he crowd's roar reached a fever pitch as Mikey and Jin faced each other in the tournament finals. Both were battered, bruised, and drenched in sweat, but neither showed any sign of backing down.
Jin's eyes gleamed with that same terrifying confidence, but Mikey noticed a faint flicker—something different.
"You ready to lose, Mikey?" Jin said, voice calm but dangerous. "I've studied everything you've got. Every move, every pattern… I can fight like you."
Mikey clenched his fists. "Then show me."
[Round One]
Jin moved like a shadow, copying Mikey's punches and footwork almost perfectly. Every strike was met with a counter as precise as if he were reading Mikey's mind.
But with each technique he replicated, Mikey noticed a subtle hesitation in Jin's gaze, a flicker of darkness at the edge of his vision.
He's pushing too hard, Mikey realized. There's a limit to that copy skill.
Sure enough, after a sudden flurry of mirrored punches, Jin staggered slightly, blinking as his vision dimmed.
He's temporarily blind, Mikey thought. This is my chance.
Mikey pressed forward, changing his rhythm and using unpredictable angles. Jin's copied moves were precise, but now delayed—he couldn't see the incoming attacks clearly.
[Round Two — Risk vs Reward]
Jin shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "No… I can't rely on luck." He pressed his hands to his temples, trying to push his copy skill again.
This time, the effect was immediate: darkness blanketed his vision. He stumbled, almost hitting the mat. The crowd gasped.
Overusing it has a cost, Mikey thought, eyes narrowing. He had to be careful—but he could exploit this weakness.
Jin's breathing was sharp, precise, yet strained. "I'll heal… but only for a moment," he muttered, gritting his teeth.
He raised his fists again, cautiously. Every copied movement now carried risk—if he overused it, he would go temporarily blind again.
[Climactic Exchange]
Mikey feinted left, jabbed right, and ducked a copied hook—forcing Jin to rely on instinct. Jin's movements were still deadly, but slower, more calculated. The shadow of blindness hung over him like a weight.
Jin smirked despite the danger. "Interesting… I like this challenge."
He forced himself to heal, vision slowly returning, but Mikey had already adjusted, attacking with unpredictability and speed.
Every strike now was a test: Mikey had to read Jin's body language, anticipate the copied moves, and avoid his counters. Every time Jin overused his copy ability, he risked total blindness for a moment—creating an opening Mikey could exploit.
[End of Round]
The bell rang. Both fighters stood, chest heaving, bruises deep, sweat dripping. Neither had won yet—but the tension was unbearable.
Marcus muttered from the sidelines, "If Mikey stays unpredictable, he can exploit Jin's copy ability. But one mistake, and…"
Hana scribbled furiously: "He can't overextend, or his vision fails. Mikey has the edge if he keeps Jin guessing."
Jin wiped his brow, grin wicked but eyes calculating. "Not done yet… this is just getting fun."
Mikey clenched his fists, eyes blazing. I can do this. I can win. I just have to outsmart him and push him too far… without getting caught myself.
The final rounds were coming—and this battle would test every skill, every instinct, and every ounce of strategy they had learned.