fifty one wins zero losses

He spat to the side, lungs burning, arms trembling

"But I'm not done. I'm never done

Not until I can't move."

Gabriel wiped sweat from his jaw with the back of his hand and calmly replied:

"Time i ended this ."

Rocky's brow furrowed. His body was soaked too with sweat. He had been shirtless the whole time. His chest rose quicker now.

His own heat tactic was turning on him.

Gabriel finally burst forward, his feet hammering against the scorched arena floor like war drums.

He angled his stride, one sharp step, then planted hard and veered not at Rocky, but toward the barrier.

Rocky's eyes widened.

He'd expected a direct charge.

But this… this was worse.

Gabriel slammed into the translucent barrier and bounced off like a springboard, redirecting all that built-up force all that stored momentum straight at him.

And in that split second, Rocky knew

this wasn't just another move.

This was going to hurt.

Mid-spin. Body horizontal. Heel leading.

The tornado kick ripped through the air a full 360° roundhouse, powered by spring-loaded tendons and precision.

It wasn't wild. It was calculated. Controlled. Deadly.

Rocky reacted fast fists up, firing bursts of pressurized air in front of him, using the blast force like a shield.

But Gabriel had expected that.

Crack the guard anyway.

The compressed air slowed the impact but not enough.

The heel slammed through it, cutting the pressure like a blade through smoke.

Objective: Shake the base. Disrupt structure.

Even if blocked, the sheer torque would tilt him off-center.

And it did.

THWACK!

The heel crashed into Rocky's forearms, and though he absorbed the blow, his stance wavered.

Just for a moment

But to Gabriel, a moment was all he needed.

Gabriel landed light, barely a breath between impact and movement.

He couldn't stop not for a second.

If I pause, he winds up again. He fires. I lose the rhythm.

Keep the pressure. Keep the pace.

He stepped in rear leg lifted high in one smooth motion.

"Naeryo Chagi."

The axe kick dropped like a falling guillotine clean, precise, and unforgiving.

Target: the collarbone or the crown.

Either one would shatter momentum.

Either one would break his rhythm.

BANG!

The impact rang out sharp as bone met force.

Rocky reeled, forced back half a step.

It hurt God, it hurt but Gabriel didn't give him time to register it.

Not yet.

No breath. No mercy. No time to reset.

Gabriel turned, adding more heat to the rhythm

Back kick. Dwi Chagi.

He didn't need to look, just followed the torque from his spine and let it rip.

THUD.

His heel drove deep into Rocky's ribs.

Air left his lungs in a gasp. His body jolted but Gabriel didn't slow.

He could already feel it

Rocky's coming again. Always charging. Always predictable.

Time to end it.

540 hook. Spinning wheel. Full commit.

Gabriel pivoted, coiled his body tight

Then leapt.

Full rotation.

Heel aligned at ninety degrees.

Target: the jaw.

WHIRR—CRACK!

The kick landed like a thunderclap—clean, final.

Gabriel exhaled as he touched down, eyes still locked on his opponent.

Then he said it

Calm. Cold. Certain.

"Game over."

Rocky's head snapped sideways, his vision spinning faster than his body could stabilize.

From the moment he took the first hit, his muscles had started locking the overexertion, finally catching up.

He couldn't even react.

He was done.

Down was the only direction Rocky's body could go.

THUD.

The dull, final sound of a fighter whose body had nothing left to give.

A beat of silence.

Then

"DANG! DANG! DANG!"

The commentator's voice burst through the speakers, electrified.

"It's over! We have our winner—Gabriel!"

Gabriel landed light. Controlled. Silent.

He didn't raise his fists. Didn't celebrate.

He just stood there — victorious — as heat shimmered off the scorched arena floor around him.

Then the commentator roared through the mic, voice cracking with excitement:

"What a win!! Ladies and gentlemen!!"

The crowd erupted — cheers, stomps, and banners flying like a tidal wave of noise and color.

"Just like the bets predicted — Crashnova was the narrow favorite, and he delivered!"

"Fifty-one wins. No losses."

The announcer's voice echoed through the stadium, rising above the chaos.

"And still undefeated... CRASHNOVA!"

A massive screen above the arena flashed to life — glowing with advanced arena tech, the new rankings displayed in bold holographic characters.

🔹 Gabriel 'Crashnova' – PROMOTED: B-Class Senior Division

🔸 Rocky – Reassigned: Rookie S-Class Division

"Tough break for Rocky," the commentator added, voice tinged with respect. "But trust me — he'll be back."

As the rankings settled on screen and the crowd rose to their feet in thunderous approval, Crashnova remained still — back turned to the spotlight, stretching his arms in one smooth motion.

Calm. Disconnected. Dominant.

He didn't need to pose.

He had already made his statement.

***

VIP Section – Observation Deck

The private balcony glowed softly with blue neon trim, overlooking the arena. From here, the elite watched in silence all except one.

"Wow… Guild Master Tanca, your brother's insane," Claus gushed, eyes wide. "Why don't you just bring him into our guild already? You weren't even impressed! You knew all his moves before he made 'em!"

Claus grinned, bouncing slightly in his seat like an overeager kid on sugar.

Tanca didn't respond.

Dressed in a sharply tailored, modern tuxedo with old mafia flair, the young Guild Master looked like a crime boss reborn into the new age all cool, no flash. He sat still, gaze fixed on the arena below.

He said nothing.

"Stop it, Claus," a voice muttered beside him.

It was Nikolai, Tanca's right-hand just nineteen , but unnervingly composed.

Childlike in appearance. Lethal in reality.

"No one wants to hear your high-pitched voice buzzin' in their ear," Nikolai added flatly.

Claus pouted, but shrugged. "Alright, alright. Tone it down, got it." He slouched back, grinning.

Nikolai glanced at Tanca again.

"But seriously, boss… he's good. Real good. And he wasn't even trying, was he? If he'd gone all-out, he'd have ended it before the heat got bad. So why won't you let him join us?"

No response.

"You came to watch him," Nikolai continued, voice soft but probing. "Even if you keep saying no."

Finally, Tanca spoke low, calm, with a dry Australian drawl:

"He ain't built for dungeon work."

He leaned back, still watching Gabriel in the arena.

"Talks too much in a fight. Lingers on the showmanship. Pulls his punches for amusement. Can't afford that in the gates. You hesitate in there, you die."

He exhaled sharply.

"Same bloody habit since we were kids. Never starts strong. Always wants to feel the fight first."

A pause. His voice dropped, colder:

"He's a disgrace to the Kirrily family. Father would've been ashamed."

Nikolai arched an eyebrow, casually poking the bear.

"Didn't you both inherit the same ability, sir…?"

Tanca's gaze snapped to him. The Aussie twang sharpened.

"Oi. Don't ever compare my power to his. What he's got's a cheap knockoff. A flimsy genetic copy."

He leaned forward, voice calm but iron-hard:

"We are not equals. My ability's far more refined. Far more deadly. Never forget that, Nikolai."

He let the words hang before finishing:

"Am I clear? Or do I need to remind you where you stand?"

Nikolai raised both hands slowly in the air, grinning. "Crystal clear, boss."

Claus giggled. "Oi, oi, Niko made the boss mad again."

Tanca ignored them both. His eyes drifted back to the arena floor

Just in time to see Gabriel glance up.

That brief, wordless moment of eye contact.

As if Gabriel had known all along that he was being watched.