She was no longer the person she once knew. Shanazer had transformed into something stronger, something unbreakable. She squared her shoulders, steadied her breathing, and met their gazes with unwavering resolve. "I am fine," she admitted—firm, assured. A smile broke across both Tairen Exon's and Anna's faces. "I'm impressed with you," Tairen Exon praised, his voice rich with pride. "You're doing great. Just remember—don't stress yourself. If you ever feel like quitting, just raise your hands. But so far—brilliant work, dear." Yet, deep within, he hoped she wouldn't quit. He wanted to see just how far her skill could stretch. She had already exceeded every expectation. His heart swam in quiet admiration. Shanazer tilted her head slightly, catching the subtle shift in his expression. He didn't want her to quit. The realization sent a jolt through her. This wasn't just about proving her strength. It was about showing him—showing them all—what she had become. The thought steadied her further.
Meanwhile, Cathy Williams gasped for breath, struggling to steady herself as if she had just finished a grueling marathon. Her chest burned, her limbs screamed. Sweat trickled down her temple, stinging her eyes, but she forced herself to focus. "You're doing well. Breathe, breathe," her father encouraged, his words a lifeline. Her trainer, Marcus Donda, gave a firm nod. "You've got this. Keep up the same pace and pressure." A flicker of concern crossed his face as he studied her stance. "She's already losing her balance," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the head coach to hear. "She won't last ten minutes like this. She'll fall." Cathy swallowed down the doubt, clawing at her throat. No. Not yet. Not now.
A sudden gust of air hit her face as one of her friends waved a cloth vigorously. The relief was instant. She sucked in a deeper breath, her pulse still hammering but no longer on the verge of panic. "Keep going—I need more air," she muttered, her breaths ragged. Her friend nodded, waving faster. "You're stronger than this, Cathy. Push!" someone from the sidelines urged, their voice threading through the buzz of voices surrounding her. The heat in her chest rose, her pulse drumming an urgent rhythm. She could last. She had to. Then, the bell rang—the second round was about to begin.
Maria Rosa Devilin lifted her microphone, turning toward Owen Denis, her co-commentator. The anticipation in the crowd was electrifying. "The second round has arrived," she announced, voice crisp and authoritative. Then, with a dramatic sweep of her arm, she faced Owen. "Now, tell me, what's your analysis? The fans on social media are desperate to know." Owen leaned forward, eyes scanning the field with laser focus. "It's fascinating," he mused. "Shanazer is exuding confidence—more than she ever has before. She's transformed, and it's showing in her movements. The way she's holding herself—it's pure, unshaken determination." Maria Rosa nodded. "And Cathy?" Owen exhaled sharply. "She's struggling, no doubt. But she's holding on by sheer willpower. The real question is—can she last through this round?"
The crowd roared as the fighter repositioned. Tairen Exon leaned toward Shanazer, voice low yet intense. "Stay focused. Don't let the noise shake you. Control your breath. Steady your stance. You've already won half the battle—just hold on." Shanazer gave a slow nod, eyes locked on her opponent. She would not falter. Not now. Cathy clenched her fists, willing herself to push past the exhaustion. Across from her, Shanazer remained composed, unreadable—but Cathy knew better. Their eyes met for a brief second. A silent message passed between them. Neither would back down. The referee raised his hand. The second round began.
"We haven't seen Shanazer apply much pressure yet, but fighters like her are the most dangerous," a spectator mused, his voice tinged with anticipation. "If there were live bets, I'd put my money on her—I think she'll surprise us. Fingers crossed." Another man leaned forward. "She's calm—too calm. That's always a bad sign for the opponent." The crowd roared as both Shanazer and Cathy Williams moved close simultaneously.
"Go finish her!" one of Cathy's friends shouted "Make her beg for mercy!" another taunted. Their voices were quickly drowned by the thunderous clapping from the audience. The referee stepped forward, raising a hand, signaling for the match to begin. Cathy charged forward like a bullet fired from a gun, her body a force of sheer determination. She thrust a powerful right punch, aiming straight for Shanazer's jaw. But Shanazer ducked—effortlessly, precisely—like the movement had been choreographed in her mind a thousand times. And without hesitation, she countered. Her fist drove into Cathy's stomach, sending her flying five meters across the ring. The crowd gasped, shocked into silence. A man in the front row blinked. "What the hell just happened?" Another shook his head, unable to process what he had just witnessed. "Did—did she just send Cathy airborne?"
"What kind of force was that?" someone else called out. Shanazer stood still, unmoved by the whispers and speculation. She had controlled the strike intentionally—deliberately—just enough to avoid serious injury. She wanted this fight to look real. Cathy groaned, rolling onto her side, gripping her stomach. Then, as if ignited by fury, she shoved herself up, rage burning in her eyes. "I'll kill you, you filthy loser!" she snarled. She launched herself forward again, fists clenched. Shanazer remained calm, watching, analyzing. The moment Cathy's foot pushed off the ground, Shanazer surged forward as well, but her speed was unmatched—three times faster than Cathy's.A gasp rippled through the audience. "She's moving too fast! How—?" Cathy leaped, trying to meet Shanazer mid-air, but Shanazer was already there, an instant ahead. Her uppercut strike landed cleanly against Cathy's throat. Time seemed to freeze. Cathy flipped—once, twice, three times—before crashing onto the ground with a sickening thud. A heavy silence blanketed the arena. Cathy lay motionless.
Her father's expression darkened with worry. The businessmen who had stacked fortunes on Cathy winning exchanged uneasy glances. A woman in the crowd covered her mouth with both hands. "She isn't moving…" Cathy's trainer rushed toward the edge of the ring, gripping the ropes. "Williams! Get up! Damn it, get up!" Shanazer didn't wait for the final verdict. She turned sharply and walked toward the dressing room, unbothered by the tension settling behind her. The referee sprinted to Cathy's side, pressing two fingers against her neck, then checking her nose. A pause. Then, slowly, he crossed his arms twice. The match was over. Medics rushed in, one of them kneeling beside Cathy. He did a quick check, then looked up. "She'll be fine."
A wave of relief spread through the audience, but tension still lingered. The referee raised his microphone, his voice slicing through the stillness. "The winner of this duel is Shanazer Athens!" The crowd erupted—some cheering, some murmuring in disbelief. A man near the back shook his head. "I didn't expect that. Not like this." Another exhaled loudly. "Unbelievable."
Meanwhile, in the dressing room, Shanazer peeled off her gloves, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back, unreadable. Behind her, Tairen Exon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You made that fight look too easy," he remarked. Shanazer smirked. "Was I supposed to struggle?" He chuckled. "Not necessarily. But the audience thrives on competition." She rolled her shoulders, letting out a slow breath. "Cathy's anger got the best of her."
"You let her play right into your hands."
"Isn't that what a fight is about?" Shanazer glanced at him, her eyes cool, measured. "Control." Tairen nodded, his expression unreadable. "You surpassed every expectation today." Silence stretched between them. Then, quietly, he added, "Are you going to keep going?"