The gymnasium roared with life. The air was thick with sweat, anticipation, and the electric tension only great rivalries could bring. It wasn't just another arm wrestling match—it was the semifinal. Whoever won would face David Ahn in the finals.
The announcer's voice echoed through the speakers:
"Next match! Marcus Perez versus Jed Cruz!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd. Some students waved banners they had prepared for Marcus, the powerhouse from the local gym who had already built a name for himself. Others shouted Jed's name, inspired by the underdog who had fought through pain and uncertainty to reach this far.
Marcus stepped forward first, his footsteps heavy, his presence commanding. His local gym members in the stands screamed encouragement, waving their arms as if to push their strength into him. For Marcus, this wasn't just a match—it was his chance to prove that someone from the bottom, someone who grew up begging on the streets, could stand tall and earn recognition.
Then came Jed Cruz. Unlike Marcus, Jed didn't walk with bravado. His steps were calm, steady. He had no crowd of gym members backing him, only Yun, his closest friend, who stood among the spectators yelling, "You got this, Jed!" But despite the lack of numbers, Jed carried something heavier than any cheer—a quiet resolve forged from years of survival and pain.
The referee called them to the table.
As Jed and Marcus clasped hands, the crowd hushed. Their grips tightened—one fueled by raw power and the hopes of his gym, the other fueled by scars of hardship and an unshakable will to keep moving forward.
The whistle blew.
Marcus immediately drove down with explosive force, veins bulging, his face red with effort. Jed's arm wavered dangerously close to the pad, the crowd gasping as it looked like it might end in seconds.
But Jed gritted his teeth, memories flashing—his mother's face, his lost years in Akasha he couldn't remember, the guilt that weighed him down daily. He wasn't just holding Marcus's arm back—he was holding back despair, regret, and the weight of everything life had thrown at him.
The audience leaned forward, the tension unbearable. Marcus roared, pouring all his strength into the match. His supporters shouted, "End it! Crush him, Marcus!"
Yet, just when it seemed over, Jed's arm stopped trembling. Slowly, he began to push back, inch by inch. The crowd erupted into chaos. Yun screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking, "COME ON, JED!"
Marcus's eyes widened in disbelief. He had faced countless strongmen, but never someone who could claw their way back from the brink like this. He gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body screaming, but Jed's eyes burned with something more dangerous than strength—unyielding conviction.
With a final surge, Jed slammed Marcus's hand onto the pad.
The whistle blew.
"Winner—Jed Cruz!"
The crowd exploded. Some cheered Jed's name, others groaned in disappointment for Marcus, but everyone knew they had witnessed something special.
Marcus slumped back, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he looked at Jed—not with hatred, but respect.
"You… you're strong," Marcus muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion.
Jed extended his hand, his breathing ragged. "You too."
For Marcus, it wasn't just a loss—it was a reminder that strength wasn't only about muscle, but about heart. For Jed, it was proof that even when the world tried to break him, he could still rise.
The announcer raised his voice once more:
"Jed Cruz advances to the finals! His opponent will be David Ahn!"
The crowd went wild, already buzzing about the upcoming clash. Yun pushed through the cheering students, tears in his eyes as he patted Jed's back.
"You did it, bro… you actually did it."
Jed only looked forward, sweat dripping down his chin. David Ahn awaited him—a rival who had everything Jed never had. The finals weren't just about winning anymore.
It was about proving who truly deserved to stand at the top.