Jed sat down at the arm-wrestling table.
The referee signaled for both competitors to place their elbows down.
Across from him was a bulky senior—veins bulging, forearms like steel cables. He cracked his neck and sneered.
"You sure you're in the right event, kid?"
The crowd laughed.
"He's dead."
"One push and it's over."
Jed said nothing. His hand slowly gripped the senior's, calm but firm. His eyes—focused, unshaken.
---
"Ready… set… go!"
The senior slammed forward with all his strength.
The table creaked.
The crowd leaned in, expecting Jed's arm to collapse instantly—
—but it didn't.
Jed's arm held firm. His wrist didn't bend. His expression didn't flinch.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
"What the—he's holding it?!"
"No way…!"
The senior gritted his teeth, pushing harder, but Jed's arm was steady as stone. Sweat dripped down the senior's face, his muscles trembling.
Jed exhaled slowly. Then, with a sharp burst of strength, he shifted his shoulder, tightened his grip, and drove his opponent's hand down to the table—SLAM!
The referee raised Jed's arm.
"Winner—Jed Cruz!"
---
The gym went silent for a moment. Then the crowd erupted.
"What the hell just happened?"
"That scrawny guy beat him?!"
"No way, no way, no way—"
Jed stood, quiet and calm, brushing the sweat from his forehead. To him, this was nothing more than step one.
---
From the stands, Reina Salvador narrowed her eyes.
"…That wasn't normal."
Beside her, David Ahn clenched his jaw, his pride pricked.
"Tch. Don't get cocky, Jed. You're nothing compared to me."
And at the back of the gym, Marcus Perez watched with a predator's smile.
"Interesting… I didn't expect another challenger."
---
For the first time, the school didn't laugh at Jed.
They whispered his name.
And as he sat back down to wait for the next round, Jed tightened his fist.
His heart was pounding—not from fear, but from excitement.
This was only the beginning.