The arena was electric. The crowd's roar faded into the background for Mikey. All he could see was the ring—and the figure waiting on the other side.
Jin stood casually, arms crossed, eyes sharp and calculating. He exuded confidence that bordered on menace. Every movement was deliberate, as if he already knew what Mikey would do.
"You made it this far," Jin said, smirking coldly. "Not bad… but it ends here."
Mikey squared his fists. "We'll see about that."
[Round One]
The bell rang. Jin moved first, his strikes precise and mocking. He taunted with feints, dodging Mikey's punches as if he could anticipate every attack.
He's studying me… analyzing my timing, Mikey realized, his heart pounding.
Mikey adjusted, feinting a jab, stepping in, and landing a solid hook to Jin's ribs. Jin staggered slightly—but only slightly. His eyes glinted.
"Not bad," Jin whispered, almost to himself. "Interesting… I like this."
It was subtle, but Mikey caught it. Jin was observing, adapting. He wasn't just cocky—he was dangerous.
[Round Two]
Sweat dripped down both fighters. Mikey focused on strategy, remembering Marcus and Hana's training: footwork, feints, and unpredictability.
Jin, with a terrifying calm, began to mimic some of Mikey's techniques. A jab Mikey had thrown in Round One? Jin blocked and countered with it almost perfectly.
Mikey's eyes widened. He's copying me…
Jin's smirk widened. "Clever. Smart. You fight well… but I can fight like you too."
The crowd gasped at the speed and precision of Jin's movements. Each strike felt eerily familiar, as if Jin was inside Mikey's head.
[Climax of the Fight]
Mikey gritted his teeth. I can't let him predict everything I do. I have to stay unpredictable… I have to force him to make mistakes.
He shifted, mixing footwork patterns, altering his rhythm, and throwing combinations he hadn't used in practice.
Jin's eyes narrowed, a slight flicker of surprise crossing his face. He adjusted immediately—but the gap was enough. Mikey landed a clean uppercut to Jin's jaw, forcing him back.
For a moment, the cocky, terrifying aura wavered—but only slightly. Jin recovered, smirking again, eyes glinting.
"This… is going to be fun," Jin murmured, a deadly promise.
[Aftermath]
The bell rang, signaling the end of the round. Both fighters stepped back, chest heaving, sweat dripping, bruises forming.
The audience was on their feet, chanting. It was clear: this was no ordinary fight. This was a battle of skill, mind, and willpower.
Mikey's fists were sore, his ribs ached—but his eyes burned with determination.
I'm not losing to him. Not now, not ever.
Jin wiped sweat from his brow, still smirking. "You're better than I thought… but the fight's not over. And neither am I."
Marcus and Hana exchanged looks. "This is the fight that will define both of them," Marcus murmured.
Mikey clenched his fists. "Then let's finish it."
The semifinals had begun—and neither would back down.