Jelo stood still for a moment after Kael walked away.
The tension from the fight hadn't fully left his body yet.
His arm still carried a faint tremor from that last exchange. His breathing was controlled—but heavier than before.
Around him, the crowd slowly began to disperse, voices rising again as the intensity faded.
"That guy fought Kael and held his own…"
"He's actually insane…"
"He's not slowing down either…"
Jelo ignored them.
His focus turned inward.
Kael was strong.
Not just in power—but in control, timing, and pressure. Every movement had meaning. Every strike forced a reaction.
Jelo clenched his fist slightly.
He replayed it. The way Kael had read his rhythm. The way each counter had arrived exactly where space ran out. No wasted motion. No noise.
That kind of precision didn't come from talent alone.
It came from someone who had lost before—and learned from it.
But I wasn't pushed far enough.
The heat inside him stirred faintly again… then settled.
Not yet.
