Rio's sword lowered, but not because he surrendered willingly—it was because his body had finally reached its limit. His grip trembled, his breathing came in rough bursts, and the dull ache in his arms had turned into a heavy weight that refused to lift.
Leo stood across from him, sword still in hand, blade gleaming faintly under the arena's light. His breathing was controlled, his stance unchanged, and his gaze steady. There wasn't a single sign that the battle had taxed him to the point of exhaustion.
For a brief moment, silence blanketed the arena. The only sound was the faint echo of Rio's strained breaths. The air between them still felt charged, like the aftermath of a lightning strike that left the sky tense and expectant.
Rio finally spoke, his voice low but clear enough for the crowd to hear.
"…I lost."
He said it without shame—just the simple acknowledgment of truth. The words didn't carry despair, only the weight of reality.
