Let the Fight Begin

The morning air buzzed with a nervous energy that could be felt across every inch of campus.

It was finally here at the National Inter-College Fight Tournament (NICFT).

A day that came once a year. A day where colleges from across the country clashed, not with textbooks or numbers, but fists, tactics, and discipline.

This year, the honor of hosting the tournament fell to none other than Harry's college. The gymnasium, usually quiet and forgotten except during PE classes, had been transformed into a battleground. Massive banners hung from the ceiling. A newly constructed octagon-style ring stood at the center, surrounded by LED-lit walls. Spotlights scanned across the crowd like gods watching over warriors.

It was more than just a fight.

It was war without weapons.

It was where legends were born or broken.

The National Inter-College Fight Tournament had grown over the past five years from a small-scale martial arts meet to a national sensation. Colleges sent their best fighters men and women trained in boxing, taekwondo, judo, or freestyle to prove their worth. No gimmicks. Just skill, heart, and the will to survive three brutal rounds.

Ten colleges. Ten warriors. One winner.

Fight Rules

Hand-to-hand combat only. Fighters could use any fighting style, but no weapons or supernatural powers were allowed.

Three rounds, each 2 minutes long.

Clean strikes, takedowns, and dodges earned points.

Knockout wins happened if one fighter couldn't get up in 10 seconds.

No illegal hits: No eye pokes, no strikes below the belt, no biting. Any illegal move got one warning to do it again, and you're disqualified.

Referees had the final say.

How the Winner Is Decided:

Points-based system each judge scores the round on a 10 point basis.

If no KO happens, the highest score after three rounds wins.

Judges watch for technique, aggression, defense, and clean contact.

Tournament Format

It's running for a week

Group Stage: Each of the 10 fighters gets 1 match in the group stage.

Top 4 fighters (based on score and win margin) move to the semi-finals.

From there, it's knockout one loss, and you're out.

Winning college gets a golden trophy, media coverage, and bragging rights.

Winner gains 1000$ price money ,national fame, offers from MMA academies, brand sponsorships, and more

Harry entered the gymnasium with a slow, steady pace. His eyes scanned the arena now packed with over a thousand students, faculty, media persons, and college officials.

Banners representing each participating college hung like war flags:

A massive screen above the ring showed each participant's name, weight class, and their college crest.

The emcee's voice echoed through the speakers:

"Welcome to the 6th Annual National Inter-College Fight Tournament! Today, ten warriors from the nation's finest colleges will step into this ring. But only one… will walk out victorious."

The crowd roared.

Harry clenched his fists. His name would be called soon.

Among the fighters waiting in the prep zone was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a stoic face. His short jet-black hair was slicked back, and a scar ran from his temple to his jaw.

His name?

John Carter

The current four-time undefeated NICFT champion.

He wasn't loud. He wasn't flashy.

But his presence spoke louder than words.

Rumors said he broke someone's ribs in last year's final with a single spinning back kick.

He wore a sleeveless training hoodie, arms folded, unmoving like a predator waiting to strike. Everyone else in the room noticed when Arjun walked by they either looked down or stepped aside.

Harry's eyes locked onto him.

They didn't speak.

But something passed between them.

A future. A fight. A final.

They both knew it.

They wouldn't face each other today. Not in the beginning.

But in the end… one of them would fall.

Let the Tournament Begin

The emcee's voice boomed again:

"First round matches begin in 30 minutes! All fighters must report to the prep area. Medics, judges, referees, and ring staff take your positions."

The screen changed, showing the bracket-style fight chart.

Harry's name was placed in Group C. His first match would be Blake Morris winner of the first NICFT season and one of the fastest fighters alive in his weight class.

Harry turned and headed to the prep zone, sliding on his gloves. He did a few warm-up jabs in the mirror. The weight of the room disappeared. His focus narrowed.

He didn't care about the crowd.

He didn't care about the noise.

He only cared about the ring.

The sun burned high above the stadium, casting golden light over the freshly polished ring that sat at the heart of the campus sports complex. Thousands of students from across the country filled the bleachers, waving banners, wearing face paint, chanting their college names like war cries.

Cameras zoomed in, announcers buzzed with excitement, and music blasted through loudspeakers as the National Inter-College Fight Tournament (NICFT) officially began.

