rage inside him burned hotter.

His nails dug into the dirt, his jaw clenching. He wouldn't stay down. Not today.

With a grunt, he forced himself up. His legs wobbled, his breath was unsteady, but he stood.

Liang's eyes narrowed. "Tch. Too stubborn to give up?"

Jackim wiped the blood from his lips, spitting onto the ground. "You talk too much."

Liang's smirk returned, but this time, there was something else in his eyes—respect.

"Fine," Liang said. "Then don't blame me if this gets worse."

Jackim exhaled, his heart pounding.

This wasn't just about a fight anymore.

This was survival.

And he wasn't going down without a fight.

---