Dirga meditated for twelve straight hours. Not a twitch. Not a breath wasted.
When he finally opened his eyes, the ceiling glowed dimly in the soft hue of dusk.
The sky outside was shifting—the great Eye of Hell transitioning from burning red to a soft, ominous blue. Night was descending.
He stood, muscles loose and mind razor-sharp.
Steam coiled around him as he stepped into the shower, letting the water wash off not just sweat but expectation.
He wasn't anxious. He wasn't nervous. He was sharpening himself—every breath a whetstone, every heartbeat the forge.
The Gemspire Ring had already pushed the fight announcement to every ID terminal across the city:
"Tonight's Main Event: The One Punch Devil vs. The Mother"
Dirga read the title once and didn't bother digging deeper.
Who—or what—The Mother was, didn't matter.
He intended to end it in a single punch.
Could he do it?
He wasn't sure.
But gods, he hoped so.
…
By now, his identity was no longer a secret.