This wasn't just a school event. This was a stage where legends were born.

And Harry stood at the edge of that stage calm outside, storm inside.

Harry's heart pounded, not from fear but from restraint. When he punches the concrete wall and the wall breaks completely.

He stared at the shattered surface in silence.

Ever since that night of the car crash… ever since the dying scientist injected something into his neck… something inside Harry had changed.

He didn't know what it was, but he wasn't normal anymore.

Bones that didn't break. Muscles that flexed beyond natural limits. Reflexes are sharper than thought itself. Hee was becoming stronger.

But this wasn't the place to show it. Not yet.

So he made a silent vow before entering the ring:

Don't break anything today not walls, not bones, not rules. Just fight like any normal guy would.

First Match: The Beast Enters

The first official match of the tournament began with thunderous applause. Stepping into the ring was none other than John "Ironfist" Carter—the reigning champion.

He wore a red and black hoodie with "4X CHAMP" printed on the back. Every movement of his was quiet, controlled, and dangerous.

His opponent, from Silver Creek College, looked decent—tall, lean, trained. But when the bell rang, he was little more than a sandbag.

John didn't rush. He let the first few punches come, weaving like a panther, unshaken. Then, out of nowhere, he delivered one clean punch to the jaw a single thunderclap.

The opponent flew backward, landing hard.

The referee began the ten-count.

"1… 2… 3…"

He didn't get up.

John Carter had won by knockout. Again. In under thirty seconds.

The stadium erupted.

"Damn, he's unbeatable," someone muttered near Harry.

But Harry didn't clap.

He just watched. Studied.

Because that was the man he'd have to face if he made it all the way to the final.

Second Match: Harry vs. Blake Morris

Now it was Harry's turn. He adjusted his gloves and stepped into the ring. The announcer called his name, and the cheers were lukewarm. Most of the audience didn't know him.

His opponent? Blake Morris winner of the first NICFT season and one of the fastest fighters alive in his weight class.

Blake bounced on his feet with high energy, laser focus in his eyes.

"Good luck," he smirked at Harry. "You're gonna need it."

The bell rang.

Round 1

Harry kept it simple jab, dodge, wait.

He threw a soft punch nothing serious but Blake dodged like lightning and countered with a clean hit to Harry's jaw. The crowd roared.

Blake moved in fast quick combinations, tight footwork, hitting Harry in the ribs and shoulder. Harry focused on defense, letting the blows land but absorbing them calmly.

He could feel the crowd turn against him.

"He's too slow."

"He's not championship material."

The round ended. They retreated to their corners. Blake smiled to the crowd; Harry stayed quiet.

Round 2

Harry closed his eyes and took a breath.

You're holding back too much. Time to wake up a little.

This time, when Blake lunged forward, Harry slipped under the punch like water.

Then came his counter a kick to the side, sharp and heavy. Blake staggered back.

Harry didn't stop. He let loose a flurry of punches not at full power, but fast, sharp, precise.

The crowd gasped as Blake hit the ground.

"5… 6…"

Blake stood up again. But now he looked shaken.

The round ended. It was 1–1.

Round 3

Now it was all or nothing.

Blake came in with a roar, throwing everything he had at Harry elbows, jabs, and spinning kicks.

Harry blocked most, but Blake landed two clean hits and scored points.

Then… it happened.

Blake dropped his guard for just a moment.

BOOM.

Harry's right fist flew like a bullet and connected with Blake's chest. Not enough to break anything but enough to make him gasp and collapse.

He tried to get up but the referee reached "10."

Harry had won.

The crowd was stunned into silence.

Then applause broke like a wave.

"Who is this guy?"

"That was insane!"

"He turned it around like a pro!"

Harry walked off without showboating.

He didn't care about the crowd. He was just glad he'd survived without exposing himself.

Over the next few days, Harry fought three more times each time a tougher opponent, each time pushing his limits while still hiding his true strength.

But he won. Every time. Clean and legal.

He wasn't trying to be a hero. He just didn't want to lose.

Now, after a week of brutal matches and endless cheers, the final match was set.

Harry vs. John Carter.

The Final Showdown Begins.